#Sara 01

[wakeonthesand]

Joe drew in a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of dust and damp earth. His chest felt tight, and it took three gasping inhales before he sputtered and coughed, filling his lungs.

It was something he never thought he'd do again.

The jig was up. He wasn't picked during the Main Game and his fate had been sealed. He remembered telling everyone to work together to escape. He remembered telling Sara he loved her. He remembered pain. The persistent sound of something clicking. So where was he now? He was in the dark...well, almost. A cool blue light shone through a thin clay slab suspended above him. It was a cramped space.

Huh? No way...a coffin?

He reached up towards the opening, picking at it once he remembered how to move his fingers. The slab was flimsy and started deteriorating, crumbling on top of his torso. He covered his face and continued pushing debris until he could sit up and surround himself with the brisk night air. He looked around him curiously-- He was in a small room with bones piled in the corner and pillars rising to touch the damaged ceiling. Joe wanted out of here, and fast. He pushed the slab further down and listened as shards splintered to the floor.

He turned toward the entrance of this mausoleum, swinging his leg over the coffin's base and staring out into the fog. He swears he can hear twigs breaking nearby, and he can see a hazy figure approaching. A bright blue coat, and orange-brown hair. Maybe he's just imagining it.

"Yo...!! Sara! Saraaaaa! Is that you?! Wait up--"

He jolts forward, afraid if he doesn't chase her shadow that she might disappear--and immediately topples to the floor.

[sunsage]

@kujoutengu liked for a starter!

Spring time meant there was finally a chance for him to plant the seeds Sun gifted him during winter outside. There is little space in front of the house, but it's just enough for him to get started, digging out small holes and putting the little sprouts he cultivated in them.

He didn't exactly expect an audience though.

"From what I've heard, it's common to say 'take a picture, it will last longer' when someone stares at you, but I'm really not a fan of photos if I'm being honest. So, you want to help or something?"

[eternalrecurrxnce]

"Solstice! Now!"

With the command in place, the Spiramon leaped towards the Ofiucotot trying to get away; using a blast of Winter's Breath to keep it in place. The blizzard rushing from its mouth crystalized around the tiny android, causing it to fall over; no longer able to make an escape.

As if happy with itself, Solstice picked up the tiny robot, trotting over to its master as it purred happily. As Richter reached down to pet its head, retrieving the Ofiucotot from its jaws, the cool blue colour of their aura began to change; easing back into its natural green.

"That's one of.. many," however, it seemed their victory would only be temporary; the daunting thought of how much more they needed to catch causing a sigh to escape his lips. Placing the android in the pouch he was given, he passed his apparent partner a glance.

"I saw a group of them traversing through the tunnel up ahead-- that should be where we head to next. However, the ground here seems rather unstable; we'll have to avoid rushing through to the best of our ability."

– ☼☽;   ( @kujoutengu ) 

[hollygl125]

CSI | Sara Sidle + Gil Grissom | Season 01 Insp.

[dailysarachidouin]

DAY ONE: BLOG ICON!!

[ID: A colored digital drawing of Sara Chidouin from Your Turn To Die, shown from the chest up and smiling. Along with a star earring, she is wearing her school uniform, edited to have a yellow streak embroidered on the blazer's cuffs and lapels. A dark purple cat keychain sits in her breast pocket, and she wears a multicolored bracelet with blue, green, yellow, and purple beads, as well as a half heart charm with an "S" drawn onto it. She also wears a necklace, the design of which not pictured. Sara throws up a peace sign, exposing two of her nails, which are painted blue and purple respectively. The background is yellow with purple star outlines expanding outward. End ID.]

[adheidth]

As busy and bustling as the town seems, it is difficult to miss a person yelling at another in broad moonlight. Normally Sara wouldn't interfere in the affairs of others, but having more information at her disposal was imperative before complex webs of lies could be woven. She approaches with intent of asking about Randal until she peers more closely at the dress and patterned stockings donned by the girl.

As if turned to stone, Sara stares, thinking to herself in silence that she has the appearance of a storybook heroine.

"Your costume is remarkably lovely," she tells her at last. "Would you like to go trick-or-treating together this evening?"

Alice does not notice the other girl during her righteous crusade. In fact, it is only when Sara speaks that she properly demands Alice's attention, a voice that seems to have come from nowhere.

(Perhaps she's too faint of heart for this night of ghosts and ghouls. How long was she being watched? What a terrible first impression!)

It takes a moment for her to remember herself, flustered still from her confronting of Randal, but when she does, she lifts the hem of her skirt and gives the newcomer a curtsy.

"Thank you very much. I'll accompany you tonight, yes. If you are in need of a partner, it would be remiss of me to leave you be!"

A moment passes, thoughts spinning in Alice's head, before she offers the other a hand, a slow-turning realization that she's been rather lax with introductions.

"My name is Alice - and what is yours?"

(She's more than a bit excited to seize the chance of spending the night in the company of someone her age, even if the other girl is a tad.. offputting.)

[iwritesmutnottragedy]

Ian entered the tavern, his eyes scanning the room for Sara. He had a habit of seeking her out these days, finding any excuse to talk to her. He spotted her immediately, standing at the bar with her back to him. But his excitement quickly faded when she turned around, revealing her battered face. Her eye was swollen shut, and her lip was split.

He rushed to her side, his heart sinking at the sight of her injuries. "Sara! What happened?" he asked, gently cupping her chin to examine her face more closely.

One moment she was busy weaving in between tables and patrons and the next there was a firm but surprisingly gently set of fingers tilting her head up to look into familiar blue eyes. Sara's cheeks flushed at being caught off guard, then doubly so for not realizing the of course the first thing Ian would notice was the massive shiner she'd gotten in the days since they'd last spoken. "Ian! You're a sight for sore eyes, pun intended."

She winked at him with her good eye, determined to keep the mood light despite the immediate questioning. "I would love to chat but I'm a little busy right now…"

Sara cast a nervous glance towards where her boss was seated at a table towards the back, watching the interactions among the patrons and employees alike. She didn't want to deal with the consequences of him accusing her of slacking. "Perhaps you could walk me home this evening? We can talk about it then?"

Ian's eyes softened at her attempt at humor, though his concern grew more intense at her nervous glance towards her boss. He looked over at the man himself, his gaze icy as he took in the other man's watchful demeanor.

He turned his attention back to Sara, his grip on her chin becoming slightly protective. "Aye, I'll walk ye home tonight. Ye can tell me then. But… Sara…" He paused, his thumb gently tracing the edge of her split lip. "Who did this to ye?”

She resisted the urge to pull away and instead brought one of her hands up to circle her fingers around Ian's wrist. Sara could feel his pulse thrumming under the thin skin there and she tried not to shiver at the contact. Instead she merely whispered, "Later. Ian. I promise." And hurried off to serve the rest of the tavern.

It was hard to work the rest of the day knowing that she would be seeing him again as soon as it was over. Anxious butterflies swarmed in her stomach as she once again thought about what she had to ask him…The short and curvy woman wrapped the woven shawl around herself and stepped out into the evening air.

Her eyes scanned the street until they landed on his. A smile broke out across her face as she saw him, unable to contain it even as the expression pulled on the swollen skin of her face. She took a few steps forward to meet him half way. "Thank you for walking me home…I know you have questions."

Ian was already striding toward her the moment he laid eyes on her, his steps quick and purposeful.

Sara's smile, even through the signs of her injury, was enough to soothe some of his worry. But his jaw clenched and his fists still curled by his sides as he came to stand before her.

"Aye, I have questions," he replied, his voice low and gruff. He paused, his gaze sweeping over her face once more before he asked, "Who did this, Sara? Was it yer boss?”

When Ian immediately jumped into wanting answers she reached out to gently wrap a hand around his elbow and lead him down the street and away from the tavern. She planned on being honest with him and the last thing she wanted was him rushing off somewhere to defend her honor or something. Sara needed to be able to ask him something important first. Once she was satisfied they were far enough away, she turned toward Ian and looked down at her feet. Her walking pace slowed to an almost stop.

"There's a patron at the tavern-- a wealthy one, who wants my hand." She began. "I have no male relatives, so he asked my employer for permission…"

Ian's stride matched hers, his eyes never leaving her face. Every muscle in his body tensed when she said she was being pursued by a wealthy patron. He found himself clenching his jaw so hard that it ached as he fought the urge to go back to the tavern and deal with this man directly.

But he stayed quiet, listening intently as she explained the situation. "And yer employer agreed?" he managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

"Oh, he was thrilled." Her tone was bitter and her fingers tightened their grip on his elbow without meaning to. Most days she was able to forget just how different things were in this time-- until a man asked her boss to basically buy her. With a heavy sigh she released Ian's arm to pull her shawl tighter around herself, more for security than because she was cold.

"I told him there was no way in hell I was marrying that stinky old bastard."

Ian's arm prickled with gooseflesh where her fingertips had been, and he had to resist the urge to pull her back. His anger flared hotter, knowing her employer saw her as a mere commodity to sell, rather than a person.

"Aye, we're in agreement there," he said gruffly, his voice a low growl. "But what about the black eye an' swollen lip? How'd ye get those?" He raised a hand, gently touching his thumb to the swelling below the bruised eye.

Sara had been looking at how the sky was bathed in pinks and purple and blue as the sun began to set over the trees and mountains off in the distance, momentarily distracted by the wonder that was colonial America. The stars were so much brighter here than in her own time. Ian's thumb eclipsed the periphery of her vision and Sara resisted the urge to flinch out of self defense. Immediate guilt and embarrassment ran hot through her and she cleared her throat, forcing a humorless chuckle. "Sorry, I guess I'm still a little jumpy."

It was harder than she expected to actually admit to the physical assault, it broke a little bit of her pride that someone had been allowed - within his rights even, to treat her that way. "I may have also called him some not very nice names. The man has a temper and I was tired of trying to be…diplomatic, you see."

Ian noticed the way she flinched, the guilt in her chuckle, and his anger flared again. He knew she was proud, strong, independent - he respected that. But she was not the type to be cowed, and it made his blood boil to think of some rich prick putting his hands on her.

"No amount o' wealth gives a man the right to lay his hands on a woman," he said, his eyes hard. "Ye're a bonny lass, Sara. I understand why ye'd have admirers. But that…that's inexcusable.”

"I'm glad you think so." They were getting closer and closer to the women's boarding house that she was staying at, a small inn like establishment for the unmarried women and single mothers not yet forced to sell themselves in order to keep food on the table. It was a small blessing considering that she lacked most knowledge that women in this time were expected to know. It gave her the opportunity to learn without obvious suspicion.

But the closer they got to her living arrangements, the more she was running out of time. Sara paused walked and turned to Ian. "That brings me to what I wanted to speak with you about."

Ian's pace slowed to match hers as they neared her boarding house, his hands still clenched at his sides. His thoughts still dwelled on the man who had struck her, the anger still pulsing hot through his veins.

But as she paused mid-stride, he halted as well, turning to face her fully. He met her gaze, his own gaze intense and questioning. "Aye? What is it, Sara?" he asked.

"During our dispute," It was a struggle to keep the emotion out of her voice. If she thought about the night too long she could still feel the threatening heat of him looming over her, the surprise when he'd pulled back a clenched fist and-- "He made it known that if I refused this offer and embarrassed him, I would lose my employment."

The cruel thing was she would lose the job either way. If she agreed to marry the man then at least Sara would be guaranteed a roof over her head, but she would never know happiness or peace. If she refused him as she intended-- she would be a penniless beggar before the summer's end.

"So I came up with a plan. Ian…" She looked up at him with a mix of hopelessness and desperation. "Will you…would you, um….Marry me?”

Ian's heart skipped a beat as the words left her lips. For a moment, he stood there in stunned silence, his brain struggling to comprehend what she had just asked.

Marry her?

The thought sent an unexpected thrill through his body, but at the same time, the idea of Sara marrying out of necessity - to avoid abuse and destitution - made his stomach churn.

He reached out, grasping her elbow firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. "Sara, ye canna be serious. Ye want to marry me…because ye have no other option?”

Her own dark brown eyes widened at the question and she nearly jerked her arm away. Is that what he thought of her? That she would just throw herself at anyone in order to solver her problems? She took a step away from him and her voice raised a bit with mild scandal. "What? No!"

Sara forced a calming breath through her nose and exhaled in a deep controlled sigh. It wasn't his fault for assuming that. She hadn't explained herself well enough. "No, Ian, I asked you because I…care for you. I've more fondness for you in my little finger than this entire fucking county put together."

If it were up to her she would have allowed their friendship to bloom further, maybe even turn into a true courtship -- but that option had been taken from her. "You're right, I do have to find someone out of necessity but…"

Ian's eyes widened in surprise at her outburst, his grip on her elbow loosening as he stepped back, giving her space. His heart tightened. Had he just insulted her? Assumed she wasn't serious?

But then she continued speaking, and his heart thumped again at her words. "Fondness" and "care" weren't love words, but right now he had to remind himself that that was okay. This wasn't about love. It was about saving her from a fate worse than hell.

He stepped closer, his voice gruff. "Ye care for me, do ye?”

She searched his face, trying to tell if his question was going to lead to a future rejection. Already her heart was in her throat and she wished he would just give her an answer, just put her out of her misery so she could know whether or not her future was truly lost. "I thought that much was obvious? Ian, I wouldn't have even bothered asking if I didn't care-- though perhaps if I really cared I wouldn't be trying to drag you into my unfortunate predicament."

The sun had almost set now and she was running out of time. The last thing she needed was a reprimand for breaking curfew on top of everything. Sara wrung her hands nervously. "Look, just tell me if you're not interested…I'll understand. We can even still keep our friendship, though that may be a little hard to do.."

Ian's heart pounded, his mind racing. Part of him desperately wanted to say yes, to take her in his arms and shield her from everything. But he knew it wasn't that simple. He knew she knew it wasn't that simple.

But the thought of her marrying some repulsive old bastard sent anger coursing through him like fire.

"Of course I care for ye, Sara." His voice was rough, his expression almost pained. "But ye're asking me to marry ye, to marry you, on a whim, only because you have no other choice…”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I…I willna let ye live on the streets, or become someone's property. If ye're set on this, I will keep ye safe. But it'll be a marriage in name only, do ye understand? I wouldna ask ye to be a wife in all the ways a man expects a wife to be.”

His words sent a pang of sadness through her heart but she valiantly kept it from showing on her face. Instead, a wide, relieved smile spread across her expression and tugged painfully at her split lip. But she didn't care. She took one of Ian's large freckled hands in both of hers, pulling him forward so that he was only a few inches away. It probably looked inappropriate to the average passerby but she didn't care about that either. Only the mix of happiness and relief that rushed through her.

"I understand. And I wouldn't stop you from…seeing other people. If you wanted to." The words tasted like sand in her mouth but he was already doing such a big favor for her-- she couldn't deny him a chance at happiness as well.

"Do you really agree to this, Ian? Truly?" She couldn't help the blatant hope that slipped into her tone.

Ian's eyes darkened as she spoke, taking in her words with conflicted emotions.

See other people. The thought of her knowing he was with another woman made his stomach twist uncomfortably, but he reminded himself that they weren't marrying out of love. It was a transaction, a deal. Nothing more.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on her hands. "Aye, I agree. But I have two conditions.”

"First, no one can know the truth of our marriage. Our families, our friends, they must all believe it is a true union."

He paused, his eyes locking onto hers. "And second, once ye're no longer in danger…once ye're safe….ye leave, and find some honest man to marry. I wona rob ye of the chance at a real family and happiness.”

His words made sense. She could only imagine how his family might react to finding out she had coerced him into a marriage. Already she had an endless pit of guilt forming in her stomach over the arrangement. And yet here he was, trying to make sure she would still be able to have a piece of her own happiness. It made Sara's heart swell with affection that she quickly reined in. She squeezed his hand and rocked back on her heels in barely contained excitement.

"I agree to your terms, Ian Murray. So if you'll have me…I would be honored to be your wife.

Ian's heart fluttered in his chest at her words, but he forced himself to remain calm. This was a business arrangement. Nothing more. But he still felt a pang of guilt when he thought about the fact she would never know the love of a husband.

He nodded curtly. "Then, Sara, we have a deal."

He released her hands, his face stoic and emotionless. "When is the old bastard expecting an answer?”

The night air felt colder than it had before with the absence of his hand I hers but she pushed the feeling away. Instead she pushed some of her long dark hair away from her face, the bruise not nearly as obvious in the low light as it had been earlier. Though the scab on the cut that her split was a dark line against the otherwise smooth skin there.

Now that they had that settled, she began walking back to the boarding house, taking Ian's elbow in her hand as they walked with a casual ease. "He gave me until the end of the week to change my mind…I suppose it would only be fair to give you the same amount of time…to change your mind.."

She hated the thought but refused to trap him more than she already was.

Ian's jaw clenched as she mentioned the deadline, and he nodded stiffly. "Aye, the end of the week, then."

He walked alongside her, his steps in sync with hers. For a few moments, they walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

Finally, he broke the quiet. "Can I ask ye one more thing?”

His gruff tone was tempered with a hint of hesitation, as though he wasn't sure he should ask her the question that had been dancing on the tip of his tongue. He stopped in his tracks, forcing her to stop as well.

"Why are ye in this situation, Sara?" he asked, his eyes fixed on hers. "Why do ye have no one else to turn to?”

She had always been so careful about avoiding talking about her past or family, now she had put herself in a situation where coming up with some kind of story was necessary. Sara looked down as she answered Ian, not a trace of a lie in her features. "I'm an only child and my parents are…gone. Recently."

The emotion blocking her throat was real enough. Her parents were centuries in the future-- her whole family was. But that was something she could never tell anyone.

"I have no other family in the country, and I'm not sure if you've noticed but I can be rather…abrasive. Not exactly what many want in a wife."

Ian's expression softened as he listened to her answer, his initial suspicion giving way to a flicker of compassion. As she explained her past, he couldn't help but think of his own losses, and how isolated she must feel without family around her.

His eyes narrowed as she joked about being "abrasive." "Ye're no' that bad," he grumbled. "Just a bit…loud.”

He began walking again, falling into step beside her. "What about friends? A lover?"

The question was out before he could stop it, and he winced inwardly, wondering where the hell it had come from. It was none of his business, he reminded himself sternly.

"No. I spend most of my time working or alone." She couldn't afford to let anyone get too close. Already she was worried about how she would keep the truth of her past hidden from Ian. He was a kind, surprisingly progressive man but she couldn't fathom him understanding something like her being from a different time. They stopped walking a few feet away from the creaky wooden steps that let up to the boarding house. She could practically feel the eyes of nosy spinsters peaking out at them from behind their curtains, looking for any kind of gossip.

"I suppose this is where we say goodnight…I think you should take a couple days to think about this-- make sure it's what you want. If it is, then I will tell my employer at the week's end." She went to bite her bottom lip and winced when the swollen, cracked skin protested.

Ian's chest tightened as she confirmed she had no one. He knew all too well how lonely life could be without those who cared about you, how it felt to carry burdens alone. He wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort, but he knew it wasn't his place. This was just a business arrangement, not a real marriage.

He studied her, feeling conflicted. "Aye, I'll think about it. And Sara…" He hesitated, his eyes drifting to her injured lip. He wanted to throttle the bastard who had done this to her.

"Take care of your…injury," he said gruffly, his gaze lingering on the swollen lip. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and touch it gently, to reassure her that everything would be alright.

He took a step back, his eyes locking with hers one final time. "I'll find ye before the week ends. I'll give ye my answer then.”

[kmadrigalsoto]

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: bubble time

❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: afternoon

❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: closed for @sarayoonc

Gently pinching Hanbin's cheeks, Kimberly couldn't help but coo out praises of how adorable he is while they waited for their bobba orders. "As I was saying, bobba is the key to a lot of cute people's hearts. If they don't like bobba..." She paused the heiress chose her words carefully, "Then that's bad and sad at the same time...They could still be cute, but I wouldn't trust them if I were yo—" Before she could even finish her sentence, their order number was called and Kimberly immediately walked over to get them before returning to Sara and Hanbin's side.

Stabbing the straw into his drink, she slid the cup over to Hanbin, before handing over Sara's drink. "Enjoy!" Kimberly then turned to her best friend and grinned, "That's a good lesson right? I was going to say ugly, but that seemed to harsh. Besides, what was that saying? 'I don't chase, I attract'...Yeah, there's no way this little bundle of joy is going to attract ugly people." Taking a sip of her drink, she then gently bumped shoulders with Sara and asked, "Thank you for hanging out with me today. How's everything with you?"

[jemmaxlawson]

closed starter for @sarayoonc

Today was a slow day. Jemma hated slow days because then the time would pass slower than usual but she'd recently found use of such days. She loved the spring time because there was a variety of textures and taste to choose from. She was just finishing brewing a new blend, the air filled with lavender scent, when she heard the small bell ring. She turned to see a familiar face, making her grin. "Come in!" She gestured for Sara to step in and get closer. "Would you like to try this new blend I'm working on? I'm thinking it may be a perfect fit for Mahi's opening night at Soundwave."

[ariyacl]

closed starter @sarayoonc

Her eyes were on her friend as she watched Sara attempt to balance on the surfboard, despite wobbling precariously. "You're doing great, Sara. Remember to keep your knees bent and your arms out for balance," she called out encouragingly. The day was nice as sand shifted beneath Ariya's feet as she waded deeper into the water, keeping a watchful eye on her friend. "Don't worry if you fall off, it's all part of the learning process. Just keep trying and you'll get the hang of it in no time!" Surfing was not for the faint of heart. Ironic considering her failing heart years back, but still, it her words were earnest.

[purewhitedevil]

starter - @kujoutengu

Somewhere around one of the mausoleums around the Great Tomb lies a group of workers with a leaf-theme. An old man and a group of young men around armed with different kinds of weapons, making it a balanced role of a fighter, thief and what not.

Instead, Albedo and Sara stands beneath them.

"I recommend to use everything you got. They may look weak but they know what they're doing." This was supposed to be where the Pleiades and the Guarders pincering them but instead, it's her and the other against the invaders of the large misty tomb.

[laylcsaxena]

closed starter @sarayoonc

After taking her seat, Layla stared the blank canvas before her, while the room buzzed with chatter and laughter as people settled in. Glancing at the woman beside her, she smiled. "Hi there, I'm Layla. Is this your first time at one of these?" She said, trying to break the ice. It wasn't like anyone was expecting a masterpiece, but still, the pressure was on. At least there was wine, right? That should help to loosen up the creative juices. Or maybe it would just make her brushstrokes more erratic. Either way, it was bound to be an interesting evening. 

[fictionstudent]

How to pull off descriptions

New authors always describe the scene and place every object on the stage before they press the play button of their novels. And I feel that it happens because we live in a world filled with visual media like comics and films, which heavily influence our prose.

In visual media, it’s really easy to set the scene—you just show where every object is, doesn’t matter if they’re a part of the action about to come or not. But prose is quite different from comics and films. You can’t just set the scene and expect the reader to wait for you to start action of the novel. You just begin the scene with action, making sure your reader is glued to the page.

And now that begs the question—if not at the beginning, where do you describe the scene? Am I saying you should not use descriptions and details at all? Hell naw! I’m just saying the way you’re doing it is wrong—there’s a smarter way to pull off descriptions. And I’m here to teach that to you.

***

#01 - What are descriptions?

Let’s start with the basics—what are descriptions? How do you define descriptions? Or details, for that matter? And what do the words include?

Descriptions refer to… descriptions. It’s that part of your prose where you’re not describing something—the appearance of an object, perhaps. Mostly, we mean scene-descriptions when we use the term, but descriptions are more than just scene-descriptions.

Descriptions include appearances of characters too. Let’s call that character-descriptions.

Both scene-descriptions and character-descriptions are forms of descriptions that we regularly use in our prose. We mostly use them at the beginning of the scene—just out of habit.

Authors, especially the newer ones, feel that they need to describe each and every nook and cranny of the place or character so they can be visualized clearly by their readers, right as the authors themselves visualized them. And they do that at the start of the scene because how can you visualize a scene when you don’t know how the scene looks first.

And that’s why your prose is filled with how the clouds look or what lights are on the room before you even start with the dialogues and action. But the first paragraph doesn’t need to be a simple scene-description—it makes your prose formulaic and predictable. And boring. Let me help you with this.

***

#02 - Get in your narrator’s head

The prose may have many MCs, but a piece of prose only has a single narrator. And these days, that’s mostly one of the characters of your story. Who uses third-person omniscient narrator these days anyway? If that’s you, change your habits.

Anyway, know your narrator. Flesh out their character. And then internalize them—their speech and stuff like that. Internalize your narrator to such an extent that you can write prose from their point-of-view.

Now, I don’t mean to say that only your narrator should be at the center of the scene—far from it. What I mean is you should get into your narrator’s head.

You do not describe a scene from the eyes of the author—you—but from the eyes of the narrator. You see from their eyes, and understand what they’re noticing. And then you write that.

Start your scene with what the narrator is looking at.

For example,

The dark clouds had covered the sky that day. The whole classroom was in shades of gray—quite unusual for someone like Sara who was used to the sun. She felt the gloom the day had brought with it—the gloom that no one else in her class knew of.

She never had happy times under the clouds like that. Rain made her sad. Rain made her yearn for something she couldn’t put into words. What was it that she was living for? Money? Happiness?

As she stared at the sky through the window, she was lost in her own quiet little corner. Both money and happiness—and even everything else—were temporary. All of it would leave her one day, then come back, then leave, then come back, like the waves of an ocean far away from any human civilization in sight.

All of it would come and go—like rain, it’d fall on her, like rain, it’d evaporate without proof.

And suddenly, drops of water began hitting the window.

You know it was a cloudy day, where it could rain anytime soon. You know that for other students, it didn’t really matter, but Sara felt really depressed because of the weather that day. You know Sara was at the corner, dealing with her emotions alone.

It’s far better than this,

The dark clouds covered the sky that day. It could rain anytime soon.

From her seat at the corner of the room, Sara stared at the sky that made everything gray that day. She…

The main reason it doesn’t work is that you describe the scene in the first paragraph, but it’s devoid of any emotions. Of any flavor. It’s like a factual weather report of the day. That’s what you don’t want to do—write descriptions in a factual tone.

If you want to pull off the prior one, get to your narrator’s head. See from their eyes, think from their brain. Understand what they’re experiencing, and then write that experience from their POV.

Sara didn’t care what everyone was wearing—they were all probably in their school uniforms, obviously, so I didn’t describe that. Sara didn’t focus on how big the classroom was, or how filled, or what everybody was doing. Sara was just looking at the clouds and the clouds alone, hearing everybody just living their normal days, so I mentioned just those things.

As the author, you need to understand that only you, the author are the know-it-all about the scene, not your narrator. And that you’re different from your narrator.

Write as a narrator, not as an author.

***

#03 - Filler Words

This brings me to filler words. Now, hearing my advice, you might start writing something like this,

Sarah noticed the dark clouds through the window. She saw that they’d saturated the place gray.

Fillers words like “see”, “notice”, “stare”, “hear” should be ignored. But many authors who begin writing from the POV of the characters start using these verbs to describe what the character is experiencing.

But remember, the character is not cognizant of the fact that they’re seeing a dark cloud, just that it’s a dark cloud. You don’t need these filler words—straight up describe what the character is seeing, instead of describing that the character is seeing.

Just write,

There were dark clouds on the other end of the window, which saturated the place gray.

Sarah is still seeing the clouds, yeah. But we’re looking from her eyes, and her eyes ain’t noticing that she’s noticing the clouds.

It’s kinda confusing, but it’s an important mistake to avoid. Filler words can really make your writing sound more amateurish than before and take away the experience of the reader, because the reader wants to see through the narrator’s eyes, not that the narrator is seeing.

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#04 - Characters

Character-descriptions are a lot harder to pull off than scene-descriptions. Because it’s really confusing to know when to describe them, their clothing, their appearances, and what to tell and what not to.

For characters, you can give a full description of their looks. Keep it concise and clear, so that your readers can get a pretty good idea of the character with so few words that they don’t notice you’ve stopped action for a while.

Or can show your narrator scanning the character, and what they noticed about them.

Both these two tricks only work when a character is shown first time to the readers. After that, you don’t really talk about their clothing or face anymore.

Until there’s something out of the ordinary about your character.

What do I mean by that? See, you’ve described the face and clothes of the character, and the next time they appear, the reader is gonna imagine the character in a similar set of clothes, with the same face and appearance that they had the first time. Therefore, any time other than the first, you don’t go into detail about the character again. But, if something about your character is out of ordinary—there are bruises on their face, scars, or a change in the way they dress—describe it to the reader. That’s because your narrator may notice these little changes.

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#05 - Clothing

Clothing is a special case. Some new authors describe the clothes of the characters when they’re describing the character every time the reader sees them. So, I wanna help you with this.

Clothing can be a way to show something about your character—a character with a well-ironed business suit is gonna be different from a character with tight jeans and baggy t-shirt. Therefore, only use clothing to tell something unique about the character.

Refrain from describing the clothing of characters that dress like most others. Like, in a school, it’s obvious that all characters are wearing school uniforms. Also, a normal teenage boy may wear t-shirts and denim jeans. If your character is this, no need to describe their clothing—anything the reader would be imagining is fine.

Refrain from describing the clothing of one-dimensional side-characters—there’s a high chance you’ve not really created them well enough that they have clothing that differs from the expectations of the readers. We all know what waiters wear, or what a college guy who was just passing by in the scene would be wearing.

You may describe the clothing of the important character in the story, but only in the first appearance. After that, describe their clothes only if the clothes seem really, really different from the first time. And stop describing their clothes if you’ve set your character well enough in the story that your readers know what to expect from them in normal circumstances—then, describe clothes only when they’re really, really different from their usual forms of clothing.

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#06 - Conclusion

I think there was so much I had to say in this article, but I didn’t do a good job. However, I said all that I wanted to say. I hope you guys liked the article and it helps you in one way or the other.

And please subscribe if you want more articles like this straight in your inbox!

[marimelwrites]

@proverbialsaints - continued from your reply to my open starter HERE!

For a moment Maddox tried to wrack his brain and attempt to remember who this woman was. He couldn't recognize her from any thing in the past, which made him question whether or not he was that selfish that he hadn't noticed, or whether she was actually new. It didn't matter either way, as he had every intention to see her safely home. It was essential that nobody get hurt on his watch. He might have a reputation for being an asshole, but most people didn't know that it had been a defense mechanism in place due to his past. His twin brother was the only person who knew he wasn't truly a jerk.

As they walked in the direction of where she was staying, Maddox waved off her comment. "Don't worry about me. I assure you that I'm walking you to the door whether you want me to, or not," he replied, turning his gaze back over to her. "I would prefer making sure that you get back safely. You don't want to be wandering a city alone at this time of night." He slipped his hands into his pockets as they continued to stroll, and he appreciated the weather. "So, I take it that you're not from the area of you're staying at a hotel?"

[hollygl125]

CSI | I DREAM OF GSR | Season 01

[moonlightrafe]

Thawed Out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.