#there’s a lot that needs revising/filling in to get there obviously

[malkaleh]

Anyway I wrote down the final scene/epilogue* of Golden World 2.0 today and I am vibrating with excitement because this thing just clicked and anyway !!!!!

*Thinking about it it’s actually more like ‘epilogue/afterward + epilogue 2.0? (Phrasing?) because I have known how and where Golden World (2.0 and Original) ends for a while and the year (1570) but the epilogue/afterward + second epilogue is not. It’s [redacted] and [redacted]

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not sure if you've answered something like this before, but how do I write "prettier" sentences? I know one thing that will help would be expanding my vocabulary, but a thesaurus only seems to get me so far. I feel like when I write, especially when I'm describing things, my sentences are so basic. Idk if this makes sense, if it doesn't I can try and find examples from other writers to help describe what I'm talking about!

How to Write "Prettier" Sentences

Pretty prose is something many writers aspire to, however, it's not as easy to achieve as looking up words in a thesaurus. It's something you have to train yourself to do through both learning and practice.

Learn By Reading/Listening

First and foremost, making sure you're reading/listening to a variety of books and stories is essential if you want to learn how to craft prettier prose. Reading and listening to stories helps train your brain to: recognize the cadence of pretty prose, understand the structuring of pretty prose, understand how to craft meaningful imagery, and fills your head with vocabulary.

Expanding Your Vocabulary

Vocabulary is also an important component of crafting pretty prose. Following web sites, pages, and apps that have a "word of the day" (like the Merriam-Webster website) is a great way to learn new words. You can also purchase a word-of-the-day desk calendar for 2024. Some writers like to flip open the thesaurus every day on a random page and read a few random words. You can also read creative articles in newspapers, magazines, websites, etc. to learn new words. You can also look up the specific vocabulary for something you're describing, like if you're describing a house, you can look up the architectural style and general architectural terms to learn how to describe specific things like the style of home, the trim, the windows, etc. Finally, in addition to the thesaurus as a source of new words, you can add other word references to your collection, such as The Describer's Dictionary, the Random House Word Menu, The Writer's Lexicon, etc.

Learning Poetic Cadence and Imagery

Listening to music/reading song lyrics, and reading/listening to poetry are great ways to teach your brain how to craft descriptive imagery. Poetry has to say a lot with few words, so it helps you understand the power of using just the right words in just the right way.

Effective Description is Important

Effective description is of course another piece of the puzzle. Not all writing is description, but a lot of pretty prose is descriptive. So, when you're describing things in your story, make sure to consider the senses--what can be seen, heard, tasted, smelled, felt/touched? You don't want to incorporate all of that into the description of one thing, obviously, but if your character is walking into a forest, considering all of those things can help you come up with a vivid, beautiful description. Sometimes, looking for photos or videos of the thing you want to describe can be helpful, too.

Practice Makes Perfect

And last but not least: practice. Once you've started to train your brain using the methods above, when you go through a draft to revise it and come to a sentence that needs sprucing up, try out different things that you've learned. Don't go overboard with the thesaurus, but perhaps your sentence describes twinkling stars... is there another word you could use instead of twinkling that's more surprising and vivid? The thesaurus suggests: glimmering, shimmering, sparkling, blinking... cross-checking each of these in the dictionary shows they're all appropriate choices for describing the twinkle of a star. You can also read the sentence out loud to listen to the cadence... are there longer or shorter (yet appropriate) words you can use instead to make the sentence more lyrical? Improving your sentences in editing helps you learn to craft pretty sentences as you're writing them the first time.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[loviatarsluv]

An Acquired Taste

“You play a twisted little game,

but I know in a way,

you need to complicate”

(gif from @silverformymonsters)

pairing: Astarion x afab f!tav (my oc, Aelia)

(takes place during the events of the game)

rating: mature

CW: threats of bodily harm (but like, sexy style), lots of sexual tension, choking, fingering, (f) oral, some light knifeplay, enemies to fwb type beat yk

in summary: Aelia and Astarion don't get along. At all. But all that built up tension and all those strong feelings have to go somewhere, right?

a/n: revision of my astarion fic on my old blog bc I really didn't have aelia as a character developed very well in my mind at the time nor what their relationship would probably look like so I decided to have another crack at it, hope you enjoy! :)

(oh also inspired by this song by sleep token bc obviously)

word count: 10.3k (oops i am so sorry)

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i.

The trek back to camp is mostly silent, save for the odd comment about the weather or spew of stream of consciousness by Karlach, which provided at least a tiny bit of comic relief.

The air was thick and suffocating between the party’s leader and the vampire who just loved to piss her off— the air between them was typically quite tense, but today in particular was double what was usual for them.

As soon as they reach the camp, the group splits, all scattering across the site to their own chosen sections of it, Astarion nonchalantly strolling off to his own tent— seemingly unbothered in spite of his tightly wound shoulder muscles— which just so happened to be the closest one to hers. She audibly growls in frustration, earning a few concerned stares from her companions. 

Gods forbid she find a modicum of solace within her own tent.

Before any of her companions can stop her or inevitably approach her with questions about what happened between her and Astarion, or unsolicited and, quite frankly, unnecessary advice, she slips off to the place that had been the one place of uninterrupted peace she had been able to find as of late. 

The clearing in the forest near the water's edge that was just outside of camp, mostly hidden from the rest of the forest and guarded by a tall thicket of brush that she had only been able to find by crawling under a large fallen branch that cleared a small path just big enough for her to squeeze through. 

She huffs a short sigh, but not one of relief as she’d initially hoped to find. 

The usually ataractic smell of petrichor mixed with the misty air near the running stream fills her nose as she trudges through the muddy soil, her leather and metal plated boots feeling ten stones heavier than usual. She sets her sights on a fallen tree near the water, sinking down into the dirt before it and resting her nagging back against it, releasing another, much longer and deeper breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding for what felt like days.

She slowly strips off the outer layers of her lightly plated armor piece by piece, goosebumps prickling her skin with each new bit of flesh exposed to the crisp evening air. 

She hisses in pain as she discovers a few new bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been there prior to the events of the day while removing her gear, her pale skin tender and sore beneath it. Her entire body ached terribly, and she was utterly sapped.

The previous few days had been more challenging than anything she’d experienced in recent history— their predicament unfolding before them all in increasingly bleak shades of stormy gray and blood red with each new bit of information they receive regarding the mystery surrounding the parasites that writhed within their skulls. 

She’d be lying if she said she still held the same amount of optimism toward the prospect of a cure as she had in the earlier days of their expedition. No, that was long gone.

In fact, the only emotion she seemed to feel lately was anger. Rage.

She knew that Faerûn was going to shit prior to being abducted by the mind flayers, but she had never seen for herself how truly doomed it was the way she had since then. It was sobering, to say the least.

She never considered herself to be particularly altruistic or even virtuous by any means, having been raised to prioritize her own safety as well as her loved ones’ before all else, as well as only being able to survive by picking pockets and slitting throats that stood in the way since her late teen years. 

She wasn’t proud of it all, and her mind was not unburdened with the guilt that came with the darker parts of her years spent under the thumbs of those who only saw others as a means to an end. 

But it was necessary at the time. It continued to be necessary, even more so now than ever before. 

An image of home flashes through her mind as it treads that path— her real home. The home she shared with her family before it all burned to the ground. 

She thinks of her sister, Nyzira, somewhere cozy and comfortable— likely  Rivington, she thinks— barefoot with her ivory hair that perfectly matched their mother’s tied back as she tended to her new family. 

Perhaps there were a few little Zira’s running around, with full bellies and big crooked smiles like their grandfather’s. 

She wondered if any of them even knew that she existed, somewhere out there in the realm. 

She envied her at first, when she first discovered what came of her life after they’d been separated. She was happy for her, naturally— but the sting of knowing that she’d found exactly what she’d always wanted almost immediately after everything came crumbling down was just as cruel. 

Eventually she’d come to terms with the fact that the prospect of such happiness wasn’t as likely for herself as it’d been for her much less life-hardened  sister— who’d rarely had to do so much as lift a finger outside of tending to their father for a great few years while Aelia had taken the brunt of all responsibility in place of him. 

A rueful smirk burgeons on the corners of her lips as her mind shifts to think about what had eventually become her home after she’d regretfully had to leave her first one behind— Baldur’s Gate. 

The bustling streets and the busy taverns in the upper city where she procured the majority of her coin and found both mild fortune and great misfortune all the same. 

She chuckles to herself as she thinks of all of the nobles whose pockets she’d made lighter who were none the wiser— hells, most of them probably never noticed as gold was never in short supply for them the way it was for the rest of the population. 

They were easy targets only due to their noses being so high in the air that they didn’t notice those beneath their opulent tanned hides, scrounging the streets for the crumbs they crushed beneath those perfectly polished slippers that she detested— how gaudy and pretentious. 

But all she ever had to do was bat her eyelashes, whisper the same rehearsed sweet nothings that worked on every single one of them, and expertly slip her hand into their pockets while they were dumbstruck and enchanted by her every move. It was easier than easy, it was effortless.

She almost misses it, which was a thought she never thought would cross her mind— but things were simpler, then. It had all become routine after so many years of it, and the pains of her labour dulled over time as the wounds from it slowly healed. Slowly, yes, but healed all the same. 

Of course, there was still the threat of death looming over her at every turn then, but at least she could put up a fight against the daggers and swords that were held to her throat when she got caught with her hand where it shouldn’t have been— but not this time, no. There was no fighting this. 

Not the way she was used to, at least. 

She couldn’t threaten the tadpole into ejecting itself with knives or swords or warfare, and she certainly couldn’t fight off ceremorphosis by sheer willpower. 

True, she could cut through every goblin, drow, or cultist that dared cross her path if they didn’t offer a cure or information for a cure, but none of that mattered as the creature inside her was nothing more than a ticking time bomb. 

Every second that passed could be her last without tentacles and an insatiable appetite for brains, and she’d be rendered nothing more than a soulless monster, doomed to follow every command given to it by an even greater monstrosity.

Her hope and faith in finding a solution deteriorated more and more as the days passed with no answers, no leads, and the prospect of making it out on the other side of this predicament seemed ever more distant. 

A fleeting daydream dissolved by acerbic reality. 

She groans loudly to herself, tossing her pounding head into her still bloodied hands as she brings her knees closer to her chest, wishing she could shrink and disappear into oblivion. Wishing the mud below her would form a sinkhole and just swallow her, that way it didn’t matter anymore, nothing would.

She reaches toward the edge of the water to rinse her hands, the cool water having a sharp bite to it the moment her skin comes into contact. 

She takes a preparative breath before cupping the water and splashing it across her face gently, still feeling the grime stuck to her skin as if it had become a permanent fixture on her body. Some days it truly felt that way— no amount of scrubbing or Gale’s fancy soap that she’d nick from his bag could make her feel truly clean. 

“Fuck,” She whispers through gritted teeth as she feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, much to her physical and internal protest.

In spite of her throbbing muscles and aching bones, she pushes herself up from the ground, refusing to resort to wallowing in self pity and mourning her once simple life, if she could call it that. 

She supposed it was, in comparison. 

But her chest felt as though it were caught in a vice, clamping down on her ribs and lungs and it felt as if she were fighting for every breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms so deeply that they were on the verge of drawing blood. 

She felt the need to scream, to cry, to break something— even though she knew nothing would alleviate the weight that rested on her shoulders so heavily. Nothing that was remotely within her reach. 

She felt like everything had come crashing down on her all at once and she was helpless to fight the barrage of what ifs and the potential outcomes of them flooded her mind.

Then, to top it all, her earlier argument with Astarion resurfaces in her mind.

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“Apologies for not being as keen to remove the thing that has given me what I’ve been deprived of for two centuries. I’m only saying that we should—”

“So you’d trade feasting on rats and rotting in a dirty cell for feasting on brains at the command of some start-up god? Desperation doesn’t suit you.”

His crimson eyes that were typically bright and playful were now dark and malignant, his jaw clenched and fangs bared. He looked as though he were about to lunge at her, before Wyll restrained his arms and held him back, much to his violent protest. 

She regretted it the moment it left her lips, but she was too angry and too prideful to take it back. But he was seriously irking her— he provoked it out of her, she could hardly blame herself or feel sorry.

“What about you? Roaming the streets, scrounging through the garbage and the dirt for table scraps, stealing from nobles as you perch atop their laps— you’re no better than the rats I fed on, the only difference is that they were more tolerable company.”

It was then her turn to get pulled away, as within an instant her dagger was unsheathed and pointed in his direction. She couldn’t tell who it was that grabbed her— perhaps Gale, she thought, who was admittedly much sturdier than he appeared as he subdued her fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her away from the hissing vampire who was spewing further vitriol her way. 

It took a lot of talking both of them down to diffuse the situation enough to safely make it back to camp in one piece, both of them too stubborn and prideful to let the matter rest until they just couldn’t stand to be near each other anymore.

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His voice echoes in her head, reminding her of every person she’d ever reached out to for help in her life, degrading her to nothing more than a pest begging and fucking for scraps. Her temper rises as she replays his words— “you’re no better than the rats I fed on”— turning his words over and over in her head, the final time they replay finally tipping her over the edge. 

She retrieves her rapier from the heap she’d discarded her armor and clothes in catching a glimpse of herself reflected on the blade. 

She looked tired. Exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly beginning to rival the shadow of her cheekbones casted over her sunken in cheeks from lack of proper nutrition for weeks now. Her hair was loose and wild, having fallen from her typically well kept braided updo. She looked as if she hadn’t rested in gods knew how long.

She clenches her jaw hard, her teeth aching from the pressure, and tightens her grip on the hilt of her weapon. 

She searches for a good target, her eyes landing on a large oak tree adjacent to where she’d been sitting. It looked sturdy enough to handle whatever she flung its way, but in all actuality she didn’t care whether she cut the damned thing down or not. 

She rushes toward it, swinging the blade into the trunk over and over until there were large and deep slashes in the base of the trunk, the bark flying in shards and bits of sap and wooden shrapnel, grunting and whimpering while she does as her bones and body still ache and it takes much of her leftover energy that was quickly waning from the day. 

She curses loudly in her mother’s tongue— which she reserved only for moments of true desperation. 

She’d taught herself Undercommon mostly for her own sake, so that she could speak her mind freely and know that neither her father nor her sister would understand. They’d know she was upset, but not the extent. Or that they were much of the cause. 

“Xsa ukta! Xsa ukt wiles, ukt waele jindurn, xsa ol jal!” She rasps between slashes, her voice hoarse and weak. 

She steps back, breath ragged and heavy, eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed— especially not over Astarion and his damned opinion. 

She's too enthralled in her own outburst to hear the quiet footsteps approaching in the forest behind her, or the approaching presence.

“Undercommon, eh? Thought you denounced that part of your heritage,” Astarion’s condescending voice breaks her from her violent reverie, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. 

“And what exactly did that tree do to deserve your wrath?” Astarion continues to taunt, slowly stalking up behind her.

She still doesn’t turn to face him, nor does she acknowledge him at all only to spare herself the energy and despite her desire to lash out at him, to spare him as well. 

She trudges away from him, tossing her weapon to the ground and walking back toward the stream.

“Tsk, I’m getting the silent treatment now? No scathing insults or cruel comments regarding my past?” He continues to prod, following a few steps behind her.

“Fuck. Off.” She finally growls through gritted teeth, unable to take a second more of his goading. 

He chuckles, the sound bitter and fabricated.

“Oh, darling. You couldn’t possibly think that we wouldn’t eventually have to kiss and make up after our little spat earlier. We’re stuck with each other in this sordid endeavor, after all, whether we like it or not.”

Her knuckles have gone white with the force of her clutching onto the fabric of her undershirt that she’d thankfully left on, on the off chance one of her companions came to check on her. 

Much to her dismay, of course it was the one companion she wished she had never laid eyes on to begin with.

“I’d rather kiss a leech, darling,” she spits, her tone coated in vitriol. “I have nothing further to say to you. Unless you’d like me to finally return the gesture of holding a dagger to your throat.”

When they’d met outside the nautiloid crash, and the elf held her at knifepoint demanding information, assuming she was a thrall or working in tandem with the mind flayers, she thought perhaps they would get along. 

She immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit as she knew that she likely would’ve done the same in his shoes. Admittedly, she found herself quite attracted to him, much to her own dismay. He was charming, easy on the eyes, bloodthirsty and self-driven. She’d always had a type.

The first few days a small fascination had begun to develop, but it was quickly squashed once she’d spent enough time around him. 

Well, not entirely.

To her protest, the attraction, unfortunately, did not dissipate.

If anything, it only made her hate him more.

He almost cackles, stalking in ever closer, closing the gap between them step by step. She resists the urge to step backwards to increase the distance between them once again, and remains planted in place out of spite, digging her heels into the dirt to anchor herself. She wouldn’t let him have any amount of leverage over her if she could possibly help it. 

“I think there’s a lot that we both want to say and do to each other— the question is who’ll be the first to act.” His voice is equal parts threatening and sultry— something only he did so well.

He could make you loathe him and lust him in one fell swoop with utmost ease. It was one of his biggest strengths, and a large reason why she hadn’t told him to piss off and find another group to leech off of. He was useful in and out of battle, as much as it pained her to admit so. 

“The only thing I want to do with you at this very moment is throw your pasty arse in the river and hope that you’ve forgotten how to swim over the centuries.” She spat.

He continues to stalk closer, their bodies now less than a foot apart.

“You are an obstinate little pup, aren’t you? I quite like that about you. You don’t accept defeat easily, even when it’s right under your nose,” He pauses to tap the tip of her nose, causing her to jolt away from his touch as if it burned her. “It’s quite admirable, really.” 

He leans forward, lowering his face so that they were eye to eye. 

“Admit it, my dear. You’ve finally met your match with me.” He grins a devilish grin that she wants to slap off of his pretty mouth. If he were any closer, she might have.

“This isn’t a game to anyone but you. I simply wish to be rid of this damned thing in my head and you want to step in the way of mine and everyone else’s survival at every turn just for your own selfish sake!” She seethes, her voice raising and echoing through the woods.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act as though you give the slightest bit of a damn about anyone’s survival but your own, my darling Aelia. Altruism doesn’t suit you. You and I are cut from the same cloth, whether you choose to admit that to yourself matters not to me.”

Her once empty fist was now grasping the handle of her dagger that she kept sheathed and strapped to her thigh, as she always did— a habit that came in handy more times than she’d like for it to.

“I am nothing like you.” Is all she manages to hiss before he further closes the gap between them, his face now merely inches from hers, basically towering over her— their stark height difference being something only he had taken much notice to and fully planned on using to his advantage.

He feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tells himself that it’s due to more than merely anger, if only to stroke his own ego. Besides; he could smell it on her clear as day— the faint scent of arousal. 

He knew that she was attracted to him, he’d caught her eyes lingering on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice— when he’d change into his evening shirt just outside his tent, or when he would traipse off into the woods to hunt at night, and in general throughout their days traveling. He would catch her eyes on him, watching him. 

It made it all the more exciting for him, knowing that even though she despised him, she’d let him have his way with her if the opportunity arose. He was just biding his time for the right moment and preparing all the perfect words that he knew would reduce her to putty in his hands. Like clockwork. 

“Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll help you rest peacefully at night.” He whispers, his eyes dark and hungry— she couldn’t decipher whether it was for her or her blood in one way or another.

“How can I sleep peacefully knowing there’s a leech who hates me in the next tent over from me?” She half jokes, not letting this closeness falter her composure, despite the way her heart was racing a million a minute.

He flashes that damned smirk that enhances his handsome smile lines and the tip of one that fang peeks over his bottom lip, teeth and eyes glinting in the golden glow of the sunset. The one that is only present when he’s up to something devious. 

He almost looked alive, in this light. His usually pallid skin is nearly lively and bronzed and his crimson eyes almost appear to be a shade of dark brown instead. Although, she thinks that his eyes were probably a lighter shade of blue, before— similar to hers but deeper. Brighter. 

Not that it mattered. Not that she cared.

“Hate is quite a strong word… What makes you think that I hate you?” His face flashes a feign innocent expression, in spite of his eyes still holding that same intense darkness that bordered between disdain and desire.

“I certainly don’t think that you like me, by any means. But not to worry, the feeling is mutual.” She retorts, her eyes narrowing as she attempts to look away from him, only for him to follow her gaze. 

His smirk widens into a sadistic grin, both fangs now on full display.

“On the contrary, sweetness. I think we need to stop lying to each other if we’re going to continue this little adventure of ours together,” his voice is low and breathy, rumbling in his chest almost like a growl. He brings a hand up to trace the side of her jaw gently, and she flinches away.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He continues, his once gentle caress turning into a rough and forceful grab as he forces her to look at him, his blood red eyes boring into hers.

“Your eyes follow me everywhere I go. Your heart races when you’re near me. Admit it.” 

“I only watch you because I don’t trust you. I thought that was fairly evident.” It was a lie. She knew it was a lie, but it was only a half lie, technically. She didn’t trust him, and she hadn’t since the very beginning. 

How could she have? Not many trustworthy men hold you at knifepoint by way of greeting. 

Yet another cruel laugh escapes his lips, catching her in her deception instantly. 

He hums. “You know, this is quite a piss-poor show of your skills as a rogue. Here I thought you were an adept liar— tsk. How unfortunate for you, but delicious for me.”

Damn you! 

“You are such a prick.” She seethes, the tip of her nose brushing his as she says it, his cool breath fanning across her face serving to chill her entire body as if it had been a harsh winter wind. 

“And you are a lot less fun than you look. If only your personality lived up to that stunning face,” he crooks a wicked brow, knowing all too well that he’d just poked the beast, and now he awaited its claws. 

His jibe had its intended effect as she nimbly unsheathes the dagger that her finger had remained constantly itching over ever since he made his unwelcome appearance into her life. 

She presses it against the pallid skin of his throat just below the two small puncture wounds that made her shudder every time she got a good look at them. She swallowed her sympathy for him in favor of her hatred for him, and pushed him backward until his back hit the aforementioned abused tree with a loud thud. 

He grunted in discomfort, but did not seem the least bit deterred. 

His cool demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant, in fact, his face still twisted into that same demented sneer— it was more than evident to her now. 

The bastard was enjoying this.

The air between them was so thick it would have only been able to have been cut with a great sword as their eye contact never breaks, neither of them intent on surrender.

“Give me one reason not to slit that pretty throat of yours.” She snarls behind gritted teeth, icy blue eyes ablaze. 

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple grazing against the cool metal of her blade. The only sounds between the two of them being her heavy breaths as she presses the dagger ever so slightly further into him, but not enough to break skin.  

“You think I’m pretty?” His voice was low and almost gravelly as he said it, as if a fire had been sparked in him that he had no intention of snuffing out. 

He stares down at her, looking at her in a way he realized he hadn’t before. He’d seen her everyday for weeks now, but he hadn’t truly seen her before this moment. He acknowledged her beauty the first day they’d met, and made comments here and there just to get under her skin and to enact his albeit quite devious plan— but this was the first moment he truly realized the extent of her allure. 

He couldn’t help but to admire her now— her silver eyes wide and wild with contempt, long raven black hair uncharacteristically disheveled with some strands sticking to her forehead due to leftover dried sweat and grime, her body pressed flush against him with only a flimsy shirt shielding her frame from him, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly with every labored breath she took as she seethed. The way the elegant features in her face seemed almost sharper while held so severely in the scowl she wore like a diamond necklace. Rage suited her. 

And as twisted as it was— he delighted in it even more knowing that he was the main cause.

He makes no attempt to conceal his unbidden desire, allowing his tongue to slip out and wet his bottom lip, an undeniably lustful look in his eyes. He pressed his palms further against the tree. 

It takes her a moment to notice when she finally comes back to her senses after her adrenaline settles, a disgusted grimace painting across her face as the realization hits.

“You’re disgusting.” She hisses, pulling away from him, lowering her blade.

Despite her words, the way he was looking at her sparked something in her— something she had done so well to disregard and push down up to this point, but her once strong resolve was weakening under his salacious gaze.

He remains silent. He thought perhaps if he kept her locked in this moment awaiting his rebuttal, he could be greedy for a while longer as his eyes trail up and down her body, constantly returning back to any exposed amount of flesh he could possibly find— hungry for more and more and more. 

And from the angle she stood, with the sunset beaming behind her, her light colored linen shirt was practically opaque, drawing a perfect outline of her body that the greatest artist in all of Faerun themself couldn’t possibly have dreamt of. 

He fixated on her delicate curves and the way her hips jutted out and her waist dipped in so elegantly above them, her toned arms flexing, muscles clenching. With her strong legs and thighs exposed, he could perfectly picture himself between them with them wrapped around him, pulling him in closer— whether it be his hips or his neck, mattered not to him. Either would be bliss, he was certain. 

She was absolutely breathtaking, and his craving for her had doubled if not tripled at the sight of her here, radiant and full of fury, despite moments prior having her dagger digging into his neck. Hells, even then. 

She starts to back up nervously as his gaze only intensifies— his eager eyes trailing her body felt like hot coals being dragged across her skin. She was alight under his watchful eyes. 

Before she could move more than a couple inches away from him, his hands were gripping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh and surely leaving marks. 

His body is rigid against hers and she realizes how sturdy he is— she’d seen him shirtless and seen his strength in action, but it was another ordeal entirely to feel it for herself and especially in such a direct way. 

Her heart skipped several beats as he adroitly flips them so that her back is flush against the tree where he had previously been, effectively switching the roles and reveling in this new position of dominance he’d assumed. 

His icy hand comes up to her throat, closing his fist around it firmly but not enough to entirely restrict her breathing and pinning her against the wood, his face now close enough to feel her hot breath against his cheeks.

The rough bark digs into her scalp and back, his fingers press into the spot just below her jaw near her pulse point. He feels her pulse thrumming rapidly against his fingertips, he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“You wound me, pet… I almost believed you, but you lack a bit of conviction,” He purrs, his cold breath and the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine in spite of a simultaneous and quite unwelcome heat through her, pooling low in her core.

With one hand still on her throat, his other hand rests low on her waist before languidly roaming the parts of her body that weren’t pressed against his. 

She feels boneless under his touch as all of her previously built up walls and her frigid facade start to melt from the warmth of being close to his body, but not without her brain chiming in and reminding her who he is and how bad of an idea this was.

Terrible, actually. This was a terrible idea. 

“Let me go.” She whispers plainly, unable to muster enough nerve to yell or scream or fight, settling for no emotion at all and hoping it pays off. 

He smirks at her knowingly, his hand advancing upwards, his fingers trailing over the side of her breast, causing her nipples to harden, peaking against the soft linen fabric of her shirt.

“Is that what you truly want, darling? Your body is singing a different song,” he hums, his thumb now grazing her nipple agonizingly gently, disrupting any thought or intention she held of fighting him off. “And what a lovely melody it is.” 

She's unable to find a word that could suffice in telling him to stop, but also dear gods please keep going. Her body was taking the reins, and she blames it on having not had any sort of intimacy since long before the nautiloid— only to avoid the prospect that deep down, she was truly enjoying this. This intimacy, this intensity. 

And even deeper down, she knew she was enjoying it because it was him. 

Any and all words were far out of her reach, her mind somewhere between here and the heavens (or perhaps the hells). She studies his face, now that he was much closer than he ever had been. 

Had she ever noticed that mole before? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled or spoke? 

He tightens his grip on her throat, pressing his index finger and thumb on either side of her jaw to direct her face forward, forcing her to hold eye contact despite her attempts to protest. 

“Tell me.” He commands, his voice rasping, rumbling deep within his chest. “Tell me. What you want.” 

She bites down on her bottom lip almost hard enough to bite through, a metallic taste hitting her taste buds as the skin breaks just enough to allow a small drop of blood to release. 

Her body was trembling with the effort it took to contain herself and not to give in to him, but it was proving to be an insurmountable task. 

The logical side of her brain wants to say no, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her begging for him like she knows he wants— but she can’t. 

The part of her brain that is apparently driven by the idiotic thing between her legs is screaming over any logic and telling her everything she doesn’t want to hear, their voices drowning out any amount of sensibility she ever had, if there ever were any to speak of. 

“Harder.” She barely manages to choke out, her voice strained against the pressure of his hand on her throat.

He freezes, his body stilling and tensing up, like a coiled serpent ready to strike. 

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He grits his teeth, his voice low and his mouth centimeters from her ear.

“Harder.” She says louder, placing her hand over his and pressing down.

Gods, he could’ve come undone right then and there.

Without another word, their lips collided in a frenzied and feral kiss as if they’d both been starving for days and this was a four course meal— their lips melded and their tongues moved in sync as if they’d done it a million times before.

Her fingers ran desperately through his ivory curls, tugging at the roots, nails dragging across his scalp and eliciting a groan from him that sent liquid magma throughout her veins. 

He obliges her request, slightly closing his fist tighter around her neck, which chokes a moan out of her that he quickly swallows in another kiss, savoring every single sound and breath as if it were life elixir. 

He moans as his tongue swipes across her still bleeding lip, the smallest taste of her not being nearly enough to fully sate him but enough to send a warm flush to his pointed ears, the tips pinking. 

“Absolutely divine.” He whispers as he pulls away, licking the remnants of her off of his own lips before pulling her back in.

His free hand greedily continues to roam and grab at anything he can— her strong thighs, the smooth swell of her ass, her supple breasts, her wide hips. He can't get enough of her, he swears even being inside her wouldn't satisfy his desire for her. He wants to mark her, he wants to claim her, he wants her to be his in one way or another, even if it was only for this purpose alone.

She hooks her leg around his, pulling his body flush against hers and slotting him perfectly between her legs, feeling his hardened cock straining against his breeches as it presses to her lower stomach.

Holy fuck. 

She almost gasps, somewhat disappointed but secretly pleased to discover that he was well endowed— based on what she could feel through his clothes, at least.

She had hoped she could at least say he was lacking or that the sex was awful after it was all said and done, but she had an inkling that this was just yet another thing she would have to begrudgingly give him his due credit for.

He notices her reaction to the bulge in his pants, and smirks as he presses a wet kiss to her jaw, then rocks his hips forward to press himself against her even harder. 

"This is your doing, you know," He breathes, a smirk evident in his voice. “It’s always you. And yet, I’ve only just now gotten a taste. A mistake in need of prompt rectification.”

Annoyed by his arrogant words and gesture, she digs her nails into his shoulder, a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl escaping her as he continues to suck on her neck, her skin tingling and stinging as the sharp tips of his fangs graze it.

“I’m starting to think you like having your life threatened a little too much.” She breathes.

He chuckles, lips still hovering over her neck. “Only by you, darling.”

He palms at her ass cheek roughly, surely leaving a slew of intentional bruises so that she has a reminder the next morning, then smacking it— his frigid touch adding a delicious sting to the harsh contact.

She yelps quietly, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle any noises she may make. He shakes his head, releasing her neck and bringing his hand up to trace her lips with his fingertips.

“No, no, sweetness, I want to hear that beautiful voice of yours. For now, at least.” He has a look as if he was planning something that instantly set her on edge— she never knew what to expect from him, especially not in this sort of circumstance.

“You are such an arse,” She grunts indignantly, before he dips a finger in between her parted lips.

Almost as if on pure instinct, she sucks on his digit, swirling her tongue around it and lavishing it in her spit. His breath hitches as he stifles a pleased groan at the sight of her blushed lips wrapped around his finger, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks. She smirks pridefully, his finger still in her mouth.

“And yet, here we are.”

In rebuttal, she bites down on his finger just enough to hurt, which causes him to hiss in pain and surprise. He shoots her a warning glance, then relaxes when he sees the amusement on her face.

“So feisty.”

He rubs her bottom lip with a second finger, a silent plea to add another into her mouth, which she promptly obliges.

She gives the second finger the same treatment as the first, her mind running wild with images of his cock in place of his fingers, how he might taste, the way it already weeps with arousal for her— it felt so wrong, yet she couldn't seem to get enough. 

She was drunk on desire, and he was the chalice from which she supped from. 

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a pop, his crimson eyes holding hers in an intense glare as he brings his other hand down to hook her underwear to the side. She sucks in a shocked breath as the cool breeze hits her drenched cunt. 

He makes a show of bringing the two fingers that had just been in her mouth down to rub her soaking folds, holding her attention and making sure that she was watching his every move.

“Mmm. Already so ready for me.” He moans, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly begins to spread her apart, the filthy sounds of her arousal like a melody to his ears.

A loud moan rips through her and she throws her head back, the slightest touch embarrassingly overwhelming already. Perhaps it was the anticipation, or perhaps it was because it'd been so long since she'd been touched like this, or worse— it was just another testament to how badly she craved his touch.

“Rather sensitive, aren't we, pet?” He teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low neckline of her shirt.

“Shut. Up.” She growls, her hand gripping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. The rumbling of his laughter echoes in her chest as his mouth stays pressed against it.

He presses wet kisses further and further down as he slowly moves his face lower, sinking to his knees in front of her.

She can't contain the gasp that escapes her as she peers down at him— his typically pristine and well groomed silvery white curls were a disaster as a result of her hands ravaging them, his eyes were dark and lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Not to mention, the satisfaction that came from him being on his knees below her, piecing together in her mind what he intended to do— gods below, it was almost too much to bear.

He raises her shirt higher, holding it up between her breasts and getting just a small peek of the underside of them— the temptation to rip the wretched thing off of her and completely bare her to him crossing his mind. He decides against it, unsure if she'd want to be fully exposed in case someone decided to come check on her.

He, personally, wouldn't mind any of the others finding them this way— that way they would know that he was staking his claim on her. He was well aware that he was far from the only one in the camp that had any ounce of interest in her (for one reason or the other) and that several of them had surely dreamt of touching her— but he planned on being the only one who gets to.

He straightens himself up so he can trail another line of wet kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear. His eyes flick back up to hers, finding that she had been watching his every move— satisfied with how quickly she catches on to his desires, as if it were natural to her.

So far so good. 

He hooks two fingers beneath the fabric on each of her hips, waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, instead she reaches her hand down and attempts to pull them down herself. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

“Ah ah, allow me.” He commands, his voice equal parts soothing and threatening. She drops her hand back to her side. “Good girl.”

She silently curses as she feels her walls clench around nothing simply at the sound of his praise. 

He rips the fabric down her legs, letting it pool at her ankles before he hooks an arm under her thigh and lifts it so that she steps out of them. He pushes them aside, keeping her leg lifted as he pushes her night shirt out of the way once again, entirely revealing her drenched and throbbing cunt to him, at long last.

He practically salivates at the sight, his eyes burning trails all around it as he drinks in every inch of her newly exposed flesh. This causes her to furiously blush for the first time during this encounter, suddenly feeling self conscious about her most intimate area. She feels the urge to cover herself, her leg instinctively moving to press against the other. He stops her immediately, pressing her leg up even higher, stretching her already sore thigh muscles further and testing her fortitude. 

“Absolutely perfect. To think you’ve been keeping this all to yourself.” He coos, his voice now softer— reverent, even. As if he were quietly admiring the finely crafted sculpture of a goddess on display in the foyer of a tabernacle.

With her leg now draped over his shoulder, he continues his attack of wet and hungry kisses up her leg. He toys with the knife strapped to her thigh, running a finger along the hilt of the blade, then biting the leather strap on the innermost part of her leg, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin and causing her hair to raise on end. 

He slowly continues trailing up to the apex of her thighs, pausing at the very top of her thigh and nipping at the plush skin.

Her arousal and frustration had begun to come to a rolling boil within her, him taking his damn sweet time was beginning to piss her off all over again and she knew he was doing it deliberately. He was trying all that he could to get her to beg for more to satisfy his ego. 

“Astarion, if you don't eat me out right now, I'm going to kill you.”

She wouldn't beg, no. Threatening, though? Easy.

“Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait.”

She scoffs. “I'm starting to think you're stalling. Scared that you won't be able to live up to that illustrious reputation of yours that you’ve been squawking about?” She taunts, fighting back a smirk. 

His eyes narrow, his once smug face falling into a scowl.

He quickly unsheathes the knife on her thigh, grabbing it by the blade. Her eyes widened.

“What in the nine hells are you doing?” Her voice held a bit of unease as she watched him gently tap the tip of the blade, as if he were testing the sharpness.

He grins wickedly, his eyes flicking from the dagger back up to hers. “I'm going to occupy that pretty mouth of yours. Open,” he demands, bringing the hilt of the dagger up to her lips.

She shoots him an uncertain look, confused and apprehensive. He sighs, frustrated, then presses the hilt further until her lips parted, and she took it between her teeth.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the golden light shifting to a cool blue glow, the reflection of the moon glinting off of the recently sharpened and polished blade. She hadn’t realized just how sharp Lae’zel managed to make it, and having it so close to her face this way truthfully made her nervous.

A twisted part of her enjoyed it for that fact.

He looks up at her, the sight of the hilt of the dagger that she'd threatened him with only minutes prior, now held between her teeth was both ironic and unequivocally erotic.

“Much better. Shall we try this again?”

Satisfied with the outcome of his bright idea and the muffled groan of frustration above him, he returns to his prior ministrations, starting his trail of sloppy kisses right back where he'd begun them just at the side of her knee.

He repeats the process identically to how he'd done it previously, except this time he bites the top of her thigh slightly harder, eliciting a whimper from her, nearly causing the knife to slip out of her mouth.

“Careful, pet.” He warns, a slight smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

With his face still right at the crest of her thigh, cool breath fanning across her burning hot flesh, he brings his even colder fingers back up to tease her folds, the tip of his finger brushing against the swollen and sensitive bud at the top. She jolts at the sensation, involuntarily crawling upward onto the tree, now on tiptoe with her leg that's still on the ground. He tightens his arm around her thigh, pulling it down on to his shoulder roughly as if to warn her to stay still. She obliges, flattening her foot back down and relaxing her posture as best as she can manage, the thought of making this take even longer agonizing.

His deft fingers work her slowly, touching everywhere but where she needed him most with utmost gentleness. The sounds of her slick arousal seemed much louder now that they’d both gone mostly quiet apart from their heavy breathing, and she feels that damned blush creep back up to her cheeks once again. 

She involuntarily yelps when his fingers tease at her entrance, her walls instinctively clenching desperately around nothing. She disobeys him by wriggling in his grasp and rocking her hips forward in an attempt to get him right where she wanted him, then realizes and quickly tries to cease her movements. He lets his thumb rest against her swollen and throbbing clit, refusing to move even an inch until she settles down.

“Look at you,” he coos. “So eager for me. I almost want to take that dagger out of your mouth and hear that sweet voice moan for me again.”

She bites down even harder into the hilt of the dagger to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her throat, certainly leaving teeth marks that won’t let her forget this moment later. 

He chuckles, his eyes still trained on her face, savoring the way it twists in pleasure as he pushes ever so slightly further against her entrance, his thumb pressing harder against her throbbing clit— delighting in her every reaction to him. 

The way her brows knitted up, the way her glossy eyes widened, her hands clutching the fabric of her shirt and holding it close to her chest, the way the dagger shifted slightly in her mouth as her jaw clenched around it. She was a feast for his eyes and he intended to savor every bite. 

Finally, he decides to show her mercy and push his fingers further in, careful to move slowly and give her time to adjust. Her eyes blow wide and her head falls back against the tree, giving him a full view of her neck that makes his mouth water at the sight. 

Next time, he thinks hopefully to himself.

His fingers are just barely not too thick for her— the stretching only slightly uncomfortable, but otherwise euphoric. He pumps in and out at a careful and gentle pace at first, quickening over time as he feels her fully adjust to the width of his fingers. She’s maddeningly tight, her velvet walls clenching his fingers perfectly with every plunge into her depths in a way that could make a man mad. 

He can barely think straight, all rational thought having left him ages ago, perhaps the moment he laid eyes on her. All that he can think now is how badly he wishes it were his cock in her rather than his fingers— but as he’d told her, good things come to those who wait. 

She feels herself creeping ever closer to her peak as his movements become more and more rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as his fingers piston in and out, hitting all of the right spots that drive her wild. Her body is buzzing, her legs trembling. She wants to resist how incredible this all feels, but gods, does it feel incredible. 

Everything that comes after this is a problem for later, right now, all she wants is to—

“Aah!” She yelps as he curls his fingers within her, the dagger slipping from her mouth and thankfully dropping to the ground beside them leaving both of them unscathed. 

He grins, continuing his ministrations. “Are you gonna come for me, pet?” 

She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, scared to say yes in fear that he may stop and deprive her of her release just to spite her.

“Answer me.” He commands, his voice coming out as a low growl. 

She reluctantly nods.

“Use your words. Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Gods, yes. Just… don’t stop.” She whines, trying her damnedest for it not to come out as a beg, but rather a command. It was only mildly successful.

To her surprise, he speeds up the pace, pumping in and out of her hard and fast, the way she so desperately craved it. She feels herself right at the edge, her orgasm impending— he can tell, as she writhes and whimpers over him. Just as he can tell she’s about to climb the pinnacle, he stops. 

She keens at the sudden loss of friction and movement, her walls clenching down around his fingers even harder, her cunt throbbing and dripping onto his hand. 

“Why…” Is all she manages to say, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving.

“I want to taste you.” 

That alone could have sent her over the edge. 

She nods fervently, her hips bucking forward toward his face. 

He considers punishing her for being too hasty and too eager, but he couldn’t care less anymore to keep up this game they’d been playing— he needs to taste her. He needs to devour her. 

He moves his thumb, making way for his tongue to replace it. He expertly strokes his tongue across her folds, her essence sweet and tangy on his taste buds and satisfying him in a way that could rival that of the sweetness of the tiny taste of her blood he’d gotten earlier. He swipes the tip of his tongue across her clit, causing her to jerk against his mouth, a string of incoherent curses leaving her lips at the friction. 

She releases the tight grasp she had of her shirt and threads her fingers through his hair once again, gripping it almost painfully. He groans against her, the vibrations of his voice against her throbbing sex causing her to see stars. 

He lifts her shirt out of his way once again, mouth never breaking from her, and growls in frustration at the piece of fabric that kept dropping into his face. Taking his growl as a nonverbal command, she rips the fabric over her head and tosses it aside, now completely bare to him as well as the cool night air.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, finally getting a full view of the rest of her that was previously unrevealed to him. He breaks away from her for a moment, both hands moving to palm her full breasts, his fingers teasing her contrastingly pink nipples between the tips causing her to shiver. 

He notices the scars on her arms and around her hips that he hadn’t been privy to before. He brings his hand to trace a longer one that stretched from her waist down low on her left lip. He wanted to ask, but he knew all too well how telling scars could be. 

She was strong, he knew that already, but to see the way her muscles glistened while drenched in sweat and moonlight as well as the other softer parts of her— he was awestruck. 

“Gods. You are exquisite.” 

She’d almost prefer if he’d insult her, be cruel to her, say the worst things he can think of— that way she wouldn’t have to grapple with these new feelings that are bubbling up to the surface at how generous of a lover he’s proven to be, when only minutes prior she was sure that they shared a mutual animosity for each other. Maybe he was just putting on a show for her, like he always did. 

Yes. He’s putting on a show. He has to be, she thinks. 

She hisses through her teeth when he finally brings his mouth and hand back to her waiting and eager warmth, wasting no time in resuming his prior crusade to make her come fast and hard, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, his tongue circling her clit in tandem. He keeps his free hand on her breast, pinching her nipple hard, causing her to roll her hips into his face. 

“That’s it, darling. Take what you need.” 

For fucks sake, he’s going to be the death of me. 

His words, his mouth, and his dexterous fingers are a wicked combination— every single movement, every single word, every lap at her needy cunt is nearly too much for her to bear as she uses every bit of her remaining strength to keep from crumbling into a heap in the dirt. 

She felt herself melting into his every touch, his every word, even his very presence, and if she hadn’t been neck deep in the throes of pleasure, she’s certain that she’d be terrified of that fact. 

As requested by him, she continues to rock her hips forward, grinding down onto his fingers and mouth, his fingers hitting all the right places to drive her over the edge of bliss. She grips at his shoulder to anchor herself to reality in some way, nails digging into the fabric of his ruffled evening shirt, chest heaving as she creeps ever closer once again, and silently prays he has mercy on her this time. 

“Astarion, I’m—”

“I know.” he says, voice muffled with his mouth still tongue deep in her. 

Cocky bastard. 

As if on command, she shatters, tumbling over the edge into free fall towards the hardest orgasm she’s had in months, perhaps even years. 

Her body shakes and writhes as she gushes on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow his movements, still pumping into her as she rides out her high, pangs of unbridled pleasure crashing over her like the furious waves of a stormy sea. 

Her legs quiver as the one leg that she had been using to stand begins to buckle at the knee as all strength she’d had left from the day has finally been sapped from her body. She slowly slides down the tree into his lap, eyes closed and still reeling. 

She manages to weakly tilt her head forward, looking him in the eye for the first time with new lenses— unsure what that meant for her yet. She was half sure that she still hated him. 

Maybe fifty-five percent sure. 

He grins at her, his own chest still heaving as he catches his breath, ruby irises lighter than before, a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite recognize. 

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to do that since the day I met you.” He says, popping his fingers into his mouth and licking her slick off of each affected finger, then flattening his tongue against the palm of his hand, never once breaking eye contact. 

She swallows hard at the sight, her still sore and sensitive core starting to flutter again at the immorality of it all as he cleans himself in the filthiest way he possibly could. 

“I still don’t like you, you know. You’ll have to do more than make me come to change that.” She says, managing to keep her tone unusually calm and amicable toward him despite her words and the way her heart palpitated in her chest. 

“Oh, my sweet, who said we had to like each other to do that? In fact, I think it makes it all the more thrilling.” He brings his hand up to her cheek, gently caressing it and swiping his thumb across it. 

She puffs air out of her nose, a wry smile on her lips. “Who said we were going to do that again?”

He grins, bringing his still wet lips and face closer to hers, his breath smelling strongly of a mixture of her essence, wine, and a bitter metallic smell that was undeniably blood— she assumes he hunted not too long before he joined her in the woods. 

“Time is a fickle thing. We only have so much of it left before we inevitably turn into soulless monsters at the pace we’re moving at towards this supposed ‘cure’,” he explains, using his fingers to make air quotes, “May as well enjoy the most carnal of pleasures while we still can, tentacle free.” 

She had to admit that he had a point, but that didn’t aid the cause of her indecision about her feelings toward him. He was a self-centered, cold, morally bankrupt— 

Gods. She could easily be describing herself. 

She knew that she had nothing more to say on the matter, at least for now, so rather than giving a response, she reaches for her shirt beside her and uses it to wipe his mouth gently. 

His eyes go wide at this, shock written in bold on his expression. He feels the urge to pull away, but somehow doesn’t. He couldn’t. 

No one had ever helped him clean up after. Let alone someone whom he wasn’t even sure he liked above merely tolerating outside of… well, this. 

She finishes cleaning his face and pulls the shirt over her head quickly before meeting his unwavering glare, a calm kindness in her eyes as she met his. She readjusts his hair that she’d absolutely ravaged between her fingers, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to preen himself in a mirror nor be able to fix it himself. 

She smiles softly, placing her hand on his cheek. “There. As if it never happened.” 

He breaks from his daze at this, cocking a brow and smirking. “Trying to forget already? Normally that takes about a tenday and some heavy drinking to pull off. Trust me, I’d know.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I just can’t have the others thinking—”

“That you enjoyed yourself for once? Oh, gods forbid,” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You can hate me all you want, darling. But you and I both know that we need each other if we’re to make it out of this disaster we’ve found ourselves tangled in alive. And let’s be honest— it’ll only be a matter of time before you’re crawling back into my bedroll, begging for another taste.” He taunts, his voice in that same low and sultry tone he did so well, the one that he knew had the power to melt anybody right into his hands. 

She feels a biting response on the tip of her tongue as her instinct to fight against him kicks in— then a (potentially very bad) idea flits into the back of her mind, a mischievous smile following suit. The game was now set, and she was ready to play. 

“We’ll see who begs who first, darling.” 

—

Drowish translation from earlier in the chapter: “Damn him! Damn his words, his stupid pointy face, damn it all!”

don’t know how accurate this is I just found a random translator online don’t come for me

⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆ ₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

[capitaletele]

Inexperience prompt - take 2

By the way, there was an Option B (well, really Option A) of the "they're inexperienced" prompt fill, but I thought it didn't really fit the brief as well. It goes something like this:

It’s their first night together.

Cristal: "Er, where are you going?"

Johnny: "Lube!"

Cristal, so wet at this point that it's almost embarrassing, also like, 'Is this dude trying to go for anal on the first date??': "... I don't need it?"

Johnny: "Oh, yeah, cool! I forgot women don't always need it." Cristal: 🤔🤔

Next day, Johnny emerges from between her legs, grinning (and soaked) from ear to ear, and asks: "Can you go again?" Cristal, still seeing stars: "Nghhhhh?" Johnny, undeterred: "I've heard women can come like, a million times in a row." Cristal, panting like a horse and feeling like she might break something if she tries to come again: "Seems like an exaggeration." Johnny, excitedly: "Wanna find out??" Turns out she does, and together they make her come 3 more times and she forgets what he said. The next day, over coffee that is surprisingly not disgusting (ever since, Johnny tells her sheepishly, Sadia taught them to target the trucks meant for the Towers instead of the army supply trucks): "So... That thing you said the other night about women. You haven't been with a lot, then?" Johnny: "Guess not!" Cristal: "Huh! I wouldn’t have guessed. How many?" Johnny shrugs. Cristal: "But... You've been with some women. Right? You must have."

And so it comes out that – apart from Sadia, who is her own deal – Johnny's only been only with dudes the whole time, "Not by choice really? It's just that there were more dudes who wanted to fuck me, and for some reason all the girls mostly turn out to be queer?" And so Cristal is like, sort of his one exception, he guesses?

He’s unphazed by it all, obviously. Cristal, however, is BOGGLED, because HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE when he’s getting her off more times and harder than any other dude she’s ever been with, and she’s dated, like, Monopolis’s most famous play-boys ?? She's probably had more orgasms in one week at the hangar than she had the entire 4 months she dated her last ex.

"Well," Johnny starts, counting on his fingers. "There was Julian, he had a pussy, he taught me a lot of stuff. And Ethan, they did too, and—"

He stops, looking guilty. "Oops. I don't think I should have told you that, it's private, isn't it? Could you maybe keep that to yourself until they tell you?"

Cristal, revising her entire worldview in many different ways: 🤦🤦

[peterpumpkinhead]

rant about ofts writing problems

only friends is a series with great potential, good actors, important themes and a major pacing issue.

the arcs are either too spaced out or too close together. the characters go through a lot of redundant scenes, then race through underdeveloped yet key scenes.

the dialogue is often filled with exposition, meanwhile many circumstances could've been more fleshed out and made more clear, if only certain hints were more precisely sprinkled all throughout the series.

example: there could've been a couple of scenes showing sand reminiscing about boeing during the season - nothing too long, no expository dialogue whatsoever. imagine: sand alone in his room, after a major fight with ray, looking through his phone contacts, seeing boeing's name, looking at the screen, in doubt about whether to contact his ex or not, and then giving up and turning off his phone. literally this scene alone, that could've lasted, like, 15 seconds or something, would be instrumental to developing sand's lingering feelings for his ex. another scene could be sand, after bumping into top or seeing ray with mew, for an example, staring at a similar plane model in his room, obviously given to him by boeing, in apparent internal conflict, before putting it away somewhere out of sight.

imagine - two scenes like these, sprinkled during the show's season, each shorter than a minute, would've helped build up sand's emotional turmoil over his ex, would've further developed his resentment towards top and it's just SIMPLE FORESHADOWING for boeing's ressurgence.

I'm a professional screenwriter and playwright, btw, and I cannot stress enough how often my fingers were ITCHING because of the urge to get my hands on these scripts and give them at least a couple more rewrites.

they aren't bad scripts by any means! they're unfinished, rushed. they needed a few more treatments and revisions. I feel like the pacing issue is an industry problem - the writers are most likely rushed and possibly have to cater to less than helpful notes from executives who are oblivious to dramatic writing structure (VERY common, at least in my country's ent. industry).

the show is okay (which is already an accomplishment, honestly - people who don't know the ins and outs of working in television can't imagine the odyssey that is putting a show together). in many ways, ofts is very subversive and probably quite revolutionary for the cultural landscape. remember the context in which the show is produced, my people.

sure, it has problems, but please give grace to the writers. we are an underpaid class, often working under people who underappreciate and barely understand our work. we are most likely hyper aware of when our work is lacking.

this is a show that could've been better with more time and more budget - in every way (sound mixing, extras, set design, rehearsal time - the quick, cheap production style of a lot of these short tv dramas actively works against the quality of the shows and robs them of their true potential).

always keep that in mind. the artists are very clearly competent - the circumstances under which they work are very detrimental to the work itself.

but it remains frustrating to see a good piece of art that is so obviously unfinished.

[mutsukiss]

Still getting pissy at trying to find a rational explanation to fantasy creatures because it is much to my own sadness a regular case of "a wizard did it" but there's so many inconsistencies with vampires relating to their biology in iwtv that I can't help but go "hey that doesn't make sense" whenever they appear

First and foremost theyre dead-alive people which isn't possible DUH but you can even sorta circle around that in some way I haven't decided on yet, I feel. The most frustrating issue is the fluids. The fucking bodily fluids, man.

So in both the show and the books talk about how when someone is turned they expel all their bodily fluids (Louis is seen retching and throwing up in the show, in the Interview With The Vampire book Lestat sends him off to the bayou to "empty himself" or whatever the hell he said about it. In The Vampire Lestat the blonde fuck literally just shits himself after being turned. Iirc there's also mentions about the lungs collapsing with liquid but i have to revise that because i'm not 100% sure). And this is a really stupid detail that has absolutely no importance whatsoever to the story or characters but it immediately takes me off the zone whenever it appears!!! Because I want to believe vampires are functional,,, organisms???? Even if "dead" whatever dead means, then they need some sort of goop inside. And no, surprisingly blood doesn't count! Because they ARE filled with blood and this is mentioned over and over understandably; how they cry blood, and vomit blood, and bleed blood, and yadayadayada, but are they also salivating blood?? Does blood replace the lymph?? Is all interstitial fluid replaced with blood plasma?? Like, for a living (...) organism to function, cells NEED to have some sort of intracellular liquid, which because of purely size reasons cannot be blood.

I initially thought that vampirism could be explained as a rapid form of controlled cancer (this is a bit of a contradiction) in response to massive denaturalization of the organism, that is, the cells start dying en masse but mutant cells replicate in a way that allows the body to replace the lost ones with new vampire cells (?). So maybe the body is still permanently in a constant state of dying, but as long as the vampire maintains a regular intake of nourishment the mutant cells still have a way keep up with the cycle. But they are then by definition not dead, just dying all the time while also not dying ever in conjunction. Idk how long this can keep up since cellular degradation is a thing (the cell's genetic make-up becomes damaged after extensive replication and subsequent cells are created with a poorer quality or damaged) but for the sake of fantasy let's assume the genetic information of a mutant cell can remain unharmed indefinitely as long as the vampire has a healthy lifestyle.

But this still requires bodily functions to be performed, which vampires in the iwtv universe do. The ways in which these are actually needed are not too clear to me right now? They obviously need to feed and for that they require a functioning digestive system. The mouth and digestive track need to be lubricated (in the show Louis drools clear liquid when he's holding his nephew. It's not blood or plasma, it's saliva. 🤨) and the stomach needs acids to break down the blood (which is easier to digest than our usual food so I will accept if they're not your typical stomach acids, but you need acids nonetheless). I'm gonna obvious other secretions like bile, intestinal juices and others because they are also needed but their function or way of acting on the body would need a lot more thought. Vampires need to go potty btw if that wasn't clear. You can't just keep putting stuff in your stomach and then expect it to be perfectly absorbed on the body. Waste needs to happen. Vampire toilets need to be a thing ok. And digested blood is fucking nasty.

Now if vampires BREATHE, that isn't made clear. They DO inhale and exhale air in and out og their lungs (which also need to be moist and lubricated, by the way, and blood doesn't do this. You can't have lungs pooling or floating in blood. That's bad.) as is visible in the show not only for the sake of communication which is really only possible by expelling air and making it pass through the throat, but also because their body has normal reactions to heart rate and exercise and blablabla. When they do a hard physical effort, they pant. When they cry and get emotional, they sob and hic. They sigh, they laugh, they breathe in deeply in annoyance and even smoke. Normal lung stuff. But that requires as I said healthy moist lungs not even to perform the gas exchange, which they might not need (even tho again it wouldn't make sense on a cellular level) but because otherwise the lungs just wouldn't move. They need to be lubricated and humid to retain their elasticity. So we add the serous pleural fluid to the list of body liquids that need to be had and cannot be blood.

Vampires are also responsive to the environment around them, that is, they have a nervous system. They see, hear, touch, taste, smell. They react to stimuli, they have consciousness. They have the ability to retain advanced consciousness and intelligence. This is where my cancer theory fails most visibly since brain tissue, depending of the cells it is made of, can hardly regenerate with the efficacy this model would require, at least imo. Either way there is a lot of non-blood fluids involved. You may have noticed that almost everything in the body needs to be kept wet to work correctly, and there is a huge amount of different fluids that take care of very specific tasks in different parts of the body.

So independently of how it works, if one wants to be minimally scientific about fictional undead blood sucking people, then no, vampires do not expel all their bodily fluids upon being converted. They MIGHT vomit and piss and shit themselves upon conversion as a "natural" reaction to Most Of You Is Dying All Of Sudden but there will be things that will require to be replaced in order for the vampire to continue existing. Why they might believe this is not the case can be explained with the simple answer of "who cares, the author didn't feel the need to study medicine just so she could write about fanged men having sex" which is honestly the most logical and surely the correct answer. Because I like to complicate things I'm gonna choose to believe that in universe there's just not a lot of access to vampire doctors? I guess? There was not a lot of effort put into it in the old ages because Duh Evil Creatures That Don't Die And Kill You, I imagine it's hard to sit down a group of surgeons and convince them to do a vivisection. I do find it more surprising in the modern era, though. They, as a collective, understand there's a set of specific things that can kill them, that they won't age and they won't become ill or infected, and this is transmitted almost totally as an oral tradition since their rules prohibit writing about vampire lore. This would make it extremely difficult to keep an organized, accessible record of vampire medicine, should anyone try to pursue it as a career. But we are made to believe that in recent years communication between groups of different communities and countries is more accepted and practiced, so... Are they actually not attempting to learn about themselves at all? Is all information vampires have about themselves learnt through old tales and trial and error experiences? Has none of them ever tried to get an MRI??? For a group of people that are portrayed constantly as seekers and hoarders of knowledge this leaves me surprised and confused. There should be universal free vampire healthcare. Anyway the point is that I will always find a way to break the suspension of disbelief

[merionettes]

Oh man just got caught up with rubicon and I’m on the edge of my seat! I know nothing about figure skating but the way you write it, the routines, the press, the bureaucracy, it just feels like this really rich and tangible world. Also, I saw in your notes from the last chapter that you’re taking time to do rough draft work, and I wanted to ask! What does writing a fic usually look like for you? How do you outline, draft, revise, post? I love hearing about my fave authors’ writing processes. :)

thank you SO much, anon, for this invitation to open mouth dump brain about How Writing. i love to talk about how writing.

this is gonna get very long, so here's the cut. [eta: jesus CHRIST it's long. you've been warned.]

so here is how it normally goes. for shorter fic, i start out with some kind of image or dialogue – for kindling it was the anecdote about sylvain and his childhood horse, for aubade it was claude (ha) in the windowsill – and first write until i get there and then write until the end. polish and it's done. it sounds quick and easy and in some cases it is, but that's just because like—if it's not, if it doesn't work itself out, then it doesn't get written, i don't make it to the end. sometimes i'll have turned over an idea for months or even years (recapitulation) before the actual fic gets written. my subconscious doing all the heavy lifting for me!

and sometimes i will THINK it's going to be a short fic ~shaped as i go~ and it turns out to be. long. (notably: green is the color.) for long fic, i don't exactly outline but i do make a list of things i know that happen in the fic. this might be detailed and it might not be. for gone to ground there was a lot of detail about the dramatic tent betrayal-murder and a lot of detail about sylvain's injury/delirium/big go-on-without-me scene and then a generic line item like, wilderness adventures! for when the earth stands still it was almost all worldbuilding, like what are the activities and feasts and would sylvain and felix play along or not. then i start at the beginning and write toward the first thing on the list. i may or may not get there before i jump ahead and start writing scenes in the middle or at the end. (meanwhile, the list is expanding as i figure out how the story goes and what needs to happen!) from there on it's a very haphazard process of writing whatever speaks to me at the time and structuring the story as i write bits of scenes here and there, until i have pretty much all the scenes in place and then until they're filled in. which is incidentally how the editing and revising happens, just a constant process of reread-tweak-tweak-tweak-polish as i write. rocks constantly tumbling in a stream etc.

as you can see i am big on the process of discovery lol. there are pros and cons to this. obviously if you get stuck you can get REALLY stuck. you can end up with pacing or relationship build or character arc totally out of whack. (i can name several instances where i feel that's happened to me!) but for me personally i've found i write better if i don't force myself to figure out everything in advance. to return to wtess and the worldbuilding – like, i did come up with a list of days (gifts/good works/hunt and horses/etc), but i didn't list what sylvain and felix would DO on every single one. so i knew they would ride instead of hunt, i knew felix would give sylvain a cloak and i knew why, but i did not know a lot of other things! i did not know about the play! this allows for not only the Joy of Discovery but also the freedom to mold and rework on the fly which i find much easier than trying to get my brain to understand "yeah that detailed plan you absorbed? you have to completely forget about it now because big revision."

anyway at this point when a full draft is done... i should go back and give it a thorough reading as a coherent whole and revise and edit accordingly but historically uh. i have not done that. historically i cannot stand to spend one more minute working on it and just. post. it's a weakness! sometimes this is fine, sometimes this is riddled with typos but otherwise fine, and sometimes i will spend MONTHS kicking myself afterward. lol.  

ok having said all 650 words of that lmao: rubicon is different. it had to be different because of the scale. and i knew the scale was going to be big from the beginning, three weeks into my fire emblem experience, although i didn't know… how big. [cut meandering origin story which is a different story for a different post lol.] i did know that if i tried my usual "idk write a bunch of scenes out of order until it's done" method i would simply die. so i tried something new. 

which was: made myself write the whole thing straight through in order, something between and outline and a rough draft. more than an outline because i had to try and actually make ideas work rather than just leave them as a bullet point and assume they would. less than a rough draft because uh otherwise i would drown. so like, some fully drafted scenes, some scene skeletons with just basic beats and dialogue excerpts, some [insert X here i guess??] placeholders. the goal was not good prose, the goal was to get to the end, ideally as fast as possibly so i couldn't perceive what i was doing and get freaked out about it. it worked! i generated a whole skeleton draft!

(li shang voice) Then The Real Work Begins. 

what i've had to do since is take that skeleton (storyboard?) section by section (usually 10-15k, but purely dependent on vibes) and flesh it out into an actual workable draft. that's what i mean when i say rough draft work—i don't have a better way to put it. the fleshing out process is similar to how i generally write, a little here a little there, not necessarily in order, until it's done. then i put it aside and go on to the next section. i may make some intermediary edits based on how the story is developing up ahead, but for the most part i don't return to a section until i'm ready to get it line edited (a new thing!! big step for me!!!), at which point i polish it up til i'm more or less happy, send it off, and then make any final feedback-based edits while preparing to post each chapter.

so far, SO FAR, the fleshing out stage is where i've caught all the really big revisions, like, oh wait actually NOTHING about this idea works, you need to completely rewrite this scene. you need to add a scene. you need to replace this conversation with a different one. you need to totally reconsider your plan for the resolution of this arc 30k down the road.

for the first act, i barely had to do anything structural. like, there was plenty to fill in, but nothing to really rip up and change. for everything after that……. hahaha. when i say this fic is kicking my ass, when i say i'm taking a break to focus on rough draft, that's what i mean. the deeper in i get, the more changes i have to make. which is, like, obvious! it's hard tho. atm i have the next 30k all fleshed out and ready to be edited/proofread. there is unfortunately probably another 50k to go before the end. that's what i'm deep in right now. i hope it's not that much! i hope i'm wrong! 

as for whens/whys of posting, i had dreams about finishing a whole complete full draft and then doing a real deep dive edit/revision and THEN posting, because i wanted it to be good and i didn't want to have regrets, and eventually i faced reality which is that i would never get out of the swamp if i didn't have some sort of externally imposed form of accountability. so when i'd gotten the whole first act drafted AND edited AND proofread—that was when i started posting. in retrospect, should have waited until rl circumstances were more accommodating, could have avoided that initial three month gap. but it's worked since then!

the biggest consequence is that of course it is going to be longer than it needs to be, and i'm sure i will look back and see significant cuts that could have been made. however. there is a point at which you have to accept this is fanfiction you are writing for your own personal satisfaction and if it's not as good as it could be—it's not as good as it could be. it's not the end of the world.

anyone who read this whole thing gets a bye to the grand prix of reading self-involved process posts final. +3 GOE every element. sorry/thank you/i love you.

[literaticat]

Hey Jenn! Just curious: What are some of the best conferences you’ve been to? What made them so good?

When I was a "young and hungry" agent (literally), I went to EVERY conference, because I was actively building my list and I needed the money and food! I am now old and tired, and I don't need the buffet, so I have stricter rules about what I will agree to.

-- I will only go to Children's Book specific conferences -- the ones that are "general interest" and happen to have some kids book people are the worst. It's just not a priority for the organizers and they are invariably attracting people who likewise don't prioritize kids books. And since I don't give a fig about grownup books... well, it's not a match.

-- I max out at 4 a year, and will only go to conferences where they pay an honorarium, travel food and lodging etc -- they are A LOT of work, and the idea that I would schlep to the back of beyond on my own dime is LAUGHABLE

-- I will only go to conferences in places I *want* to go, either because they are beautiful or cool, or because I have clients/friends/family there. I can't do virtual conferences, I'm zoomed out.

So all that being said, probably this answer is going to sound like cheating or something, but really, for children's book writing, the BEST conference I have ever been to is the one my agency puts on twice a year, the Big Sur Children's Writer's Conference. It started in, yep, Big Sur, and has now grown so big that the winter one is in a larger venue in Monterey CA, and there is an East Coast version in Cape Cod. (In fact, I'm leaving for Big Sur Cape Cod tomorrow, excited!)

It's obviously too late to get in for THIS one, but the next California one is February 2024 and the registration opens in August, keep your eyes peeled for it, here's more info.

Anyway, what makes it good is that instead of being a bunch of people giving speeches all weekend, it is small workshops throughout the weekend where attendees get hands-on feedback from their mentors (who might be an agent, editor, or successful author), like mini-critique groups, and lots of time for revising, in beautiful locations -- I have to tell you, it sounds cheesy but I have seen MIRACLES happen from Friday to Sunday, it's really wild how much this dedicated time to dig into the book helps writers revise. It's a kind of alchemy. There are always great conversations and I invariably end the weekend feeling like my OWN creative well is filled up - and I'm not even one of the writers! Really, truly a great experience, and I do NOT get paid to say that, I promise you.

Other than that -- I have discovered that for MYSELF, I am not great with Virtual conferences -- and I will only go to Children's Book specific conferences -- the ones that are "general interest" and happen to have some kids book people are the worst. It's just not a priority for the organizers and they are invariably attracting people who likewise don't prioritize kids books. And since I don't give a fig about grownup books... well, it's not a match.

Other kids book specific ones I have liked -- I had a great time at the Highlights Foundation doing a program (again, small, intimate, beautiful location) -- and I had been invited to the Book Barn in Austin for a similar type program which I also think would have been awesome but then the pandemic happened so it had to switch to virtual. :( But they do have great programming - I just have not been there in person so IDK what that would have been like (probably great!)

I like the big SCBWI conferences, NY and LA, mostly because of friends and clients being there. I used to always attend NE-SCBWI because a ton of my friends and clients go and it's fun to see everyone, but I haven't been invited since the Pando. (And I'm sure there are other great regional SCBWI conferences - I just can't remember them all! Because again, it's been years since there were big in-person ones I went to!)

When I was a "young and hungry" agent (literally), I went to EVERY conference, because I was actively building my list and I needed the money and food! I am now old and tired, and I don't need the buffet, so I have stricter rules about what I will agree to.

-- I will only go to Children's Book specific conferences -- the ones that are "general interest" and happen to have some kids book people are the worst. It's just not a priority for the organizers and they are invariably attracting people who likewise don't prioritize kids books. And since I don't give a fig about grownup books... well, it's not a match.

-- I max out at 4 a year, and will only go to conferences where they pay an honorarium, travel food and lodging etc -- they are A LOT of work, and the idea that I would schlep to the back of beyond on my own dime is LAUGHABLE

-- I will only go to conferences in places I *want* to go, either because they are beautiful or cool, or because I have clients/friends/family there. I can't do virtual conferences, I'm zoomed out.

[mengyao]

9. what's your writing process like?

Depends a lot on if it's "long" or "short" -- to me "longfic" is 20k+ and "short fic" is anything less than that, and depite being pretty bad at estimating total wordcounts I usually know in advance pretty reliably which side of the fence something falls on, since it has to do with whether there's a complex enough plot to require real outlining or if I'm just jotting stuff down and brainstorming the general shape of something that will carry itself on an emotional arc + Vibes + the most bare bones action plot I can get away with.

If it's the latter, I usally start when a specific image/tableau pops into my mind that crystalizes my Vision for the story, then I try and write that to see if the idea has legs, then I brainstorm/plan around that in either direction until I've got a skeleton of something that tells a satisfying story, and then I fill it in piecemeal until I'm satisfied with it. Pretty straightforward.

There's more of an actual process with longfic, obviously. I outline a lot a lot, and usually go through 3-10 outlines per longfic because I constantly revise them and don't wait until they're airtight before starting to write. My "outlines" are sort of combination moodboards/brain dump files/beat sheets.

Longfic typically requires some kind of "research" component as well, even if that's just reading/rereading other fiction in some way similar to what I'm going for… So that usually happens alongside the early outlining/re-outlining stages (this is where I'm at right now with Beefleaf 2 lol.) I find this stage kind of frustrating because you're super In There and putting in the work but don't have anything to show anyone.

I largely write out of order, and writing a long thing is a process of knitting together the connective tissue around a handful of those key tableaus. It's hard to overstate how crucial the initial "key image" is for me to be able to write something… I'm generally more on the mercenary side than the "I need to be Inspired" side when it comes to writing, but I can't really force that into happening or not, and without it I can't really make an idea go anywhere. I can try and cultivate it by rotating something for a while until it happens, but the image itself is usually something fairly organic and sensory and it informs everything that happens from there, even if the scene itself shifts in details once I've written the story proper. I remember one of MXTX's A/Ns in TGCF said that the story came to her with a vision of the end of Book 2 -- Hua Cheng at the altar saying "I will never forget you!!!!" -- and she built the rest of the narrative around that. I felt very seen…

I don't typically go beyond 2 or 3 drafts for fanfic. Original work is another story. The line between an outline and a draft is pretty fuzzy for me, anyway.

[rachaellawrites]

🍂 leaves: what does your editing process look like? how does your wip typically change as you work on it?

Thank you for the ask!

First, an important thing to establish is that my rough drafts/zero drafts are handwritten, and then I type a draft using that handwritten work as a jumping off point. So there's a LOT of revising and altering that happens between those two stages.

I also flag things as I go. So, I'll have a bunch of review notes indicating places where I need to research something, fact check against previously established information in the story (especially if it's a later installment in a series), timeline notes, and even just telling myself to fill in a missing scene. After I have a completed typed draft, the first thing I do is start working my way through resolving all those notes.

Once I have most/all the notes resolved, I'll do a full-read through, changing, rearranging, adding, and cutting as needed. There are also usually more editing notes thrown in here, to then be resolved in another editing round - rinse and repeat until I stop finding things to leave myself notes about.

I'll also do a pass dealing with more nitpicky stuff, like making sure I'm using the right grey vs. gray and cutting down on repetitive word use. I have a style guide document for that, where I also keep notes about stuff like formating and special terms/names for worldbuilding and the like.

And then, when I feel like I've done everything I can, I send that near-final draft off to a few people whose perspectives I really trust and value. They send me feedback and notes. I do a round of editing to address and resolve any issues they bring up.

It's taken me a while to work out this process and what works best for me - in part because I'm a plantser, so my writing process is already a bit haphazard and chaotic by times. I'm sure this will continue to change as I become a stronger writer and get more comfortable with my own quirks and idiosyncrasies.

Obviously a lot changes between first draft and final, but I think probably the most notable is the length and detail of the story. None of my books thus far are particularly long - I usually hover between 45k and 50k words. But my initial typed drafts are about half that length. I just lean toward being very to-the-point in my prose, and so I have to take time to actually fill out scenes with description and atmosphere. And, you know, all the missing or summarized scenes that I still need to actually write out during the editing process certainly add to the word count.

[From this ask game]

[valcuda]

Here's a bit of a fun story!

I originally began drawing on a hand me down Galaxy Note 4. It was my introduction to digital art, and is what made art a hobby of mine, since I no longer needed paper and crud to do it. Fortunately, my sister already had some experience in digital art, since she's more of an artist, and had already stepped into digital art a bit on her computer, and she used a free program called "Medibang Paint Pro". Turns out, the "Pro" part of its name was simply to differentiate it, from it's mobile counterpart! Medibang Paint. After learning about it, I downloaded it, and began using, and I still use it to this day!

I obviously sucked at drawing at first, cause I wasn't much of an artist prior, and I originally just used random resolution. Starting with Skizzy however, I began to use the "Medibang Cover Size" setting at my resolution. This is the resolution most of Skizzy's, and Junk-Watt's artwork was drawn in, until their final revisions.

But at some point, this resolution began feeling too small for me, so I wanted to double it. Unfortunately, my Note 4 couldn't handle that, which I thought was due to the aging hardware. So of course, I couldn't do it.

At some point in 2021, the Note 4 began to suffer hardware issues, and slowdowns, so I knew it was time to get a new device. Unfortunately, the Note 4 left some pretty big shoes to fill! Cause it had an SPen (Basically a Wacom pen), and an AMOLED display! And I only had a budget of $200, which I got from selling my old computer to a friend. After doing mountains of research, I had 2 options: A Galaxy Tab S6 Lite (LCD), or a Galaxy Tab S4 (AMOLED) To say this decision was tough, is an understatement. Newer tablet, with an LCD, or older tablet with the same display as the Note 4. The S6 had the advantage of being newer, so it'd likely last longer, actually get Android updates (S4 was no longer supported), and the SPen would be better.

In the end, I went with the S4 thanks to the screen, and it being a 4 like the Note 4 it was replacing. It also cost less, so I charged my friend $150 instead, since the whole point of selling the computer was just to fund the Note 4s replacement.

Anyways, it came just in time! Prior to it's arrival, I transferred all my drawings project files to an SD card, and the day after it arrived... my Note 4 went to the Electronics Store in the sky... or in other words, it stopped booting. I was using a custom ROM, so I know it wasn't something to do with Samsung.

It took a bit of time to adjust drawing on a tablet, since before, I'd sit back in my chair, hold my phone with my right hand, and draw with my left, while I now had to put the tablet on my desk and draw like that, which required a LOT of relearning! Especially thanks to the much bigger size! After that however, I did a test, and drew at double resolution! Lo and behold, that tablet did it effortlessly! It felt like drawing at 1x resolution on the Note 4! So that became my standard resolution!

--

So, why am I telling this long story? Cause I was a complete and utter idiot, and didn't truly understand it until today.

My Note 4 was an absolute CHAMP for effortlessly handling the resolution I was drawing at on it. Why? Cause I was drawing at over 2K resolution. 2100x2800

So what does this mean for my current drawings? THEY'RE DRAWN AT 5K RESOLUTION!!! 4200x5600

For context, I have a 1080p monitor. Here's the original resolution I was drawing at, VS my monitor. The visible part is my monitors resolution, while the dotted square is the full image.

That's roughly triple the size of my monitor! Now this is what my current drawing resolution looks like!

How the hell can my tablet handle that??? I have a 4K TV, and not even THAT could show the full image without scaling it!!! My tablet handles dozens of 5K layers per project, without even batting an eye! Every time it lagged, I thought it was weak, but no! I'm just drawing at an absolutely nonsensical resolution!! And keep in mind, I almost never have a single drawing take up the whole screen!

This has made me appreciate my Note 4 and Tab S4, so much more. Thank you Note 4, for handling dozens of 2K drawings, and I'm so sorry for thinking you were weak when you weren't able to handle a 5K drawing. And thank you Tab S4, for handling 5K drawings like an absolute champ!

[cassandradrowning-immersed]

Obstacle Two- The Stage

Our rehearsal process was full of changing and trying new things to create the best piece of theatre possible. The demands for the festival setting brought us into setbacks which we had to work through. Very early in our developmental process, we developed an idea for our set and ideal requirements to stage our performance. Our set was going to be end on, with a bed at the back of the stage and then a vanity with a trifold mirror on it, which would have a gap where the centre mirror should be so the audience can see Cassandra sat at the vanity. Cassandra would address her lines to herself in the mirror, so actually the audience, creating a dynamic and interesting set. The biggest element in the play is the presence of water. In the stage directions, Cassandra is soaking wet in a room where water us above ankle level. Obviously, this would not be possible with the facilities available so we discussed different ways to symbolise the concerning water levels. We decided on everyday household items such as glasses, vases, bowls and other less obvious items being scattered around the set, filled to the brim with water. The set would’ve been relatively naturalistic except these elements to add to the domestic scene. However, shortly after beginning the rehearsal process, we were told that the staging for the festival would be traverse (two vertical lines of audience members, with the performers situated in a ‘catwalk’ in the middle). This means a lot of restriction on movement for actors, each move must be choreographed to some degree to avoid blocking certain audience members, it also means that our original plans for set needed to be seriously revised. We realised that any stationary set would restrict audience members views and therefore we needed a bare stage to make the most of the space. We decided to have a bare set, with any props being brought on by characters. The only piece of 'set' we had was a singluar chair, just off of the end of the audience, for Cassandra to sit halfway through the piece.

Realistically, this obstacle could have been avoided, had we followed the works of Goat Island performance group more prominently. Had we taken the full ecological approach, we would not have been able to imagine our set or performance from when we began. I think this approach, whilst interesting, is easier said than done as we, as creatives, are encouraged to have a vision of what we’d like to create and aspire to get to. I think this set back did motivate us to try and become even more ecological in our performance and take each element of performance as an ever changing idea to create a fluid piece.

[feelin-kinda-cocky-bmc]

FKC Update 6/12/23

Alright, we're moving quicker than we have been this time around. As always I'm not writing everything to completion just yet, just the basic premises I'm looking to write, but will be filling in the rest.

But good news, Dustin Route days 3 and 4 are both done! Which leaves day 5, the dance day, and the date day. These tend to be easier to write just because it's at the stage with the most romantic tension, which for ships you love, is fun as hell to write. The beginning of routes tend to be harder because it's a lot of setup and context and world/relationship building, it be like that. But I'm making headway.

Thanks to a helpful video I found from an ADHD writer, my writing production has improved drastically. Basically my process is open a Google Doc, copy paste the bullet points/ideas I already have, and then just absolutely spitball incoherent, unpunctuated, slang shit for what I want to happen for the day. Then I just copy and paste the spitballing and just write and it works. It's also funny as hell, but I'm gonna be embarrassed as hell when I do eventually release it to the public. But it just helps me get all my thoughts out and not feel pressured, and I end up writing better because of it.

Anyway, looking ahead while I'm here. After Dustin's route, I'm going to be tackling Jake's, because P&P my beloved. That's gonna be a bit messy because I have not written Jake that much, but hey, whatever. I'll get through it. And then after that, obviously, is the Jeremy route. And I'm sorry to admit but I'm not the biggest Boyfs fan. HOWEVER, stay with me here, I think I'll like them more by the time I finish Feelin' Kinda Cocky. I know there's the Boyfs haters and the Boyfs lovers and everything in between, so I want to see if I can make something that will appeal to anyone in the BMC fandom, especially because it's not at all a bad ship. But anyway, I'm not having that discussion here, just letting y'all know my plans for the future.

Then I'm planning on simultaneously revising each route (in order of progress, so Rich-Dustin-Jake-Jeremy) and working with my artists to get some shit done there. Ideally I'd like to make the sprites since I kinda know what I know how I interpret the characters. They won't stray far from canon, just will have different outfits for some flair. Except for Dustin and the secret route characters, which I would need to be in charge of either way. But I'm also not that great when it comes to art yet, so I might have to hand it off to someone else. But beyond sprites, the artists I'm working with will (ideally) be helping out assets (like the title screen and GUI assets) and backgrounds. I'm also planning on including some Monster Prom-esc elements like images occasionally appearing in between the sprites when something during a scene happens, and would love to have a similar photo gallery for endings, special events, secrets, fanart (if I get any) and more.

Anyway, tl;dr, I finished Dustin day 3 and 4 in the span of two days and I'm planning on writing Jake's route next. I'm just trying to give as much detail as I can right now because doing sneak peaks for lines of code is kinda boring.

As always, thanks to everyone for supporting the development of Feelin' Kinda Cocky!

Discord | Community Idea Drop

[diamondwaters]

❝ love is a choice ❞ prologue

summary: what was meant to be a simple, calm trip to an intergalactic museum ended up becoming a a trip through memories the doctor rather wanted to forget. only they weren't her memories. they were yours.

pairing: thirteenth doctor x reader (primary), eleventh doctor x reader

word count: 754

warnings: a whole lot of angst

author's note: i'm struggling in life but writing this is both tearing me apart and giving me life. i originally posted this on my ao3 but i also wanted to share it here!! im going through some revisions with the pronouns of the reader so please bare with me skjnfn

“GAMMA PICTORIS!" THE DOCTOR EXCLAIMED with her usual flourish, the one that had just begged her companions to get excited and ask questions. When they didn’t do the latter, she continued on, “‘Part of the Pictor constellation, got really cool beaches! But don’t swim in the water. Makes for some nasty burns if you stay in too long.”

As she inserted Gamma Pictoris’ coordinates, the three humans around her asked their questions, to which she answered brightly. As they did, she was reminded how much she loved this routine. Taking people to the corners of the universe, seeing their smiling faces and telling them bits and pieces of the knowledge she’d acquired in her long lifetime. All the while, the familiar whirring of the TARDIS engines filled the space that wasn’t occupied by words. It was… calm. Nice.

“Ah! Here we are!” The Doctor announced.

A single peek outside the doors of the TARDIS had the Doctor realizing that this was not, in fact, Gamma Pictoris. Rather than expanses of sand and the view of three moons from the mountains, the blue police box was nestled in a grove of trees that stood tall in front of a lake. The singular golden sun, which was beginning to burn a bright orange in its last minutes on the horizon, was lowering in the western sky. The smell in the air, that of water and nature and pure oxygen, was decidedly that of Earth.

Any well-versed traveler of the spacetime continuum would be able to make this distinction on these features alone. However, the Doctor hadn’t needed any of those things to make that dissertation. 

“What is this place?” Yaz questioned.

“Looks a bit like Earth,” Graham pointed out.

The Doctor didn’t have anything in her to tell Graham that he was right. All that energy she was brimming with at any given moment, was suddenly gone. As if someone had sucked it out of her and she was left a hollowed out shell of a Timelord.

“Is that someone over there?”

Another question the Doctor couldn’t find herself answering.

There was a person where Ryan had been looking, and the Doctor knew this because she was looking in the very same place. She had been from the moment she realized where they were.

They sat in a wooden beach chair that was painted a bright pink that faced the lake. Because of this, the four of them couldn’t see their face, just the top of their head, which seemed to have been tilted forward. Some might’ve thought it was because they were asleep, but the Doctor knew that a book had to be tucked in their lap. She just knew.

“Right,” The Doctor took a deep breath. The energy she had lost hadn’t come back, but she pretended that it had. “Wrong planet, obviously! Back inside, all of you! In, in, in!”

The three humans playfully rolled their eyes, none of them really aware of the shift in the Doctor’s mood. They heeded their instructions and trudged back inside to wait for the Doctor to put in the right location this time. But the Doctor did not follow. Not yet. For a moment, she simply stood and watched. She wanted so desperately to go over. To say something. Do something. Every molecule in her body was pulling her towards that beach chair. It would be so easy to just go over, give a simple greeting and-

When the arms stretched above the person’s head, a book- she knew it!- in one of their hands, the Doctor blinked and shook her head. She shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here. And why the TARDIS had gone and done this was beyond her, because she knew just as well as the Doctor what this place had meant. And what the person in that beach chair had meant.

The Doctor turned and put in any coordinates she could think of. She couldn’t seem to grasp the correct ones just then, but she didn’t really care. So long as she got off Earth circa 2010 right this instant, she would be fine once again.

Hours later, when the humans were sent back home after a day’s worth of great adventures, the Doctor would ask her TARDIS: “Why? Why there? Why them?”

And you, you would ask your roommate, who had come to inform you that the pizza you ordered had arrived, seconds after, “Did you hear that strange noise just now?”

Both questions would go without a proper answer.

[barnesafterglow]

all you need (4)

summary: just after finishing college and your first novel, you meet bucky barnes - a friend of a friend, a publisher, and hopefully something more

pairing: publisher!bucky x author!reader

word count: 3.6k

chapter warnings: explicit language, mention of a car accident/death, shania twain is an icon, surprise character y'all will (hopefully) love, bucky gets called jamie!!! (this a warning because it keeps my heart beating), me knowing nothing about how book publishing works, fluff to an extent a/n: ok i know i said i was taking a break, and i still am, but i managed to revise this part and wanted to repost. there's not a huge difference - i just went a different direction with the scene where bucky tells her about his [redacted]. i'll probably hold off on chapter 5 for a little bit, and i feel terrible because i hate disappointing people but i need to clear my mind. i am eternally grateful for @pellucid-constellations and @sweetdreamsbuck for always encouraging me, i love you both endlessly. i hope you all enjoy this! xoxo

When you agreed to drive to Brooklyn with Bucky, you didn’t quite think about the fact that you would be stuck in a car with him for four hours. You also didn’t expect him to drop a bombshell when you asked where you would be staying.

“Well, I thought maybe you could stay at my place. I’m only a block from the office and then you wouldn’t have to be alone in a hotel or anything. I totally understand if you don’t feel comfortable, though. It’s all up to you.”

You had thought about it for a minute, a million possibilities floating around in your head, an abundance of what-ifs scrambling to the forefront of your mind. Once you managed to get a logical line of thinking, you decided that it would be easier all around if you did stay with him, and you told him so.

He seemed pleased, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up considering everything that had happened between you. But when he grabbed your hand and told you he was really excited, you thought your heart might burst.

What was this man doing to you?

Realizing what he had done, he pulled his hand away as if you had burned him, and your confidence, or whatever was left of it, cracked in half. The weekend was going to be hard, that was for sure.

The rest of the card ride was filled with idle small talk, but thankfully there were no more awkward silences after the hand holding incident.

Driving down a long strip of highway with no service, you took this as an opportunity to snoop just a tad through Bucky’s car. Popping open the glove box, a book of CDs fell out, and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

“Are you making fun of my CD collection?” He feigned offense.

“No,” you countered, “I’m making fun of the fact that you even have a CD collection. This isn’t 2006, you know.”

“I know your generation grew up with iTunes and Spotify and all that - which I use, thank you very much - but I accumulated these through my college years, you can’t make fun of my memories like that.”

“Okay,” you held your hands up a bit in defense, before pulling out a CD from its sleeve. “Can I make fun of the fact that you have all of Shania Twain’s CDs, and they look like they’ve been played a lot.”

He snatched the CD from your fingers in mock anger, before informing you that your snooping privileges had been revoked. Then, as if he could read your mind, he inserted the disc into his stereo.

It was as if a switch had been flipped on your friendship, and soon you were belting out the words of Shania’s greatest hits together, laughing like you had been doing it for years.

You wanted to worry, to tell yourself that you shouldn’t get so close when he obviously didn’t want anything to come of this, but seeing him so carefree and happy, head thrown back and smiling wider than you could imagine, you really didn’t want to think about that. You wanted to enjoy the little bubble the two of you had created in his car.

It was like the car ride was over in a flash with the way the two of you joked around the whole time, and soon you were pulling into an underground parking garage in the middle of Brooklyn.

When you stepped out of the car, you walked around to the trunk of his car to grab your bag only to find it already slung over Bucky’s shoulder. Even though you tried to take it from him, he just patted you on the head, flashed you his million dollar smile, and motioned for you to follow him.

The rickety elevator took you up to the 11th floor of the building and opened into a long hallway. Bucky stopped just a few doors down and you stepped into the apartment of your dreams. You stared in awe at the bookshelves filled to the brim, the mismatched furniture, and the overall warm and homey vibe of the place. Bucky might have looked a little proud, but you were too busy touching every book on the shelf to notice.

You finally turned your attention back to him when he cleared his throat, looking particularly amused.

“So, are you hungry?” As if on cue, your stomach growled loud enough for him to hear halfway across the living room. He laughed before continuing, “Perfect. I want to take you to this diner I’ve been going to since I was a kid. I think you’ll love it.”

Nodding enthusiastically, you followed him out of the apartment and onto the streets of Brooklyn.

--

“Oh my god, this is the best milkshake I’ve ever had.” Your moans were practically pornographic, but you didn't care when you were eating the most delicious thing to ever grace your lips.

Bucky sat back, looking perfectly content to sit back and watch you instead of drinking his own. That is, until he was smacked upside the head with a stack of menus.

He turned and his face went from one of mild annoyance to that of pure adoration.

An older woman, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes just the same as Bucky’s, stood beside him with her arms crossed, though you could tell she was trying to contain her laughter.

“James Buchanan Barnes, I know you are not wasting that milkshake. I also know that you did not bring a beautiful girl here without introducing her to me.”

“Ma! I’m sorry, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is my gracious mother, Winnifred.”

“Oh, please. Call me Winnie.” She had a kind voice, and though you were still slightly in shock, you held your hand out to her. She, however, was having none of that, and reached almost across the booth to give you a hug.

When she pulled away, you gave her one of the biggest smiles you could remember having in a long time, and the one on Bucky’s pretty much mirrored yours. Winnie could feel the sparks crackling in the air, but it seemed the two of you were oblivious.

“Maybe I should have mentioned, when I said I’ve been coming here since I was a kid, I really meant it,” Bucky laughed.

“Oh, yeah!” Winnie interjected with a laugh of her own. “He was almost born in the kitchen.” At the look of disbelief on your face, she continued. “My water broke while I was cleaning up one night and I didn’t know if George, his father, would make it in time to get me to the hospital. I laugh about it now but really, this little shit terrified me.”

Bucky looked slightly guilty, though it wasn’t truly his fault, before she leaned down and gave him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. Deciding she was tired of standing beside your table, she slid into the booth beside Bucky.

“So,” you started, very curious, “do you own the diner or just work here?”

“I own it! My parents bought it back in the 40s, and I spent the better part of my teen years working as a waitress. While I was in college, my dad taught me everything I needed to know about the business side of things, and when I graduated they passed it down to me. Well, mostly, it was in their name until they died but by then I had been running it for almost 20 years.” You could see the pride shining in her eyes, and you nearly wanted to cry from how happy that made you.

Not only that, but Bucky looked at her like she hung the moon and stars, and you could see why. You were about to ask more questions when she leaned forward and grasped your hands in hers.

“And what about you, my dear? How did you meet my little Jamie?” She took one of her hands away from yours to pinch his already red cheeks.

Not knowing how to answer, he stepped in to help you.

“Ma, she’s a, uh, client. I’m publishing her first book.” You nodded along to his words, shoving down the disappointment of him calling you a client, even though that’s what you were. Winnie looked like she didn’t believe that for a second, but kept her thoughts to herself.

“Well, I do hope I get to read it very soon. I better get back to the kitchen before someone burns the place down.” With that, she gave your hands a kiss and pinched Bucky’s cheek again before disappearing behind the double doors that you assumed led to the kitchen.

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“Your mom is amazing,” you gushed. “Seriously, do you bring all of your clients here for this treatment?”

His cheeks, finally returning to a normal color, flamed pink again, and he looked so embarrassed you wanted to take a page from Winnie’s book and pinch his cheeks.

“No, I’ve never really taken anyone here, actually, besides Steve and Maria and Sharon. I just thought you would really like it. I also thought my mom had taken the weekend off to go visit my sister, otherwise I wouldn’t have let her bombard you like that.”

Christ, he was adorable.

“Well, Jamie, I loved getting to meet her. I almost feel special.”

Just like his mother, he held your hands in his much larger ones, looking you dead in the eye.

“Y/N, you are special. Never doubt that.” His gaze was filled with such intensity you thought you might burst into flames right there on your side of the booth.

Not knowing what to say to that, you simply waved him off.

“C’mon now, finish your milkshake before you get another swat to the head.”

He laughed before grabbing his glass and settling back into his seat, moving on to less searing topics. You didn’t know whether you were happy or sad about that.

--

Back at Bucky’s apartment, you faced the question that had been lingering in the back of your mind all day: where were you going to sleep?

It was only a one bedroom apartment, so that meant you would probably be on the couch, or at least that’s what you thought. But when you merely mentioned the idea, Bucky acted as if you had personally offended him.

“Of course you’re not sleeping on the couch, you’re a guest.”

“Hardly, this is your home, Bucky, I’m not taking your bed away from you,” you countered, though his proximity to you already had you wavering in your argument.

“I don’t care. If you want to take the couch, then fine, but I’ll sleep on the floor and then the bed will be wasted, so you might as well.” He said it with such conviction that you didn’t even bother replying, you just threw your hands in the air in mock frustration before grabbing your bag and heading to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, you emerged fresh faced and in shorts that you definitely remembered being longer. At least the t-shirt you wore pretty much covered them entirely.

Bucky was sitting on his couch, relaxing with a mug in one hand, and another right in front of him on the coffee table. As you brought it towards your face you were hit with the strong scent of peppermint, causing a delighted smile to take over your face.

‘Wanda, uh, told me it was your favorite, so I made sure I had some.” This man always seemed to be blushing, and you not-so-secretly hoped it was just because of you.

You couldn’t have possibly known that he was thinking the exact same thing.

As you settled into the other side of the couch, he informed you that he was going to take a shower. When he disappeared behind the door, you took the opportunity to look at his bookshelves more closely. You gasped when a particular title caught your eye.

He had a first edition of The Hobbit. You were absolutely floored. Last you heard, an edition like that had sold for almost one hundred thousand dollars. Very carefully, you pulled it from the shelf, gently fingering through the pages. It was worn in the way a book over 80 years old is, but near perfect condition otherwise. All you could wonder was how on earth he had this.

Not realizing how long you had spent marveling over the piece of literature, you heard the bathroom door open, and through the billows of steam stood Bucky Barnes in all his glory. Clad in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, he looked like a Greek god, and you were so stunned you almost dropped the rarity in your hands.

Terrified you actually would, you quickly, but gingerly, put it back on the shelf. Before you could even turn to ask your burning question, he was already answering it.

“That was my grandfather’s copy. He bought it when it first came out, and it became his most prized possession. When I was younger, I became obsessed with it. He never let me read that copy, only admire it, but he bought me my own when I was about 12 that I read literally to pieces.” He gestured to the second copy on the shelf, tattered and barely held together by the binding threads. “When he passed away just after I graduated college, he left it to me in his will.”

You could hear the slight hitch in his breath, and you turned to fully look at him for the first time, not realizing he had snuck up on you, quiet as a ghost story. Your head was less than a foot from his chest, and it was then you noticed the mess of scars decorating his left shoulder and bicep.

Not wanting to make him self conscious, you averted your eyes, but it was too late. He didn’t seem offended though, only grateful that you hadn’t looked disgusted or scared like he was so used to.

“I was in a really bad accident about seven years ago. It was dark and snowing and I wrapped my car around a tree. A piece of metal pierced me straight through the shoulder, and I was lucky they didn’t have to amputate it.” His own gaze rested on his shoulder, while yours remained focused on the slight sheen of tears in his eyes. He shook his head as if to clear any negative thoughts, before continuing, “Anyways, it doesn’t hurt much anymore, just the occasional nerve pain. I get by.”

It was then he looked at your face for the first time since he had started talking, and saw the silent tears streaming down your face. He brought his arms around you in a warm embrace, softly stroking your hair.

“Oh, honey, you don’t need to cry for me. I promise I’m okay.”

You wiped at your tears, determined to keep your calm. “No, it’s just. I’m so glad you are. It just hits really close to home, I guess.” Though it was a struggle, the concern growing on his face forced you to keep speaking. “My sister, the one who gave me that copy of And Then There Were None you saw at the cafe, however many weeks ago, she died in a car accident. It’s been almost 10 years but it’s still really hard for me.”

He was speaking to you, soft assurances that made your heart soar. You don’t know how long you two stood there, wrapped in his arms, but eventually you felt the quickness of your heartbeat slow to a dull thus, exhaustion finally washing over you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, and he pulled back to look down at you, his eyes radiating an emotion you were too drained to unpack. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

His surprised expression was quickly overtaken by one that radiated pure joy, but it didn’t say a word as he slightly nodded and led you by the hand to his bedroom.

The safety of his presence lulled you to sleep faster than you could remember, but before you were fully pulled under, you felt a kiss pressed to your temple, and a murmur of something you couldn’t quite understand.

--

The next morning brought a headache that came from your whirlwind of emotions the night before, as well as the internal freak out once you realized that not only were you not in your own bed, there was an arm wrapped around your waist that most definitely did not belong to either of your petite roommates.

It hit you then that it was Bucky, and you shot straight up, startling him awake. His warm hand calmed you for a moment, before you looked at his face and your first thought was I love him.

Where the fuck that came from, you had no idea, and you were about to bolt from the room when that same gentle hand circled your wrist before sitting up beside you.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t scare you off after last night. It doesn’t have to happen again.” He paused to tuck a strand of fallen hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s get ready, we have a lot to do today.”

--

Nervously fiddling with the plastic lid on your cup of honey lavender tea, not even the sweet, floral smell could calm you as you rode the elevator up the few floors to Bucky’s office. Once you got there, he asked you to take a seat while he did a few things.

Though he was only gone about 10 minutes, it felt like an hour and by the time he came back your leg was bouncing uncontrollably and it took everything in you not to fling yourself into his arms just for a small semblance of comfort. Instead, you stood up and let him place a hand on the small of your back to lead you down the hall to another office with a plaque that read Dr. Banner just outside the door.

Bucky leaned just a tad to whisper, “He’s a little odd, but he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” before pushing open the door.

Standing behind a large mahogany desk was an older man, wearing an adorable combination of a button up, tweed blazer, and wired framed glasses. He looked like everyone’s favorite professor, and it warmed your heart dearly.

He had a stack of manuscripts on either side of the desk, but the one right in front of him caught your eye - it was yours. He saw where your eyes had landed and gave you a shy smile.

“I hope you don’t mind me getting a head start, I really loved this piece, and I couldn’t wait to read it over again.” You were in somewhat of a daze, never having received so much praise from anyone but Beth and your own mother. This caused him to let out a heartfelt laugh, before he turned to Bucky.

“You did good, Buck, I look forward to working with the both of you on this.” He extended his hand towards you, your brain finally jumpstarting, and you reached out your own, thanking him profusely and telling him how excited you were to be working with him as well.

Bucky’s hand once again gravitated its way toward your body, this time resting gently around your waist, as if giving you the chance to pull away. Though you knew it was probably a bad idea, you leaned into him, letting him lead you further down the hallway to Maria’s office.

She was the office’s literary agent, he informed you, and basically kept everyone’s ass in line. He said it jokingly, but you could tell he really admired her. After making a second round of introductions - since the first had not been under the best circumstances - he left the two of you to chat while he went to talk to Steve.

An hour later, he came back, expecting the two of you to be talking business. Instead, he found you both bursting with laughter, as Maria was telling an incredibly embarrassing story about Bucky from their college days.

“No, seriously, he wasted every last bit of his paycheck trying to win a stupid teddy bear for this girl who ended up making out with Peter Quill at the end of the night anyways.”

He cleared his throat, and the look on his face as the two of you turned to him caused you to break out into another fit of laughter.

“All right, all right, you’ll have plenty of time to make fun of me later on. Y/N,” he turned fully to you, extending his hand, “are you ready to sign all the paperwork?”

Near tears, both from nerves and excitement, you accepted his hand, and held it tightly in your own as you walked towards the corner office.

Holding the door open for you, you walked in to face Steve, a stack of paper you assumed to be your lengthy contract, and Sharon - their contract manager, you remembered Bucky saying.

“So,” Steve said, a huge grin plastered across his handsome face, “you ready to become an author?”

taglist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@mrsbarnesinmyimagination @ducky2104 @demongirl1917 @writing-for-marvel @zbutx @asgardwinter @thesneakylittleminx @winth0rsoldier @carrotfantasimp @cutelittletwistedhorror @enchantedbarnes @tlcwrites @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @subwaysurf45 @intrepidacious @ambrosiase @riverevelations @nexusnyx @buckydaddy @babycap @aquariusbarnes @gray-reads @starbuckie @lovinggbarnes @igotnoname4thisblog @signofthebarnes @cupidsbarnes @lostyx  @silentkiller2374 @blossomedfloweroflove @red42985 @bennibabie @thesneakylittleminx  @theokatz @fyeahatised @smokeinherperfume @miyadarling @awaywithtime @fandoms-writings @povlvr @clementinesjourney @beefybuckrrito @pineprincess @scxrletrecsmarvel @vivalakatee @dihra-vesa @peachyprism @emmabarnes @goldustwomun @scxrletrecsmarvel @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @babebr

if your user is scored i couldn't tag you!

[capt-spooki3]

By The Witch's Grace

Route Unlocked: Wilbur

Chapter Four: One on One

A Sbi "choose your own story" fanfiction

Click here for story description

Warnings: cursing, description of anxiety, light angst, injuries, blood, talk of scars

4.7k words

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Y/n stepped down the stairs on the porch, they decided on going to see what Wilbur was doing since he was sitting next to the house. As they walked down the last step, they had turned to say hello to him but Wilbur had already hopped up with the guitar in hand and a big smile on his face when he saw them.

“Hey! Uh Y/n, good morning, I was going to ask if you could help teach me guitar?” He held the instrument up in his hands, gently like he was afraid to break it. “You seem like you’d be a good teacher.”

They looked him over and couldn’t help a smile and giggle at his gentleness.

“Yeah, I would love to teach you, here let’s go to the basement. I have my music books down there and we can get started teaching you some scales.” They offered to him, walking over to guide him to the lower doors on the home, and his eyes lit up as he followed them with excitement.

“I have to warn you though, it’s been a year or two since I’ve played anything, so I might not be as great of a teacher as you think.” They said while keeping the door held open for him to walk inside after them.

“You know more than me at least. I think that will make you a fine enough teacher” He spoke with an obvious smile in his voice, closing the door so he could follow after them and stopping only when Poppy ran up to him with a loud meow so he took a couple of moments to pet her. “I gotta go, sorry sweetie.”

Y/n jogged down the stairs, glancing back to see if Wilbur was behind but heard the soft meow of Poppy and figured he was giving her attention. They walked over to the bookcase filled with music books, all of them being hand-me-downs from the old woman from town that was practically their family now. She didn’t have any children of her own so Y/n simply took up the role for her so they inherited all of the music-related things they had. She was too busy to ever use it and happily gave it away when Y/n showed interest, but not before teaching them how to play.

They hummed while looking over the books, trying to find the one they knew had beginner information in it when Wilbur hurriedly joined them downstairs. They gave him a quick glance, seeing Poppy trailing right behind and tail held up high.

“Aww… she really likes you, Wilbur.”

He glanced back at the cat and smiled. “Yeah, well I really like…” He trailed off and slowly closed his mouth, clearly regretting the words he wanted to say. “Uhm, anyway, how do you... start learning this stuff?”

Y/n grabbed a book off the shelf and turned to face him, taking slow steps toward him as they flipped through pages and glanced over them. “Well, I watched my teacher play a few songs and had her teach me how to play the songs she did. That probably isn’t the best way to learn, but I think it worked pretty well.” They shut the book with a loud thump and extended it to him.

“If you want to learn chords and stuff first though, we can do that. Just whatever you think would be easiest for you to understand.”

He quickly set down the guitar to lean against a chair then took the book from them and opened it up, looking at the pages and trying to see if anything looked familiar or if it made any sense. Of course, it didn’t. It just looked like bunches of weird words and symbols that didn’t mean anything to him.

“I think… I’d like to hear you play.” He glanced up to meet their eyes then back to the book with a laugh. “‘Cause uh, this just looks like a mess of words.”

“Fair enough,” They started as they walked over to grab the guitar from beside him. “Honestly it took me a while to understand all that musical lingo too so I don’t blame you for wanting to start here.” They plopped down in the chair that was beside his and took the small wooden pick from between the strings on the neck of the instrument and strummed a couple of times before needing to tune a few strings.

Wilbur sat down, watching them for a moment before he focused on the book and read through a few pages while Y/n got the guitar in tune. They gave it a couple more strums before nodding their head in contentment with remembering how to get it in tune and situated it on their lap so they could play.

“Okay, I think I’m all ready. So the song I’m going to play is the first one I was taught. I can’t-” They laughed out of a bit of embarrassment, putting their fingers on the right strings. “I can’t remember who wrote it, but it was called Rounds. Now let’s see here...”

-

(cue Rounds by The Oh Hellos)

-

They strummed the chords, seeming a bit unconfident as they were afraid of messing up after not playing for so long. A good few times of repeating the same lines of music, they swayed slowly from side to side as they finally got into it.

They were so busy making sure they wouldn’t mess up that they didn’t notice Wilbur, who had long abandoned the book and was sitting as close to the side of the chair nearest to them to watch. He was leaned forward but slouched a bit since he was resting on his elbows though his eyes watched their hands move to make each new bit of sound. He didn’t miss the chance to sneak glances at their face while they were completely concentrated and not worried about him.

Y/n started to hum a soft tune along with the music, to which they didn’t even notice Wilbur softly joining in with a smile. Even as they hummed louder, loudening the strums as well, he remained undetected as he harmonized with them.

They changed the chords, dying it down, and stopped humming which indicated a change to the course of the song. They let out a breath before taking in a deep one and with the final two strums, they started.

“Am I still speaking?” They straightened and flicked their attention to Wilbur who sung the words along with them, he had a soft smile and a look of pure contentment. They couldn’t help but smile a little back at him, more in surprise than anything. They had to glance back to make sure their fingering was right but looked back at him to make sure it was really him singing with them.

“Yeah, I’m long in the wind.” He dipped his head down a bit, then looked away but continued to sing. “I’ll go on and on and on again, if my chest don't cave in.”

They cut the strum short with their palm and he looked back at them, confused. “You know this song!? There’s no way.”

“Oh really? Well, what about if I…” He averted his gaze, thinking for a moment before looking back to sing again. “Be the sun as my witness! Better prophets could pen. A thousand words for every chord I could ever begin.”

“No way…”

He giggled a little at their astonishment. “That’s my favorite verse.”

"Well, now you've gotta tell me where you learned that." Y/n eyed him with a smile before turning back to the guitar as they played over some of the later parts in the song, but still casting little glances as they waited for him to speak.

"One of the maids back at the castle actually, she was like a second mother after Kristen passed, she sang that song a lot. I helped clean clothes when I wasn't on duty or training." He explained, sitting up and leaning back in the chair but still watching Y/n. "I didn’t know there was music to it though, your humming kinda shot the memory back into me."

“So you know the whole thing?”

“I believe so, why?”

They stopped playing random chords and turned their body to him so he could fully see the guitar this time. “Let’s start again. Watch my hands okay?” With a smile at him, they looked back at the strings and started the song over again but with more confidence. They tapped their foot to the beat this playthrough of the song to keep themself in time.

They played through the song flawlessly, but Wilbur was unsatisfied as he didn’t have the chords down. So they played through it again and again. By the fourth time they ended the song, Wilbur was sitting crisscrossed in the chair, hands in his hair with a confused and completely lost look on his face from not retaining any of what they played enough to try for himself. Y/n laughed to themself and stood up, stretching their body from sitting in the same position for so long.

“Okay, I have an idea if you’re comfortable with it.” They looked down to him as he messed up his hair, smoothing it all down, and watched them curiously. “I can sit on the ground with you, so it’d be easier to help, and direct your hands. We can take it chord by chord, but it’s pretty repetitive so I think you’ll do good with it.”

“Absolutely because I am so lost. Like how do you memorize this stuff? I could never.” He said while moving off the chair to sit on the rug just under the chairs.

“You’ll get it, don't worry. I swear it’s not as hard as you might think once you play enough.” They sat down right in front of him and handed him the guitar. He took it slowly and held it awkwardly, obviously very unsure of how he should be holding it. Holding back on giggling, they scooted closer and guided his hands and the instrument to its proper placements then let him get comfortable with holding it.

“Ready?”

He glanced up at them then back down to his hands and the guitar, nodding a little bit. “Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

With that, they directed him on where to put his fingers for each chord and when he needed it, moved his hands themself or held their hand over his so he could get a feel on how to hold it. They were incredibly patient with him even with his ever so often apology for not being the fastest learner, he was trying hard to understand and remember how to play each chord they taught him. It got easier when they got into the system to teach him one chord then play the chords he knows to revise them all in a way. And after a while, he had all the needed notes down for the entire song.

“Wait, that's it? I did it?” Wilbur sat up straight and when they nodded, he gasped and smiled before moving closer so their knees were touching. “Okay, okay teach me how it goes, I’m ready!”

“Okay! Okay,” They stopped to giggle and thought for a second to make sure they told him the right notes.

The song slowly came together, it was slower than it should be played and he messed up quite a bit but none of it discouraged him. Wilbur never once got frustrated and would just silently correct himself and look for affirmation that he did well. And once he got comfortable with the song and played through it completely, Y/n sang softly to put it all together. Needless to say, he got distracted by them and when he tried to recover, fumbled with the strings and grew flustered by his obvious nervousness. 

He let out a soft sigh, staring at the strings and very clearly thinking or seeming like he wanted to speak.

“Are you okay?” They leaned down to get into his view to which he looked at them and back at the guitar, smiling with a little laugh.

“Yeah, yeah I was just thinking… you know if you were a musical term, I think melody would fit you best.”

“You think?” He nodded confidently. “Well explain then, why would I be the melody?”

“Well truthfully, you just remind me of music. Like the parts of it that can be addicting but also more soothing than anything else, even the part of it that moves you to your core.” He met their eyes, holding the contact as he tipped his head to the side. “Yeah… just the embodiment of music. But if you were to fit somewhere specifically it would be the melody.”

They opened their mouth to ask him another question so he could talk about this more, but the sound of the front door opening and closing caught both of their attention with Phil’s voice following after.

“Y/n? Wilbur?”

“Down here!” Y/n called, leaning back to look over at the stairs. Phil made his way down the stairs and stalled as he looked over the scene of the two but just smiled.

“Hey, I’m going to start cooking. You two take a break and come help me, alright?” He told them before heading back up the stairs. Poppy, who had been fast asleep in one of the plush chairs, had perked up when hearing Phil and jumped off and ran past Y/n and Wilbur to follow him upstairs. They both put away the couple of things they got out before walking upstairs and to the kitchen.

“But seriously Wilbur, you’re doing really well. You kept going strong no matter how many times you messed up. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you Y/n, maybe I’ll get better than you.” He teased, shoving them lightly with his shoulder and earning a shove right back before they walked ahead of him to see Phil. He was already busy dicing an onion with some meat already cooking.

Phil looked back when the two approached him but quickly turned back to watch his hands. “What were you two up to? It looked like you were teaching Wilbur guitar.”

“They were and I have to say,” Wilbur leaned on the counter beside Phil. “I think I’m doing pretty well. In all honesty, I think I might be a melomaniac.” He looked over at Y/n and looked them up and down with a smile, but turned back to Phil and talked about whenever he found interesting from learning to play the guitar as if what he did never happened. 

-

“Come on, just look through it with me please!!” Wilbur begged Y/n, walking around in front of them to stop them from walking out the door as he held a thick book in hand.

The whole morning he had been trying to get Y/n to tell him what their favorite song was and as soon as he got the dreaded ‘I don’t know’ he raced to find the biggest music book he could so they could find one to show him. They were supposed to go practice magic with Phil as soon as they were done eating and didn’t want to leave him waiting any longer than they had to.

“I’m sorry, I can’t right now. Look I will once I’m done I promise!” They pushed his arm gently to get him to move, but all they got was a pout out of him. They rolled their eyes and sighed, taking a step back. “Okay um, I remember a song in one of those books. It was one of my favorites to play. Uh, one of the lines was… ‘days fade into a watercolor blur’ but I can't remember the name right now, can I go?”

“Yes! Absolutely, thank you my melody, I hope your magic lessons go well!” He patted their back before he raced off past them and assumably down to the basement, leaving them very caught off guard.

“Melody..?” They stood there thinking for a moment, but shook it off and headed out of the door to find Phil. He said he’d be sitting with the chickens that morning so obviously, that was their first place to look. Just as expected, he was sitting in the dirt with a rooster in his lap and a few of the rooster’s hens hanging around. Phil glanced up and when noticing Y/n he smiled and waved them over.

“Hey! Sorry, I meant to be here sooner but Wilbur was insistent that I show him my favorite song from my music books.” They explained, walking slower when they neared Phil as to not disturb the chickens and sat down in front of him.

He chuckled and watched the rooster as he pets him. “That’s quite alright mate. He’s really taken a  liking to you, I’m sure you’ve already been able to tell though.” He just smiled fondly, taking in a deep breath. “He never has been one for keeping his feelings hidden away, just like with Sally, the poor boy wears his heart on his sleeve. I bet he doesn’t even realize, he probably thinks he’s being so sly.”

Y/n laughed a little bit at his assessment. Phil was spot on, but after raising someone it wouldn’t be too hard to know all about them. They reached out when a hen came out to them and stroked the side of her face with their finger. “He’s sweet though, I didn’t expect him to be so eager to take up all my time.”

“Well…” They looked up at Phil when he trailed off then followed his eyes when he looked over to the house. They then noticed Technoblade sitting beside the house, obviously meditating. “In case you get tired of Will, you can always go give Techno some company. I think he’d like your presence.” Turning back to Phil, he watched them with a hopeful expression but dropped it when they just stared at him. He slowly got up, giving the rooster time to hop off his lap.

“You don’t have to for my sake, I just think it would do him good to have a partner- er uh-” He stopped, fumbling over words a little bit. “I mean- like a friend. A companion. But choose who you wish! I’m not picking sides here.” A blatant lie. They couldn’t help but laugh at him.

Y/n stood up, assuming Phil wanted to move somewhere else. “Of course, Of course. I think it would be hard to get tired of him though.” They watched the hen they were giving attention peck around on the ground near their feet. “He’s giving me a new found passion for music because of his excitement towards it, it’s refreshing.”

He chuckled softly, walking past them and patting their shoulder. They turned to follow him and stayed quiet while they walked slightly behind him but at his side. He stopped at the tree line and looked in, seeming a bit lost in thought, and turned to them after a moment.

“Y/n, would you mind telling me about the eye?”

They went quiet, not sure how to respond as the light heartedness of the situation was stripped from them at the mention. Instead, they looked down at the necklace which forever hung around their neck. At this point, it felt more like something chaining them down than a tool to help them be a better mage like they hoped it would be. “Where do I even start?” They tried to laugh off the lump rising in their throat but looking up and meeting Phil’s worried expression just made tears prick their eyes. He took a step closer to them, but they took a few back in response. “No, no I’m fine just… I’m okay.” They kept their eyes on the ground, sniffling as they felt a tear run down their cheek.

“Mate, we don’t have to talk about it if it’s hard to.” Phil said softly, keeping his distance from them.

“It just… made me realize how afraid it made me. It's…” They looked up suddenly, still having tears in their eyes. “Phil, it’s taken over me. It’s- it’s possessed me! I was so scared when it happened. I mean it has only happened twice but what happens when it does again!? I don’t- I-I don’t know…” Their breaths got caught in their throat and they took short shuddering gasps trying their hardest to contain it and not break down. Not here, not in front of someone they just started to know and trust. They felt their legs start to get weak and their vision was nothing but a blur from the tears.

Phil grabbed ahold of their arms and they met his eyes, now noticing how hard they were breathing. He pulled them in and hugged them tightly to which they held onto him, using him as a solid form to help them ground themself again. They mumbled small things about how scary it was to wake up halfway down their forest path to town and how they could feel the evilness of the eye right before it took over. He stayed quiet and listened to them, rubbing their back slowly once they had calmed down a little.

They took a deep breath and rested their forehead against his shoulder. Finally releasing a little bit of the pent-up fear and anxiety that was building up around the eye had lifted the static that festered in their chest. “Phil…” Y/n said quietly as they slowly pulled away from him though they kept their eyes averted away. “Is there anything I can do to get rid of this?”

“I…” He started but trailed off. It was clear he was clueless, still, he cleared his throat and reached over to rub their arm comfortingly. “I’ll figure something out. I promise.” They looked back at him and he smiled at them which finally earned a small smile in return. “Do you still want to learn some magic? I know some music-related spells.” When their eyes lit up a bit, he chuckled and took a seat on the ground, ushering them to join him.

Y/n spent most of the day outside with Phil. He taught them little spells and tricks to incorporate magic into their music, he sang a few songs as a way to show them and it turned out he had a rather nice voice. A few times when they got caught up in emotions, he offered fatherly advice and joked with them to lighten the mood. He was quickly growing to be like the father they never had… or at least remembered having. It was until he was in the middle of meditating with them that Tommy came up to them, he was dirty and holding onto his forearm with a bit of blood that was seeping through his fingers. Y/n saw him first as they opened an eye when hearing footsteps approaching them. He kept his eyes on the ground, clearly trying to make it seem like he didn’t have tears in his eyes.

They jumped up and ran over to him, startling Phil who finally noticed his son. “Oh, Tommy what happened!?” They reached over to look at his arm, he pulled away at first and they looked at him. He met their eyes and sniffled again, finally letting his arm go to show them a deep cut that was actively bleeding. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? You’re not hurt anywhere else are you?” They asked him while taking off the cloth they were using as a belt and wrapped it around his arm to help maintain the bleeding and checked him over right after. Phil was beside them now, looking Tommy over while he stared at the ground.

“I didn’t think the sheep could actually be that scary, I-” He hiccuped a little, squeezing his eyes shut to stop himself from crying more but they fell anyway. It seemed that getting hurt overwhelmed him. Phil brushed some of his hair back and softly consoled him to calm him down. It took a moment, but he started talking again. “I was messing with them and tried getting on one’s back, it bucked me off and that upset a few of them and they ran at me. I was running away and tried jumping over the fence and that… obviously didn’t go well for me.”

“Aw… yeah it’s barbed wire. Let’s get you inside, I can help you clean this-”

“It’ll take too long, it’ll get infected if we let it be.” Phil butted in and moved Y/n’s hands off of Tommy’s arm. He undid the cloth that was thoroughly bloody now and gave it back to Y/n. He gently put his hand over the cut and kept it there as it glowed a soft white, within no time he took it away and the wound had closed up enough that it wasn’t open. “You’ll still need to clean it but-”

“Oooh! It’s been forever since you’ve done that, that was so cool!” Tommy said excitedly, his eyes and nose were still a little red from crying, but he was smiling and looking at Phil with bright eyes like he wasn’t upset just a second ago. “Can you do that again?”

“Wha- no! You’d have to get hurt again for me to do that- and do not go get trampled by the sheep or some shit.” He sighed, lightly laughing. “You little shit- are you alright though? You’re not hurt anywhere else right?”

Tommy shook his head and looked down at his arm, wiping away some of the half-dried blood that only smeared more from the blood on his hand. “I probably have some bruises, but now I just smell like shit.” Phil laughed and went around him, patting his back and pushing him forward to get him to start walking back to the house to which Y/n followed right beside.

Techno seemed to know something was up as he put down the wooden staff he was training with and hurried over to the three of them. “Did something happen?” He immediately noticed the blood on Tommy and grabbed his shoulder to stop him and looked him over.

“He’s fine, mate, don’t worry. I healed him up, he’s okay.” Phil said in a hurry to cure Techno’s worry. 

“Haha yeah bitch, now I’ll have a badass scar like you.” Tommy said with a smug look, but Techno just rolled his eyes and gave him a little shove.

“It’s only badass if you have a cool story behind it.” He corrected and held his head up to look down at his brother. “What’s your super cool story behind it?”

Tommy puffed his chest out and stood tall to try and seem as big as Technoblade. “Yeah, well I had to fight off all the sheep in the pastu-”

“Okay! Nope, inside with you!” Y/n grabbed his arm and pulled him away and toward the steps of the porch. “You two can continue your little… whatever this is inside, you need to get cleaned up.”

He groaned and made a face at them. “Yeah okay, MOM.” He snickered and rushed inside with Phil following after with a smile. They followed the two, watching Techno jog over to grab the staff he left before he started walking back to the house.

Y/n grabbed herbs and soap once they got into the house and helped Tommy clean himself up before they sent him off to bathe. They washed the blood off of their belt the best they could before they went back downstairs to put away their things by themself before hearing a knock on the wall. Turning around, there was Wilbur beside the stairs watching them.

“Hey there.” He started with a bit of a smile and walked over to them to watch where they were putting everything. “Um, once you’re done, want to come see what I’ve learned today?” He watched them expectantly and they couldn’t help a smile. They reached into a barrel and pulled out two apples, throwing one to him without warning though he still caught it.

“Yeah, let’s go. Bet you’re still not as good as me.” They walked past him and nudged him with their shoulder playfully. He chuckled and followed behind with a poke to their arm.

“Mmm yeah we’ll see about that, won’t we”

___________________________________________

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