Loss is a love story that charts the valleys and peaks of a relationship from start to finish. On an airplane in February 2018, I started writing what I thought would be a four-part story. In the story, Jamie and Claire were already in an established relationship. My four-part plan rapidly turned into a six-part plan, then an eight-part idea, and eventually finished as an eleven-part story. As I posted, the story started to spin off into a series of ficlets. You can read this story chronologically as listed below or you can start with the eleven-part original story that begins in November 2016.
2016 – A series of firsts (meeting, date, I love you, loss, weekend holiday, moving day, fight, Christmas)
Remember when I thought it would be four chapters? Then six? Then eight? And now here we are, roughly 250k words later. I love this universe for so many reasons, many of which involve the folks in this community who this story has helped me meet. Thanks to everyone who has ever liked, reblogged, messaged me, or sent out cosmic good vibes over this story. I love it (AND YOU) with all of my heart. 💜
There are some folks who have been so ride or die with this story, and I owe them a whole lot. For those of you who have made me laugh out loud, cry, smirk, or get mooshy over a comment or a bit of re-read commentary (looking at you @walkinginland), thank you.
To @kkruml, @abreathofsnowandwaffles, @balfeheughlywed, @notevenjokingfic, and @kalendraashtar – thank you all for always believing in me with this story. All five of you have done so much heavy beta lifting on this tale, and I’m forever indebted to you for all of it. Thanks for always giving it to me straight, telling me when I can do better, and knowing these characters and their stories as well as I do.
Does two years make this story officially a toddler? Can’t wait to see what the Terrible Twos bring J+C in the Loss-verse. xx.
Chiso Co., Ltd, Furisode with Wave and Crane Design, Made for Nishimura Tokuko, the fourteenth Madame Nishimura, 1938, Yūzen-dyeing and embroidery on woven silk
Breakfast was a rumbustious affair with so many participants squeezed around one of the large tables at The Caledonian. Usually, Claire would have opted for one of the leather-seated booths that provided a great view of Inverness’ High Street for people-watching. With the seven of them in attendance and a large Sunday morning buffet on offer, however, the booth would have been an impractical choice—no one wanted to climb over three people just to get another helping of bacon.
Munching on a deliciously fried mushroom, Claire gazed across the table at Jamie. As he was leaning over to his right, listening to Isobel recounting an entertaining work mishap, the light caught the side of his face in a way that enabled her to make out all the different hues in the three to four days of stubble he was sporting. The base colour was a rich auburn, complementing the fiery waves of his hair; but there were darker flashes of roan and russet, contrasting handsomely with a few blonde hairs here and there.
She remembered the pleasant bite of his whiskers against her lips vividly; remembered how her breathing grew shallow when it rasped against the sensitive skin of neck and earlobe. With her heart rate slightly up, Claire gripped her fork tightly, trying to steer her thoughts in a more appropriate direction. Instead of focusing on what she couldn’t have right now, she recalled the last occasion she’d been in the cosy little establishment with Jamie.
and to all of you readers who stick by this story and show your appreciation in your own unique way. I can’t possibly say how much your kindness means to me.
“For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.”
Tori