Toji has never once shown his vulnerability towards the scar he has on his lips. He never even talks about them. But you know he is somewhere insecure about it when he stops and stares in the mirror while shaving, green eyes scanning the scar. Or when he purposely rests the right side of his face in his hand so the palm hides it. He thought he was being subtle with it, but you noticed. You noticed how deep down he was scared to even talk about it, let alone wear it with pride. That scar was a nightmare and he hated how it was visible to him, to everyone in the most obvious place.
"Toji?" you cooed from behind, walking into the hall while he was watching TV.
"Yes, baby?"
"I bought a new gloss, and i want to test if it's transfer proof."
"Don't know what that is but c'mere, lovie. Sit on my lap while you do it." You smiled and plopped yourself on his laps. Before he could finally look at you, you pressed your tinted glossy lips at the end of his lips where the scar settled.
he tried opening his lips to catch yours but you didn't really kiss his lips. he was so confused why you were pecking one spot.
*one peck. two peck. three peck. smooches tightly*
"D'ya know? I love this." You ran your thumb over the skin. "It makes me realize how strong you are, Toji. Sooo strong. Please don't hide it. It makes you look more handsome." He couldn't form words. The sudden love bomb opened a can of bad memories. Yet, oddly, he was comforted by your words. For a man so big, he was still weak over you and your love. Because you determined his vulnerability. Which is why your relationship was perfect. He is not the kind of man to be vocal about his issues but you read him like an open book. You understand him before he even has to spell it out.
Toji rested his forehead against yours, inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed. God. He feels so in love, it kills him. What would he do without you? Everyone picked his flesh till it was just his heart exposed in the dirt, still struggling to beat. But you found it. Not to pick anymore flesh(there was none left). But to rip open your ribs and keep that heart locked in you forever. Safe and sound.
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One of the really fun and interesting things about writing a polyamorous romance as someone who is ambiamorous/polyamorous is finding new ways to make sure the narrative hits the expected genre beats without just sort of... mushing it into a pre-existing monogamous romance mold, which is what I'm afraid happens a lot of the time.
Trust me, it was my job in the publishing house to make them fit that mold. I hated it.
Reading other poly-centric romances, I can always somewhat tell when someone is writing polyamory from a sexual fantasy aspect (zero shade; I'm here for all the group sex) without actually considering how it functions as a relationship dynamic, which can often come off as... well.
It's lacking for me as a romance.
Erotica-wise, it's fine. But it misses the romantic beats for me that I want as a polyamorous-leaning person.
There's so much emphasis on the polycule and never the individual dyads within the larger relationship.
For example, in a triad, there are actually four relationships to handle.
The dyad between A + B.
The dyad between A + C.
The dyad between B + C.
And the overarching relationship between A + B + C.
With monogamous-leaning authors or authors that've been pressed into conforming to the pre-existing genre beats, there's a tendency to treat the relationship as a homogenous mass where everything is fair and equal, and you treat all your partners the exact same way.
And I get it. It's easier to write everything as peachy-keen and to have external conflict be resolved with either acceptance or a brave confrontation.
But it doesn't always land for me as someone who wants to see my style of love represented in the genre.
In healthy polyamory, either closed or open, each relationship is unique in its own way. Taking the example of a triad again, the way A acts with C likely differs from how A acts with B.
And that's a good thing!
Because C might not want the same things as B, so trying to treat them both the exact same is a surefire way to make sure someone isn't getting their needs met, and that will lead to conflict.
Polyamory isn't striving for equality between partners but rather equity.
What are your individual needs, and how do I meet them, as well as meet the needs of my other partner(s)? What do you want from the larger relationship as a whole? How do we accommodate everyone without making someone feel neglected or uncomfortable? How do we show this in the narrative? How do we make sure character A isn't just treating B the same as C in every interaction? Do they ever fall into that pitfall? How do they remedy it?
It seems like common sense when you write it out like that, but it's a major pitfall I see time and time again. The characters never alternate their approach between partners, if there's any focus on the individuals at all.
The other major telltale thing I've noticed is that taking time to be with one partner is seen as a step down from the "goal" of the greater polycule.
The narrative is framed in such a way that they might start out with individual dates, but the end goal of the romance is to eventually be together 100% of the time all the time, and wanting individual time alone with any one partner is somehow "lesser."
Which is the goal of romance in monogamy, but it's not the goal of romance in polyamory.
Granted, you do need to end on a Happy Ever After or Happy For Now for it to fit the genre requirement. And a nice way of tying that up is to have everyone together at the end as a happy polycule all together all at once. I'm not disputing that as a narrative tool. I'm just pointing out that there's a tendency to present those moments as the sum total of the relationship when in actuality, there are multiple relationships that need to end happily ever after.
The joy of polyamorous love is the joy of multitudes. It's the joy of experiencing new things, both as individuals and as a polycule. If you're not taking care of the individual dyads, however, your polycule is going to crash and burn. You cannot avoid that. So why, then, is there such avoidance of it in stories meant to appeal to us?
Is it simply inexperience on behalf of the author? Or is it that they're not actually being written for us? Is it continued pressure to meet certain genre beats in a largely monogamous-centric genre? All of the above?
Either way, I'm having fun playing around with it and doing all the things we were warned against in the publishing house.
I'm having fun with Nathan and Vlad enjoying their own private dynamic that is theirs and theirs alone. I'm having fun with Ursula and Nathan being so careful and vulnerable around each other. I'm absolutely 100% here for the chaos of Vlad and Ursula without a chaperone. And I'm here for the chaos of Vlad and Ursula together and Nathan's fond, loving eye roll as he trails after them, too enamored to tell either of them no because where would the fun in that be...
Anyway. Don't mind me. Just getting my thoughts out while everyone else is in bed.
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