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sixmapleleafs · 3 years

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the “pre-date” // frederik andersen

notes: in an attempt to drag myself out of the writers block I’ve been having, I’ve been working on a few different things and I’ve found that it’s easier for me to write when I write for myself so although this piece is a reader insert, I’ve written “y/n” with a quite a specific personality and I understand that it’s not going to be for everyone but it was really useful for me in order to write again. I hope you don’t mind and any feedback is welcome, just please keep it constructive. Anyway, I hope you enjoy...

Warnings: very shy reader, mentions of anxiety and stress.

November 25th

How could someone be so effortlessly good looking?

Sitting in the booth of some bar your friends had dragged you along to, you couldn’t help but question it. You had a perfect view of where he was sat at the opposite end of the table, sandwiched in between Auston and Morgan with a drink in his left hand. The slight tint of pink on his cheeks and the smile that was permanently etched onto his face gave away how much he’d actually had to drink tonight, not that you minded. His suit jacket had been thrown over the back of a chair as soon as he sat down and as the night progressed and the drinks continued flowing the top three buttons of his shirt had been undone, his tie ending up God knows where.

“Earth to Y/n” Maci nudged your arm, a concerned look on her face as she studied your face, “you ok there?”

“Mhm, sorry I zoned out a bit” you snapped your eyes back to the table, your hands reaching out to your drink, the cool condensation a stark contrast from the warm air of the bar. She leaned closer to you, her own drink joining yours on the slightly sticky table.

“We can leave if you want, I know this isn’t really your thing” she wasn’t wrong, you were never a big party person and more often than not your friends would have to bribe you to go out with them but you were actually enjoying yourself tonight. Maybe the high the boys were feeling from their fifth win in a row had rubbed off on you, or maybe you were just happy to spend some time with him, even if it was from the other end of the table.

“I’m okay, I think I might need another drink though” you smiled and Maci nodded in agreement.

“Did I hear someone say more drinks?” Willy slurred, arms thrown around Maci’s shoulders, his drunken state causing him to miss the glare she threw his way.

“Only if you’re buying” Maci said causing you to let out a laugh and Willy smiled at you. It was a smile you were very familiar with by now, the one that people gave you when you started to open up to them and get more comfortable. It was no lie that you were shy, extremely shy. So shy in fact that you barely spoke a word to the boys when Maci first introduced you, you even struggled to make eye contact with them, though that could be blamed on how they towered over you with little to no effort.

“I think we need shots, Y/n come help me” Willy pulled away from Maci, shuffling out of the booth with your best friend close behind him before he stretched out his hand to you. You let out a drunk giggle as you shuffled towards him, grabbing his hand in a light grip. He led you through the crowd towards the bar, waving the bartender over to the two of you easily before ordering a round of shots.

“Oh no” you giggled already recognising the look in his eyes when he faced you with a smirk on his face, leaning against the bar and wiggling his eyebrows.

“You have a crush on Big Red” he sang drunkenly and your face fell immediately, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you buried your face in your hands, “hey its ok, your secret’s safe with me” he nudged your arm with his, a soft smile replacing his smirk when you finally looked back up at him.

“Promise?” You asked, Willy’s eyes softening as he looked down at you. You laughed when he stuck out his pinky finger and lifted your hand to link them together.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think he’d be your type” he nodded to the bartender as they placed your shots on the bar in front of you, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion looking up at him silently asking him to explain his statement. “I just always assumed you’d be into like smart, nerdy guys with glasses and PhD’s or whatever” you laughed out loud at that, mainly because he was right. “You know, I could always help you if you want. I could do some detective work and see if he’s interested”.

“No, no, nope, no, absolutely not. It’s just a stupid crush, I’ll get over it.” you took the shot he pushed in front of you, downing it with much more ease than usual, probably thanks to the three gin and tonics you’d already had. “It’s not like he’d ever look at me like that anyway” Willy didn’t miss the frown that etched its way onto your face and he slung his arm over your shoulder in an effort to comfort you.

Back at the table, everyone was laughing at the story Morgan was telling about his trip back to Vancouver, well almost everyone. Freddie hadn’t even heard the second half of the story, his gaze had followed your figure towards the bar as it often did, his lips falling into a harsh line at the sight of Williams hand in yours. He quickly finished the rest of his drink, his hand gripping the glass a little tighter than necessary as his gaze remained on the two of you. He managed to contain his annoyance when he saw Willys arm land over your shoulder pulling you into his side for a hug but that couldn’t be said for the daggers he was sending Willys way as the two of you returned to the table, a round of shots in your hands. His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the small frown on your face, the protective feeling he often got around you made him want to pull you into his lap and make sure you were ok. But he couldn’t do that. Freddie watched as you sat down in between Will and Maci, a slight frown still etched on your face however it slowly started to turn into a drunken smile with each shot Willy handed to you. Auston’s hand coming to rest on Freddie’s shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts and he already knew whatever Auston was about to say would make him roll his eyes.

“You could just go talk to her, you know? She’s just a girl” Freddie audibly scoffed at his best friends words, you would never be just a girl to him, but he also knew that Auston would never understand the way he felt. Fred couldn’t really put into words how he felt about you, he knew it was more than friendly and that he would give anything to be the one to make you feel safe or make you laugh so hard you snorted like that one time he over heard Mitch telling you a story from his childhood. He also knew that you were shy, very shy and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by making a move on you, so he stayed quiet and he smiled softly whenever he caught your eye and he made sure to always give you his full attention whenever he got a second to talk to you but deep down he knew that probably wasn’t enough. If he ever wanted you to know how he felt he’d have to tell you.

“What are you talking about?” He finally replied to Auston who was looking at him expectantly with a brow raised and a smirk on his face.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, you’ve been staring at her for almost ten minutes, not that I can blame you, she’s looking pretty cute tonight” Auston’s smirk made Freddie’s jaw clench and his grip on the glass in his hand tighten. “Maybe I should see if she wants another drink or anything”.

Freddie rose from his chair towering over Auston with a stern look on his face, not wanting to listen to him anymore he headed towards the bar, the bartender quickly noticing his request for another drink and soon enough a fresh glass was placed in front of him. He brought the glass to his lips taking a sip before he felt something brush up against his arm, his gaze softened as his eyes landed on your figure and a small smile found its way onto his face when he locked eyes with you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you” you said giggling slightly, telling Fred that you were most definitely drunk.

“No worries, y/n. What are you having?” Fred couldn’t help but smile as he studied your face, the frown from earlier nowhere to be found and you looked like you were truly having a good time. Your eyes were slightly glossy and you just had an effortless glowiness to you that Fred found beautiful.

“I think I need some water, Willy gave me too many shots” you giggled again and Fred nodded along in agreement laughing with you. He quickly got the bartenders attention and ordered some water for you and one for himself, deciding to ditch the alcoholic beverage sat in front of him. Slipping himself onto the barstool he smiled when you followed his actions, sipping on the water and looking around the bar for a few seconds before your gaze landed back on Fred. The alcohol in your system gave you more confidence than usual, and to be honest you were grateful for it, “so, how have you been Freddie?” It definitely wouldn’t seem like much to anyone looking in but it was a big step for not only you, but your relationship with Freddie, not that either of you knew it yet.

November 26th

Waking up the next morning was hell. Your head was pounding and you couldn’t quite remember how you made your way into your own bed but somehow you did. The bright morning sun shining through your curtains was what woke you and after regaining some vision you were able to pull yourself up out of bed and into the bathroom. You weren’t surprised to find that you were still wearing your outfit from last night, and whatever was left of your make up. Groaning, you started the shower, peeling the uncomfortable dress from your body and stepping under the steady stream of hot water. Washing away the make up and smell of alcohol, you finally wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel and headed back to your bedroom to get some fresh pyjamas. Thank god it’s Saturday. You thought to yourself as you pulled out your favourite set of Christmas pyjamas and some fluffy socks, late November in Toronto meant it got quite cold in your apartment, even with the heating on.

As you slipped on the fluffy socks you noticed a glass of water on your bedside table, figuring it was probably from a few days ago you went to take it out to the kitchen to wash up when you noticed a few pills next to it as well as a note. Picking up the note you saw scribbly handwriting on one side of it.

Take two pills as soon as you wake up and have a big breakfast to help with the hangover

- Freddie x

You smiled down at the note, quickly taking the pills and heading out of your bedroom, you debated texting Freddie to say thank you since he was obviously the one who made sure you got home safe last night but before you could there was a knock on your door. You opened the door expecting to see Maci but instead you were greeted by a very cold looking Fred.

“Freddie?” You said mostly out of surprise, he just smiled down at you and you stepped aside to let him in.

“I thought you might want some breakfast” he said lifting the box and coffee cup in his hands, only then you smelt the pancakes and maple syrup. You practically felt your stomach growl at the thought of your favourite breakfast ever and Freddie noticed how your eyes shifted to the box and you stared at it with what could only be described as pure adoration. He chuckled reminding you of his presence and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll take that as a yes”.

He handed you the box, watching as you took it carefully from him, your cheeks still flushed and a shy smile on your face as you thanked him profusely. He assured you that it was no trouble before heading to step out of the door, quickly you moved to grab his arm. “Are you not going to stay?”

Freddie couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face, “I can stay, if that’s what you want” you smiled at him and nodded for him to follow you to the couch. You spent the next few hours devouring the pancakes he’d brought you and showing him your favourite holiday movies, he commented on your great choice of Christmas pyjamas which had your cheeks heating up and an embarrassed laugh slipping out, “you’re just jealous” you told him playfully and he chuckled, that deep chuckle that lit up his face and made his dimples stand out.

December 14th

Over the next few weeks there was a shift in your relationship with Freddie, suddenly he wasn’t just one of the guys you hung out with anymore, now he was something more. You both felt it, it was impossible not to but it was never discussed and neither of you made a big deal of it. It wasn’t until the first week of December that you realised maybe Fred was feeling the same way you were.

You were beyond stressed, you had so much work to do for your job that you ended up working until ten or eleven every night and then when you finally got in bed your mind couldn’t stop racing, thinking about all the things you still had to do. Unintentionally, you ended up missing out on a few gatherings and dinners with your friends but Maci understood, she’d known you long enough to know that you hadn’t meant to miss out on so much but you were just so stressed you couldn’t possibly think about anything else. She also knew your anxiety must be through the roof with all the work you have to do plus the lack of sleep so she did what she could to be there for you whilst also making various excuses for you with the boys. It was Monday evening and despite working the whole weekend you still felt like you were drowning, you’d skipped out on another dinner with your friends so you could focus on work and you were expecting to have a repeat of every other night for the last few weeks - work until you could barely keep your eyes open then head to bed and lie awake for hours. Apparently Fred had other plans for you.

Around six there was a knock on your door and you managed to drag yourself off the couch and open it. When you did you saw Fred, bundled up in his winter jacket with a hat, scarf and gloves. “C’mon, we’re going out” was all he said before pushing his way into your apartment to wait for you to get ready. You tried to question it but he cut you off, saying something about how you’ll feel better if you just trust him and let him take care of you for the evening. So after one final dramatic huff you headed to your room to get changed into something warmer and grab your winter jacket and accessories. You followed Freddie out to his car where he opened the door for you, smiling softly when you thanked him before getting into the drivers side.

You stared out the window as he drove the two of you through the city, you had no idea where he was taking you or how he even knew you were in desperate need of a pick me up but you were glad he got you out of your apartment. He turned off the main road and thats when you saw the familiar red and white sign of Tim Hortons, “what would you like? It’s on me” Freddie told you as he joined the queue for the drive thru.

“Just a hot chocolate please, with lots of whipped cream and marshmallows” he chuckled at your answer, already expecting that to be your order. Once you had the hot drink securely in your hands Fred was pulling out onto the main road again, heading further out of the city you both called home. “Where are we going?” You questioned but Freddie just shook his head not giving away any information.

Eventually you saw the welcome sign to a small town and you gasped when you saw another sign directing people towards a drive in movie theatre. You could hear Fred chuckle from beside you but you kept your eyes focused on the brightly decorated houses and trees that guided the way through the town. When Fred pulled into a parking spot in front of the big screen, you finally looked over him to find that he was already looking at you, “they’re showing Elf, I remember you said that was your favourite Christmas movie” your cheeks heated up at his words, unable to find a verbal response that wouldn’t embarrass you, you just nodded and smiled softly. The two of you grabbed some popcorn from the stand before settling back into the car for the movie, you knew then as you looked over at Freddie occasionally that this wasn’t what two people who are just friends do, sure you and Maci had done this a few times, but with Fred this was different. This was his way of showing that he cared, he truly cared about you and even if he didn’t fully understand your anxiety or your incessant need to do things perfectly, he wanted to be there, and you wanted him there. You just didn’t know how to tell him yet.

December 20th

The Leafs were playing a home game against the Flames and unfortunately you hadn’t been able to make it down to the arena to watch, even though you wanted to. But you were still watching from your couch, bundled up in every blanket you owned with a cup of tea warming your hands. Unfortunately it was a very rough game for the boys, both teams were putting everything into this game and in the end the Flames came out on top. You could see how tired Freddie looked through the screen and you couldn’t help but frown a little as you watched each of the boys come up to him and pat him on the head, deciding against watching the painful look on Fred’s face any longer you switched over to Netflix, putting on The Big Bang Theory and curling up under your blankets. You contemplated texting Freddie to see if he was okay but decided against it, not wanting to seem annoying or anything.

Freddie thought he was going home, at least that was the plan until all of sudden he was pulling into the car park of your building. As he made his way up to your floor in the elevator he questioned what he was even doing, why was his first thought to see you? Before he could change his mind the elevator dinged and the doors opened, he found himself knocking on your door before he could even second guess himself.

“Freddie? Wha-what are you doing here?” Your quiet voice answered the door and before you knew it his arms were around you, his head resting on top of yours as he awkwardly hugged you in the doorway. You decided against questioning him, that probably wasn’t what he needed right now, instead you just wrapped your arms around his waist and let him hold you for a few minutes until you pulled back slightly. You grabbed his large hand in your smaller one and dragged him towards the couch, sitting him down you quickly made your way to the kitchen pulling a mug from the cabinet and boiling some water. Once the tea was ready you brought the mug over to him, he gave you a grateful smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes and you frowned slightly at the defeated look on his face. As you sat next to him you felt his arm wrap around your waist and then he was pulling you right next to him until you were cuddled into his side, you grabbed the blanket and lay it over the both of you before pressing play on your paused Netflix show.

You went through a few episodes before you felt Freddie place the now empty mug down on the coffee table, he settled back against the couch, his arm still around you when he murmured into your hair, “thank you” before placing a kiss to the top of your head. You felt your cheeks heat up and the butterflies in your stomach at the closeness between the two of you but you were mostly glad he was letting you help him the way he had helped you.

“Any time Fred” you smiled up at him, his returning smile was soft and warm unlike anything you’d ever seen on him before.

“I actually wanted to ask you something” he said with the same warm look in his eyes, you nodded indicating for him to continue, “the leafs are having their annual Christmas Eve party and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me”.

“Aren’t I already going? With Maci and everyone?” You wondered out loud, he nodded his head sitting up just a little to adjust himself.

“Yeah, but I was thinking maybe you could go as my date instead of as a friend of all of us, and it would kind of be like a pre-date for us. We’d go together but then if you get bored of talking to sponsors or you feel uncomfortable then our friends are always there and Maci will be there so you will know at least one other person who isn’t on the team” he explained and you couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your face. The fact that he took the time to come up with a way to have you with him whilst also making sure you’d be comfortable made your heart flutter.

“Ok” was all you said before Fred pulled you back into his arms, “does this mean you want to go on an actual date with me?”

“Yeah” he laughed, “I thought that was obvious but clearly it wasn’t”.

December 24th

You had to admit you were panicking a little as you got ready for the Leafs Christmas Eve party, you’d never met anyone outside of your little friend group and you didn’t know any of the wives or girlfriends so you were freaking out wondering if you were going to fit it or not. You knew you weren’t Fred’s usual type and that some people may have an opinion about that but you were hoping you wouldn’t have to deal with that tonight, you just wanted to have a good time with Freddie and properly get in the Christmas spirit.

The dress you’d picked out was red in order to fit in with the Christmas theme and you paired it with a pair of nude heels, you kept the make up fairly simple knowing you’d hate yourself later if you had to spend ages taking it off before bed and you styled your hair in your go-to style for more formal events such as this one.

A knock on your door took your attention away from your reflection in the mirror and knowing it was Freddie you were quick to open it. Fred looked good, he usually did, but tonight he was wearing a deep maroon suit and he’d styled his hair, he smiled fondly when he saw you and let out a low whistle as you spun around after inviting him in. You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless at his boyish antics, and then you noticed the bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“These are for you” he handed them to you and you grabbed a vase to put them whilst making small talk with Fred about the last few days. Once you had grabbed your purse and your phone, you took Fred’s outstretched hand and let him lead you to his car.

Pulling up to the event could only be described as magical, the leafs team had placed lights up the driveway to the building where it was being held and since it was already dark out you could see them twinkle and shine as you approached, Freddie’s hand was warm on your thigh and you were mindlessly playing with his fingers as he drove the two of you up to the entrance. A valet worker met you as you opened the door and helped you out of the car whilst Fred handed over the keys before joining you and thanking the valet worker, he rested his hand against your back as he leaned in, “come on, let’s go get a drink”. He slipped his hand into yours and you couldn’t help thinking about how much you loved the way it felt to have your hands intertwined.

“Fred!” An unknown voice shouted in your directed and two people were suddenly in front of you. Freddie greeted each of them with a hug before pulling you into his side.

“This is y/n, y/n this is Courtney and Jake” Freddie’s warm hand rubbed your back subtly as his way of showing he was still there, right next to you and there was no need to be nervous.

“It’s nice to finally meet you” Courtney said smiling at you, “Fred hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks” her comment caused her husband to laugh and nudge Freddie’s side and you blushed at the thought of him telling his friends about you.

“It’s really nice to meet you too, Freddie’s told me a lot about you guys” you tried your hardest not to let your voice wavier or to seem too awkward and judging by the smiles you got in return you knew you’d succeeded.

“Why don’t we go get a drink? The guys will get cornered by some sponsors any second and trust me you don’t want to get caught in the middle of that” Courtney explained gesturing towards the bar and you nodded, giving Fred a small smile to reassure him that you were good before joining Courtney. She grabbed the bar tenders attention as soon as you got there and ordered her drink before asking what you’d like, you told her your order and thanked the bartender as they placed the drinks in front of you.

“I’m so glad you and Fred are finally giving this a chance” she said catching you off guard, she must of noticed the look on your face because she quickly continued, “Fred’s been talking about you for so long and Jake and I could tell he really cares about you”.

“Freddie’s a really nice guy and I really care about him too, he’s definitely something special” you couldn’t help but smile and she matched your expression.

“Oh you got very lucky with Fred he’s a keeper for sure, and I promise he didn’t tell me to say that” she laughed and you joined her as the two of you sipped on your drinks. “Freddie said you were a little nervous to come here as his date but you’ll be fine, I felt the same when I first met Jake but everyone’s really nice and you know a few of the guys right?”

“Yeah, my friend is dating William, that’s actually how Freddie and I met” you said with a nod. It went quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you again, placing her drink on the bar.

“You’re a teacher, right?” You nodded, “what grade do you teach?”

The two of you ended up talking for a while about your careers and it turns out you both attended the same university so you had a few things to talk about and a few drinks later you were laughing and sharing like you’d known each other forever. That’s how Fred found you, laughing with his teammates wife and he smiled as he wrapped his arm around your waist, “the other guys are here, do you wanna come and meet them?” You looked to Courtney for a second and she quickly gathered her things before linking arms with her husband, you followed with Fred at your side and just before you reached the table of your friends and the rest of the team, Freddie stopped you.

“You looked like you were having a good time” he stated wrapping both his arms around your waist as you leant into him slightly for support.

“I was, Courtney’s really nice. We’re actually going to meet up in the new year for lunch and maybe go shopping or something” you smiled up at Fred as you recalled your conversation with Courtney, you were glad she wanted to be friends because she seemed like a really nice person.

“See I told you everything would work out” you hummed in response and Freddie softly looked down at you, “you will tell me if it gets too much though, won’t you? I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend to be ok around me”.

“Of course Fred, I promise. Come on we have to go say hello to everyone else” you said taking his hand in yours and trying to manoeuvre him over to the table, but he wouldn’t budge. You giggled when you realised he purposely wasn’t moving and spun around to raise an eyebrow at him, “what?”

“You look really beautiful tonight” his words had you blushing and giggling nervously as you practically felt his eyes on you.

“Thank you Freddie, you look really handsome” he pulled you back into his arms and for a second you thought he might finally kiss you but the sound of Mitch’s voice pulled the two of you back to reality.

“There you guys are, we were wondering where you were- oh shit sorry did I interrupt something” he wiggled his eyebrows in amusement at the angry look on Fred’s face due to his interruption.

“It’s okay Mitchy” you said pulling yourself from Fred’s arms to greet Mitch with a hug.

It was a while later when the food had been served and you were sat around the table with your friends with Freddie sat next to you that a slow song finally came on and all the girls were pulling their partners up to dance. You looked over to Fred to see him already standing, a smile on his face and his hand outstretched towards you.

You let him guide you to the dance floor and you slipped yourselves in between the other couples, his hands immediately found your waist and you rested your hands on his shoulders. The two of stared into each other’s eyes as you swayed gently in time with the music and the people surrounding you.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight, I know big parties aren’t really your thing” his voice was barely above a whisper but you could hear him since you were pressed against his chest.

“Thank you for inviting me, I had a really good time” you smiled at each other and as cliche as it sounds you felt like you were the only two people in the room. It amazed you how Freddie was able to grasp your full attention and keep you focused on just him, it was scary but also calming to know that he had the ability to make you feel so relaxed and safe.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked so quietly you almost missed it, you could feel the heat in your cheeks and you could only bring yourself to nod, your heart beat increasing and your breathing getting slightly heavier. He leaned down slightly and pressed his lips to yours gently, you kissed him back and let him pull you in even closer. His forehead rested against yours as he pulled away slightly, eyes still closed as the soft music played in the background.

And the rest was history...

#frederik andersen #frederik andersen imagine #Freddie Andersen #freddie andersen imagine #Fred andersen #Fred andersen imagine #Toronto maple leafs imagine #nhlimagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine

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adarlingwrites · 3 years

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Taste

Summary: The blue bard is sickeningly sweet for Astarion's preferences, but he'll never forget her taste.

Author’s Notes: Taste is a collection of retellings of Astarion's scenes with the player character from the Baldur's Gate 3 early access, but with a little more embellishments. Plus, it has glimpses of my tiefling's backstory.

I had horrible, horrible artist's and writer's block and I needed to get this out of my system to get the creative juices flowing again. Please excuse any typos or lack of quality.

Larian give us the bard class pls I am begging of you

I - Blueberry Wine

The time for rest has come.

Bedrolls are strewn on the campgrounds, and most of its inhabitants are already asleep. Nothing can be heard save for the crackle of fire, the chirp of birds in the woods, and soft snoring.

If it wasn’t for their common goal of removing those damned illithid tadpoles from their heads before they undergo ceremorphosis, the members of this party wouldn’t even spend five minutes within each others’ presence. Now, they’re sleeping in one place. It takes some measure of trust for that.

The dreams of the tiefling in their ragtag group aren’t sweet tonight, to say the least.

Brows furrowed as another nightmare wormed into her psyche, the tiefling tosses and turns in her bedroll, a thin film of sweat giving her forehead a slight sheen in the firelight. Eyes shooting open, she choked back a gasp, lest she wake up her companions in the camp. The crackle of the campfire and the smell of burning wood gave her some semblance of comfort, at least, reminding her of distant memories.

A warm hearth, a kind face, the smell of freshly baked blueberry pie; simple comforts from her youth that she missed terribly.

The comfort that accompanied the nostalgia was enough to make her drift back to sleep. Woefully, it didn’t stop the nightmares from coming back, now centered around the tiefling’s early years.

Small, bare feet pitter-pattered on the wet pavement, frantic gasps escaped her dry mouth. Choking back a sob, more people went after her, shouting, hurling words that scraped her heart.

“Stop! Thief!”

“Devil!”

“Slay the demon!”

Lungs burning from exertion, the little tiefling whelp coughs, rasps for air, and slides under a cart. In the dark, she can see a narrow alleyway, which she scurries into. The men run past her hiding spot, cursing and muttering amongst themselves. Relief floods through her as their torchlights grew dim.

Safe, at last.

Her trembling arms had been holding on to precious cargo; a stale loaf of bread, wrapped in linen. It’s not a delectable morsel of steak, or rich bone marrow, but it’s better than the rocks she grinded with her sharp teeth for breakfast.

As she takes it out of the cloth, a stone drops in her stomach and horror twists on her young face. The tiefling isn’t holding a loaf of bread, but a severed head of a drow. A scream threatened to escape her throat and pierce the night air, but the tiefling maiden could only gasp as she felt a presence behind her.

Wine red eyes still heavy with sleep met with alert, ruby ones. She isn’t dreaming any longer.

In the dim firelight, she sees him. Astarion.

Truth be told, she doesn’t quite know what to feel about the posh elf. Astarion’s handsome face and fair curls are easy on the eyes, but it only reminded her of how hellish she looks in comparison due to her infernal ancestry. His sharp, calculating eyes puts her at unease, even when his gaze isn’t directed towards her. He has a way of making people feel beneath him, like vulnerable prey. Serenity is not exempt from that, despite her efforts to be pleasant to him. Not to mention, Astarion’s attitude and mannerisms reminded her of the uppity nobles she had the displeasure of encountering in her colorful past.

In short, he’s a handsome fellow with a revolting attitude, at least to Serenity’s standards. Lust and indignation battles with each other in the tiefling’s psyche.

It doesn’t help at all that the elf is fond of calling her pet names, such as “sweetheart” or “dear”. No one calls her such sweet things with genuine intent, not after she saw the drow’s head on a pike, and to hear them from his condescending mouth stirs something dark in her heart.

It especially inflames her whenever he calls her “darling”.

She wanted to pounce on him. However, she wasn’t sure what she wanted after that.

Tear his pretty face asunder with her nails and watch his handsome features contort in agony, perhaps? Or watch him writhe underneath her in a more… carnal manner as she takes out all of her frustration by mashing her ravenous mouth against his lovely lips?

Maybe both?

“Oh, Serenity. You have no need for that sort of… decadence,” she thinks to herself.

Alas, her body says otherwise.

“Shit,” he says upon meeting eyes with her, distracting the tiefling from her thoughts. Serenity didn’t expect such a vulgar word to come out of his pretty mouth, and she didn’t expect the gleaming fangs inside of it either.

How could she not see it the first few times?

The dead boar they found on the road, the fact that she had never seen him consume any food, and the wolfish way he eyes her neck when he thought she wasn’t looking should’ve given it away.

Astarion is a vampire. Worse, he's a vampire who’s intending to sink his teeth in Serenity’s neck.

Whatever terrible things she secretly wanted to do to him, she had no chance of enacting them in this situation. Hells, if anything, Astarion is the one with the capacity to do terrible things to her. The tiefling will be at his mercy, if she doesn’t act fast. So, why isn’t her body doing anything to move?

Heart racing, she needed to say something, at least.

“Stop,” Serenity warns him, voice low, baring her own sharp teeth. The tiefling had considered smashing her precious lute over his head as a last resort. Before the bard can lash out, he pulls back, alarmed.

“No no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” Astarion hastily blurts, panic evident in his voice. “ I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed- well, blood.”

The elf’s admission confirms it; Astarion is a vampire, a creature enslaved to sanguine hunger.

At that moment, an expression that Serenity hasn’t seen on the elf before twists his features: guilt. The vampire knew he’s betraying her trust, and it shows.

“How long since you killed someone? Days? Hours?” Serenity asks, on guard now, but still sitting on her bedroll.

Eyes widening, Astarion’s tone becomes defensive. “I’ve never killed anyone!” he exclaims. Then, his expression turns grim. “Well, not for food. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds! Whatever I can get.”

The lass feels slightly reassured that she’s not dealing with a blood-sucking serial killer, but the possibility of him lying puts her on edge again.

“But it’s not enough,” the pale elf speaks again. Serenity half expected him to say this, he did try to bite her after all. “Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak.”

And there it was, the last thing she expected from him: vulnerability. His reluctance to show weakness was written all over his face. Perhaps it wounds his pride? Regardless of the doubt she has for him, it changed Serenity’s perception of the vampire ever so slightly.

“If I just had a bit of blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please.”

Now this is a pleasant surprise. Astarion saying please? Is this a dream?

Still, the tiefling wanted to dig deeper at the truth. Brows knitting together in concentration, she knew better than to use the tadpole, but the damn thing established a psionic link with other infected individuals.

Serenity pushes into the vampire’s mind to search for the truth.

“I- what’s this? What’s happening?” Astarion blurts, experiencing slight discomfort from the intrusion.

Pushing deep into the elf’s cracked and quivering memories, Serenity strains as she sifts through centuries worth of them, until she has reached its heart. There, she found herself in Astarion’s shoes; quite literally. She sees dark eyes that commanded her to feed, and instinctively, her body follows suit. Serenity, experiencing this through Astarion’s memory, opens her mouth, biting down, but not into a tender, pulsing neck. Though she wanted to recoil in disgust, there was no other choice; she couldn’t physically resist. The choice had been made for her- no, made for Astarion.

Astarion’s fangs pierce the twisting body of a rat - the only thing his master allows him to eat.

In return, Serenity’s own memories leak through the cracks of her psyche, and Astarion finds himself in the body of a wee girl with horns too big for her head. Ravenously, he inhales the sweet, buttery aroma of a freshly-baked pie resting on a windowsill. Astarion’s hands, now small and of bluish color, reach for the baked good with caution. A warm, ash-colored hand presses on his shoulder, and he sees the smiling face of a tall, drow man. Instead of hurting him for attempting to steal, the dark elf ushers him to a table, and offers him a slice with a compassionate smile. Serenity will never forget her first taste of the buttery pie crust, the sweet blueberries, and a hint of lemon and salt.

Now, Astarion will never forget that taste, either.

The connection between them severed, Serenity takes a moment to collect herself.

“You ate animals because you were forced to. Not because you wanted to,” she mumbles, eyebrows knitted together. Is it sympathy? Or perhaps his experiences reminded her of her own relationship with food?

Whatever it was, the tiefling’s perception of Astarion drastically shifted. On the surface, Astarion is a noble who turns up his nose at folks like her, but in truth, he suffered under the hands of a cruel master.

Being a pompous ass is a defense mechanism for him.

“I- yes,” Astarion says with resignation. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So, you can see why I’m slow to trust you,” he continues, and Serenity swore the expression he wore on his face tugged a few strings in her heart.

“But I do trust you, and you can trust me,” Astarion tells her.

Serenity thinks it might not be fair for her not to. How can she say that she can’t, after she saw his past for herself, and he didn’t show any hostility towards her for intruding upon his darkest, most haunting memories?

“I do. I believe you,” the bard responds, and she can hear his relief when he mutters “Thank you.”

Perhaps Serenity had judged him too harshly in the past. The drow who took her in cultivated compassion in her heart, and it’s beckoning to her.

“Do you need blood?” Serenity asks him, and there is genuine surprise on his face.

“I was about to ask,” he tells her, expression shifting into something more pleasant. “I only need a taste, I swear.”

“As long as you don’t take a drop more than you need,” Serenity replies, loosening her clothing slightly, her smallclothes peeking through.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds almost eager.

“I- of course. Not one drop more.”

That damn vampire flashes her a smile that sends lightning rippling through her veins.

Astarion’s yearning eyes flicked to her exposed flesh, barely making out the purple tinge on her bluish skin as blood rushed from her chest to her face. Seeing where his eyes are roaming, Serenity feels her heart racing faster, and she swiftly lies down, back turned away from him. The tiefling bard is not about to let her companion see her flustered state.

Face inches away from her head, Astarion catches a whiff of the tiefling’s scent. He quietly thanked the gods that she didn’t smell of sulfur or rotting meat; instead, the bard smells of ash from freshly burned incense, laced with a warm, spiced scent.

The vampire holds her gently, delicately, until he strikes.

Astarion sinks deep, fangs like shards of ice piercing her neck. Serenity lets out a gasp, and her face contorts into an expression of pain and discomfort. Thankfully, the pain is quick and sharp, and as the vampire continues to feed, it fades gently into throbbing numbness. The bard feels her blood coursing through her body, into Astarion’s mouth, who sucked and slurped it hungrily.

He leans forward, one arm almost draping over the bard’s torso to support his weight, while the other still holds her head. Palm running through her short obsidian hair, he stops as they touch one of her horns, hand enclosing into a fist around it. Gently tugging, the elf tilts her head for better access.

Astarion’s lips are wet from his meal’s blood and sweat, and his own saliva. They glided on the sensitive skin ever so slightly as he pursed them and sucked harder. Serenity found her breath catching in her throat from his actions, pulse quickening as her hand flew to grasp Astarion’s arm, filed fingernails turning white at the end.

In a figurative and literal sense, she’s holding on to dear life.

“Ah, Astarion, that’s enough,” she mewls, hand moving to grasp his hair, fingernails running through his scalp. Not enough to hurt, but enough for the vampire to snap out of it due to the sensation it produced.

The vampire moans, almost carnally, then it is followed by a surprised, questioning grunt. Serenity’s pleas, and the scrape of her fingernails took him from his trance-like state. Immediately, he removes himself from her neck, swallowing thickly.

“Oh. Of course.”

Serenity sits up as he pulls back, light-headed from the blood loss. She turns to the pale elf, her breathing ragged as her fingers gingerly pressed on her bite wound. The tiefling felt a blush creep on her face, neck, and pointy ears as she gazes upon Astarion’s face. In the firelight, she can see that his pupils are blown out in ecstasy, and blood is trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“That- that was amazing,” Astarion purrs, wiping off her blood and bringing his fingers to his mouth, savoring it to the last drop. “My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel…”

He pauses, and Serenity stopped breathing for a moment.

“Happy,” he continued, sighing in contentment as he gave her a gentle, genuine smile.

Serenity had to blink a few times to confirm that she wasn’t seeing things.

She clears her throat, hoping to dissipate the delicious tension between them. “I look forward to seeing you fight,” the bard says to him, drawing her knees to her chest.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing,” Astarion responds, bowing ever so slightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling.”

The pale elf turns around and just like that, he is back to normal, snobbish self.

Serenity slumps back on her bedroll, exhaling slowly as her heart finally slows down. Her body crashes from the surge of adrenaline and the blood loss. Turning her head, she watches as the elf stalks towards the forest; stronger, more confident, and ready to hunt.

“This is a gift, you know,” Astarion tells her, back still turned from her, looking over his shoulder.

“I won’t forget it.”

Serenity won’t forget it either.

It didn’t take long before Astarion found a deer in the forest. As he drank the beast’s blood, he couldn’t help but compare the taste to Serenity’s blood. The animal is more filling indeed, but now? Nothing compares to the taste of the tiefling’s delicious blood.

She is the first humanoid he ever tasted, after all.

And how will he describe her taste?

The darling tiefling is bubbly, gentle, and sweet, much like her demeanor; almost sickeningly so, for his standards. It’s comparable to the Monastery of the Yellow Rose’s blueberry wine: a fragrant dessert wine he had the pleasure of consuming with delicate cheeses and light cakes back when he didn’t have any fangs.

Or perhaps he had associated her with the fruit due to her memories mingling with his.

Either way, when he said that he won’t forget it, he wasn’t just referring to the favor she did for him. Astarion was referring to Serenity’s taste as well.

Meanwhile, in the camp, Serenity draws her lute to her chest, plucking the strings softly in an attempt to lull herself to sleep. It doesn’t ease her into slumber like it usually does. Sighing, she squeezes her thighs together, heat pooling between them as she recalled the vampire’s lips on her pulsing neck. Perhaps it’s not the lute that she should be plucking at.

Reaching into the waistband of her trousers, the bard gives in to her secret desires.

At least there weren’t any more nightmares for the night.

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x mc #oc: serenity | zalia #tiefling #tiefling character #tiefling bard #cw: blood

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sadsentinel · 4 years

Note

i wld trade a kidney for literally any elliott/leah content my dude

hi anon! sorry it took me so long to get this written out. i hope you like it! also, you can keep your kidneys, i’ll settle for a like :)

btw, i’ve started a story on wattpad that will contain all the stardew oneshots i write. you can find it here!

The late afternoon sky glowed orange through Leah's window. Have I really been working that long? She'd noticed only once that the light peeking through her curtains had begun to change, but that had been... she wasn't quite sure how long ago that had been.

Her stomach grumbled and she realized she hadn't eaten since breakfast. After the new farmer had moved to town and convinced her to host an art show, she'd been working even harder on her sculptures. There had been many a day since then that she had forgotten to take breaks, even to eat, she was so focused on her sculpting.

She smiled to herself as she looked over her current work-in-progress. This one would have to wait until tomorrow morning, unless a bout of inspiration struck her as she tried to sleep that night. That had been happening now more than ever, and she was glad. She relished in the fact that moving here had been the right decision. After all of the good things that had happened to her here in Pelican Town, she couldn't imagine living any other way, or anywhere else.

She'd made true friends, gained the courage to share her art, and best of all, she was happy.

A muffled cough, barely audible above the babbling stream outside, pulled her attention away from her thoughts. Who could that be? She prepared herself to go meet whoever it was, but first ran her fingers over her work, a little surprised at how well it was turning out. She'd expected this design to be much harder than she had originally anticipated. She quickly recoiled when she drew her finger over what felt like a massive splinter.

"Ow!" She shook her hand as if to dull the pain, and gingerly picked the splinter out. Her lips formed a hard line as she did, and her finger radiated pain with each heartbeat. She pulled a pale sheet over her sculpture and kicked a few of the larger wood shavings out of the walkway. That's enough for today.

She slipped into her boots and emerged from her home for the first time that day. The warm, summer sunlight washed over her, and she shut her eyes for a moment, just to take in the comforting feeling of it. Something about life in the country made her appreciate the small things, like enjoying the sunshine. That was something she'd never been able to do in the city. There was too much hustle and bustle, and it was too loud to hear the quiet, calming sounds of nature.

"Elliott? Is that you?" She held her hand over her eyes to block the sun, and peered out at the figure sitting by the edge of the water. The man turned and smiled.

"Leah! It's good to see you. Why don't you join me?" He patted the spot beside him, and she walked over to accompany him. "How have you been? I haven't seen much of you lately."

It was true; she'd become somewhat of a recluse. The inspiration she'd felt lately had occupied her entire day, for weeks now.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been distracted, I suppose." She leaned back and placed her hands on the ground for support, but flinched when a stab of pain coursed through her finger. "Ouch." She lifted her hand and shook it out once again, until the pain became but a dull sensation.

"What happened?" Elliott's voice dripped with concern for his friend. He extended his hand, genuine worry causing his eyebrows to knit together. She placed her hand in his and he turned it over, inspecting it for injury.

"Just a big splinter. It'll heal." She waved his worry away with her free hand, but his concern didn't fade like she'd hoped it would.

"You should be careful," he said, pulling something from his pocket. Leah realized it was a bandage as he began wrapping it around her finger, as gentle as if he were cradling a baby bird. Elliott had always been gentle and caring, and despite their slight age difference, she was drawn to him. He'd been kind to her since the day they'd met, when he wandered into the Saloon looking to meet everyone.

"Hi, I'm Leah." She smiled at him, feeling a nervous blush spread across her cheeks.

"Elliott. It's a pleasure to meet you," he responded, shaking her hand gently, but firmly. "Oh! Your hands—" He'd noticed the roughness of her skin that came from hours of sculpting. She glanced down at her calloused, work-hardened hands.

"Oh, I'm a sculptor. Wood carving." She felt herself smile again, albeit involuntarily, as the embarrassment flushed her cheeks.

"Really!" he exclaimed. "I'm an artist myself. A writer," he said. "Art really does come in many forms, doesn't it?"

"I suppose you're right. It does." Leah grinned widely, genuinely happy there was another artist in town. She'd always been afraid of sharing her art, but maybe he could help her overcome that fear. If not, at least she had one person she could potentially bond over the craft with.

The pair talked long into the night, until Gus called over to them from behind the bar, "It's almost closin' time, folks." Emily yawned in the corner as she washed down a few tables.

Leah glanced around, and realized they were the only ones left. Everyone else had already headed home for the night.

"Oh! We should really get home, it's getting awful late." She rarely stayed out so long into the night, but this was an exception. She'd made a new close friend, and they had so much in common. She could only hope they would remain friends for a long time to come.

They didn't go straight home that night, though. Elliott had asked if she wanted to go to the beach for awhile, and although her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, she found herself agreeing. They'd talked for several more hours, about their pasts, about art, about Pelican Town, about everything. They only realized how late it was getting, or early rather, when the sun began to shine on the horizon. The colors of the sky changed from a deep, purplish-blue, to a beautiful shade of lavender, until the paler blues, yellows, and hazy orange glow filled the still star-speckled sky.

"Is that better?" he asked, still holding her hand with a kind of softness only he was capable of. She nodded, appreciative of his care.

"Thanks."

A soft breeze blew a few scattered leaves over the sparkling water that flowed peacefully beneath them. The orange haze of the sunset reflected back on them, and filled the air with an otherworldly glow you could only ever experience here.

"I'm glad I met you," Leah said. She tossed her bright red hair over her shoulder and smiled at her friend.

"So am I. The town is beautiful, the wilderness simply beckons for you with its peaceful, calming aura, and the soft crashing of the waves makes the beach the perfect place to call home. And the people. The people are kind and warm-hearted." He winked at her, and the corners of her lips turned upwards in a smile.

"It's so nice to have another artist in town, y'know. You really get me." Elliott smiled at the compliment and chuckled.

"Good. I had planned on sticking around for a long time."

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retro-aesthe · 5 years

Text

Sidelines (Part 4)

(Hi! I’ve had a bit of writer’s block... but here it is. Tho it’s kinda more like a filler chapter... kind’a long... and btw, i plan for this story to only have 5 parts so... one more to go! anywayyyyyyy there we go. Someone requested to be tagged, I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TUMBLR WORKS because before, I literally just reblog and favorite and that’s it. But I’ll try... I’m tryna do my best. AND thank you, all of you out there for the feedback my works had. it was surreal!!! okay enuf now. enjoyyy)

[ @fromthediariesofaoncer hi! ... and... um why can’t I tag you @yanginginthere ? hope u see this]

Alex Danvers x fem!reader

It hurt—the bright light behind your eyelids. It stung, and you wanted to groan so bad because of the bothering pain, but you ended up coughing softly because of the dryness of your throat. You moaned a little at the roughness the smallest cough you’ve ever heard cause you. Then you suddenly realized you’ve been hearing quietness, except for the constant beep and hum of machines.

“Y/n…?” You heard a hesitant voice ask. The immediate response your body made was to open your eyes, to look at the voice’s source. It was a dumb idea, considering how the bright light you were first complaining about surely have blinded you the moment you opened your eyes.

“… blind…” you managed to say. You heard footsteps overpowering the constant hums you’ve been hearing before. Then, there were what seem to be curtains moving—the distinct sound of metal sliding over metal. The light dimmed marginally, but it was significantly bearable compared before.

“Y/n…?” You heard the voice ask once again. You realized you were slowly succumbing to sleep’s enticement. You opened your eyes and Alex Danvers’s face came into view.

It was a horrifying moment of déjà vu, and suddenly you gasped as onslaught of memories attacked you. The earthquake. The woman… bleeding. You, bleeding.

“Lexie!” It was supposedly an exclamation, but you winced when your voice broke at the middle due to the sandpaper currently residing in your throat. You felt your best friend’s arm slightly push you up from your back, and the rim of a cold glass was gently placed on your lower lip.

“Take a sip,” Lexie whispered softly. It was then you noticed that she was the only one in the room aside from you. You cautiously took a sip of the warm water, then thanked god when it soothed the dryness of your throat.

“Lexie, I’m…” you trailed off when you settled back against the comfort of the bed. Your hand was touching the side of your head you remembered bleeding. You fingertips were met by a rough texture which your brain only classified as gauze. You suddenly became aware of everything around you: the gauze, the wires attached to you, the sound of machines, the room—you were in a hospital.

“Bleeding? Yeah, I’m aware. You’ve said that a thousand times already.” Lexie offered a small smile, the worry and concern evident in her eyes.

“What?” you dumbly asked. You were still trying to grasp everything—trying to grasp how the last thing you remembered was… telling Lexie you were bleeding, but it was in a cramped up room.

“You’ve woken up a couple of times in the past 36 hours… and telling me you’re bleeding was always the first thing you keep saying.” You followed Lexie with your eyes as she sat down on the chair beside your bed. You felt her warm hand gently hold yours, making your heartbeat faster… which only became worse when you heard how your heartbeat reflected on the machines. You swore you had an unhealthy red tint form on your cheeks. You turned your head away from your best friend as you’re definitely sure she didn’t miss the machine’s indication of your response to her touch. She went to medical school, for crying out loud!

Your face got even warmer when the hand holding yours squeezed lightly.

“The doctor said you’re expected to actually wake up today. Thank god you chose not to be dramatic for once,” Lexie softly said, making you smile a little. Then, you frowned.

“How long was I out?” you asked, finally registering the fact that you missed a couple of hours because you were unconscious.

“Two days.”

There was silence. Then, “You feel alright?” Lexie asked. You nodded your head slightly, cautious that you might get dizzy of any exaggerated movements. You were looking at her face intently, noting how new stress lines formed, and how Lexie could definitely use a few hours with her bed.

“I’m gonna alert them you’re awake now, okay?” You saw in your peripheral vision that she pressed a button. Silence once again filled the room.

When the doctor and nurses came in the room, the machines were checked and you were asked a few routine questions.

All you can think about the entire time was Lexie not letting go of your hand. It was warm, and though a small gesture, it was the best comfort you’ve ever had in your life.

▫️▫️▫️

“I’m gonna call the others…”

You hate how there was only silence in the room. For the past 10 minutes or so, you and Lexie just held hands, but did not talk about anything at all.

“Wait, Lexie,” you finally managed to say. She immediately looked into your eyes, searching for pain or any indicator that you’re anything besides fine. “Don’t you think we should… talk...? Whatever this is... you know, what’s happening.” You grew frustrated over the fact that you desperately wanted to point out the notable distance between you and your best friend, but can’t because you’re scared. You wanted for Lexie to get the hint, to understand what you were talking about without actually hearing it from you.

“I don’t want to stress you even more, Y/n. You were in surgery three days ago and you didn’t completely wake up for two days,” Lexie said. Your eyes widened at the word “surgery.” Of course, Y/n, your head practically faucet-dripped blood, why in the world wouldn’t you be in surgery?

The silence continued. Your heart aches as the obvious distance between you and Lexie seems to be slowly eating whatever relationship you had with her before. There was hollowness in Lexie’s voice which made you uncomfortable. You hate how everything seems to be changing and you can’t even keep up with its fast phase.

“I miss you,” you said in a low voice, looking at Lexie with pleading eyes. You saw how her posture suddenly went stiff. God damn it…

“You avoided me. For a week.” There was a slight edge in her tone. You winced, because frustrated Lexie is the worst Lexie. She took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm herself at the sudden rouse of her frustration. You fearfully watched her. You know she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but when Lexie’s frustrated, she tends to let everything out, without filter, without breaks.

“You made me leave your apartment, Y/n. I tried to call you hundreds of times—but they all went straight to voicemail. Then I go to your apartment, and you weren’t there, and if it weren’t for Mrs. Lee, I wouldn’t have known that you just left your apartment… or—or something else. I just knew you made it a point to not be there when I could more likely visit you, since you know my schedule so well.

“Then… then next thing I know, you spread your arms wide open in the middle of danger. I had no idea where you were and—fuck—thank god Maggie found you. I had to fucking hear it from Kara that you were injured! You kept avoiding me, and I had no idea where you were and—what if, what if by any chance Maggie wasn’t there and nobody saw you and that woman—god, do you even have a clue how fucking terrified I was, huh, Y/n?”

You know well enough to not disrupt Lexie’s rants whenever she’s on one. You just watched as tears started to form on her eyes, when one fell down. It physically hurts you watching her chin tremble as she tried so hard to keep herself from crying. The grip on your hand became tighter, as if it was Lexie’s lifeline.

“You fell on the ground and I caught you and your head was bleeding so much. There was so much blood, Y/n. Much more than the woman under that damned car. Do you know how fucking scared I was when you wouldn’t wake up? The ambulance came and you still didn’t. Then we were in the ambulance and you did and all you told me was that you’re bleeding. God, Y/n, I was so fucking scared. I thought I was going to lose you… there was… there was so much blood and—and—“

A few tears leaked from your eyes as Lexie let go of your hand and curled down as sobs racked her form. You would have reached out, had it been possible for you to get up without help. You watched her helplessly, willing her with your eyes to look at you and hug you and lie down with you and just… lean on you.

“I’m so sorry, Lexie…” you said quietly, but your words were drowned out by her gasps and sniffs. After a minute or so, she straightened up and wiped her tears away. Tears were still streaming down her face but she looked at you with so much sorrow in her eyes.

Her left hand went on holding your free hand while her right hand reached out to wipe the few tears that escaped your eyes. The soft gesture made a few tears flow even more and you keep muttering “I’m sorry” to her. She was shaking her head then squeezed your hand tighter.

“I hate that I can’t blame anyone for what happened to you,” she admitted, her eyes training towards your bandaged head.

“I can’t lose you, Y/n,” she whispered, her voice coming out a plea. You offered a small smile to her, reveling in the comfort of her hand cradling your cheek.

“You won’t,” you said softly. The one week of avoiding Lexie gave you enough time to adjust to the situation. It was enough to prepare you for Maggie’s constant presence in your life, and the constant pain it will bring. The one week was enough to convince yourself to go back to what was before, to just ignore the kiss that happened and to not hope it will ever happen again.

Lexie will only just be your best friend.

▫️▫️▫️

The topic resurfaced on the third day after waking up. The whole gang was there, since it was Kara’s Earth birthday and she doesn’t want you to miss out on the celebration.

Cupcakes were everywhere, but they don’t beat Lexie’s gift to Kara—a mountain of potstickers. Kara was with you when Lexie arrived, carrying the huge gift she had. You taught Kara was going to solar flare with the excitement flowing from her every pore. Lexie had to physically restrain her from inhaling all of the potstickers in one sitting.

Eliza, J’onn, Winn, James, and Lena (since she definitely knows her girlfriend’s alter-ego) all came 30 minutes after Lexie. They were all creating noise, but you preferred the overlapping words and occasional loud laughter (definitely not Kara’s) over the reruns of Friends (though, you’ll forever love the show), documentaries, and constant hum of machines.

You still couldn’t sit up straight since the gash you had on your left torso was still healing. The bed was angled up slightly, so it could support you as you slightly sat up. Lexie was sitting on the chair beside you. You’ve seen more of her in the past three days than you had in the past three months. She was constantly on your side. Apparently, she chose to sow her invested day-offs just so she could take care of you. After a couple times of urging her to go to J’onn and request to go back to work, she managed to shut you up and just be appreciative of the gesture.

You watched Lexie laugh at something Winn said. She had three potstickers on her plate, and a slice of Eliza’s famous pie.

“So… um, isn’t Maggie part of the I-know-Kara-is-Supergirl squad? Where is she?” you asked lightly. You noticed how Lexie suddenly stopped smiling. You looked at the others. The whole room paused, all looking back at you. Their grave expressions made you think the worst.

“Oh my god,” you said, horrified. You looked at Lexie. “Was she… Is she hurt?” Lexie shook her head. Cold spread over your body. “Dead?!” You looked at the others in horror.

“God, no!” Lexie exclaimed. You looked at her for explanation. Well, what were they expecting? You weren’t a psychic like J’onn.

“Well then what?” you asked, frustrated.

“She broke up with me.” There was an awkward silence that settled in the room. You couldn’t help but notice how Lexie was staring intently at you, and there was just a hint of sadness in her face.

You know you were fucked up when hope practically burst right out of you.

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clariverse · 5 years

Text

Writer In Motion: Week Three

This week, my Writer In Motion story went through a round of CP feedback. I was assigned two—and two stories to critique myself in return—and I sent the story to them with more than a slight curiosity. I’ve been posting my thoughts and doubts about this short over the past couple of weeks, as it went from its first draft to the self-edited second, and I got a couple of words of first-impression feedback along the way, but I really wanted to know how it’d do with the readers.

This week, I edited it based on that feedback—but first I want to talk a little bit about something very important, very easily overlooked, and for me very hard to do: trusting compliments.

If you’d like to skip past the talk to the story itself, you can click here.

For my week one and week two posts, click on those links.

So, trusting compliments.

For the longest time, I saw no use in compliments. The logic went something like this: they don’t tell me what’s wrong; they don’t tell my inner critic they’re right; they don’t give me thoughts on what to change, and so they must be useless. And oh, what a quick and simple slide it is from “useless” to “wrong”. It wasn’t before long that my brain could find a hundred reasons to discredit any compliment or positive piece of feedback I received—not because I thought the critics were dishonest, but because there’d always be something. “They don’t know about X.” “They wouldn’t be saying so if they only considered Y.” “They’re not seeing the Z because of S.” There was always a reason why the compliment wasn’t really, actually applicable.

Well, this experience challenged that a bit, and I decided to make a conscious effort to work through it. With this experience, there was no illusive “something” to discredit the positive feedback that came my way: I had posted everything. The readers saw (or could’ve seen) the first draft; the thought process; my own to-edit notes and doubts; the second draft that came out of it all, and more notes on that; and above it all, a finished story. The Imposter Syndrome head of the many-headed beast that is my inner critic looked for things to snap its jaws at, but it wasn’t as simple as usually—and reader, I leaned into that. I chose to trust the positives and consider them just as useful as the rest, because useful they are. Accepting positive feedback, I found, can be as complicated a skill as accepting critiques—but one that doesn’t deserve to be looked down upon as much as it often is. We deserve to be proud of our work; we deserve to be happy when others acknowledge its positive sides.

So here is some general positive feedback I received for this WiM story:

The dual timeline works! A couple of people even expressed their surprise at this, considering the length of the story and the fact the timelines are also in different tenses

The prose is poetic and flows well

The story has that fairytale-y feel I was going for

I’m pretty pleased with that. For the most part, these things are telling me that the story as a whole is doing what I had set out to do. Can my mind find things to prod at? Yes. Can it turn to what wasn’t said to try and discredit what was? Oh, absolutely. But I’m not letting it.

That said, I received more than compliments. Before I show you the next draft of the story itself—and then send it off to the Editor for one last round of feedback!—here are some very important points my CPs raised:

The Spirit’s plan in the past story is too underexplained—this was a big one, and one I’m focusing this edit on the most

Related, the reasoning behind “she won’t get back from the mountain” could use some clarity

There’s some pronoun confusion going on at times, as well as Child=Giant confusion

And a smaller one but one I just can’t not mention: hyphenated words get counted as one even when they shouldn’t, so I might’ve technically gone overboard with the wordcount by a few—it was an honest mistake! I never even thought about the hyphens thing until a CP pointed it out thinking I did it on purpose 😅

With all those things in mind, I took a couple of days to think. The feedback felt well-balanced to me, and so I wanted to approach editing in a way that emphasised on things that worked and addressed the things that didn’t. Without further ado, here’s what came out.

Sometimes Our Skies

The Giant climbs the mountain one narrow, cut-into-the-slope stair at a time, carrying in her arms a dying spirit of the skies. She pushes against the chilling wind and raindrops swirling before her face, her heart drumming the rhythm, almost there, almost there.

On the eve of the equinox, the Spirit fell from her skies by the wish of a lonely child, and concocted a plan to trick her.

More-stairs-than-she-can-count up the mountain, the Giant pauses to look back, for the first time since she started the climb. Far below, the stairs disappear in the ocean of white, where islands of smaller mountaintops peek through the clouds and early snowflakes await to flutter upon the giants’ cities. Up ahead, the stairs lead into the quiet mist of further heights, to new, thinner clouds caught against the sharp peaks. She still has ways to go.

On their first night, the Spirit asked not for the child’s name, because she wouldn’t be staying long. On their first dawn, the child cried not to be alone, and the Spirit held her hand.

Step, step, step. The Giant hums to herself a song in a voice made hoarse by the cold, and it’s an upbeat song, a hymn to the adventurers designed to bring spring into one’s step and courage to one’s heart.

“We’re almost there”, she tells the bundle in her arms, ashen curls sticking out of the wraps of tawny fur.

The Spirit says nothing.

On the night of their first year, the Spirit remembered her plan. Make the child wish her back home; let that wish burn the child’s soul in place of the Spirit’s own, and leave her behind cold and still as the Spirit burns back up in her skies. Soon, she told herself.

But to the child she only said, I’m here.

And the child smiled.

The Giant reaches the top cold and tired. Her fingers might be blocks of stone, even shielded from the worst cold by the furs around the half-conscious spirit. There’s the tower, up ahead, almost there: on a pier of concrete between the worlds, a structure of metal and hard work rises up to meet the sky, built to withstand millennia by the giants of the old. The stories say they lived for hundreds, thousands of years.

The thought, even through the cold, makes the Giant’s chest warm with excitement. Oh how wonderful it would be, to live that long, to live forever. But perhaps so lonely, too.

On the last day of their fifteenth spring, the Spirit’s eyes fluttered closed. It was the birthday of the giants’ matriarch, an evening festive and alive with colour, and the Spirit feared. I am tired, she said.

The child who was growing up held her close, stroke her hair and whispered small poems into her ear, and said, Tell me what I can do.

And the Spirit didn’t even think of seizing her chance.

The Giant climbs the tower with the last of her strength. She now carries the Spirit in a makeshift sash across her chest, and if there wasn’t for the scarf wrapped tight around her face, her lips would be brushing against the softest curls she’d ever touched.

Quietly, the Spirit stirs. She senses the closeness of her skies, of the home she’s already thought lost.

“We’re almost there,” the Giant coos.

“I will miss you,” the Spirit whimpers.

On the morning of summer solstice, when the child was a child no longer and the Spirit had paled to an ashen shade, she told of a plan long discarded and said, I will extinguish like stars before the morning sun. But I will not let you burn in my place.

On the morning of summer solstice, when the leaves on the trees were bright, the child who was no longer a child heard it was too late to wish, and instead declared, I will take you home.

The tower pierces the skies. It enters the realm of the spirits with a sharp peak bright with snow and stardust, but the Giant doesn’t climb that far. She stops when the clouds swirl closer with the wind, the skies excited and concerned to meet their long-lost denizen.

She unwraps the furs and kisses the Spirit’s forehead. And she says to the wind and the cold and the heights, “She’s going to be alright.”

The winds take hold of the Spirit’s pale curls. They tug at her sweater—the one the Giant made her, purple and blue and silver like the evening—and, finally, lift her up to where the heights chatter in voices of all the others, Welcome back home.

And it’s now, not when her knees had started hurting or the Spirit had been so silent in her arms, not when the elders of the city had warned her no one ever returned from the mountain, that the Giant cries.

She doesn’t speak, because she can’t find her voice. But she holds the Spirit’s hand, and for a moment it’s like holding a torch, like touching a star. The clouds light up with all the shades of autumn and fire, all the pinks of chilly dawns and golds of warm sunsets. And she puts in her touch all she needs to say, a fragile plea upon tear-stained memories: Don’t forget me.

She is ready to start her climb down, only hoping the cold and the exhaustion would catch up with her far enough for the Spirit not to have to witness it.

But the sky lights up again.

The Spirit reaches with a hand no longer so pale, smiling a lopsided smile that sends the Giant’s chest fluttering. And as the wind calms and the voices of her family sing a quiet song of gratitude and welcome, the Spirit makes a wish of her own: stay with me.

Thoughts

This time, I don’t have much to say. I’m sending the story off to the Editor for feedback, and I’m sitting here very curious to hear what she has to say. My inner critic is loud and convincing, but this time I’m going in without letting it say its part first. Looking forward to next week and working on the final draft~

#writing #my writing #writeblr #violetvineyard #short story #process #writing process #writers of tumblr #amwriting #writer in motion #wip #work in progress #fantasy

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buriedinbleach · 6 years

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A Gift [Byakuya x Reader]

So, humor me for a minute, here’s the backstory of this one-shot: This was one of the first fics I started when I decided to start writing these back in July (what can I say, I’m a machine), but I had a bit of writer’s block and it sat neglected with some of my other half-finished fics (I can feel them beckoning me as I type). It was partially inspired by an idea I had, but the character choice was more for a certain other writer that I admire greatly (I’m looking at you @shadowsnlace ) I hope you enjoy it!

But then... it went neglected again in favor of other stuff I’ve since published. It wasn’t until I got an ask for a Byakuya fic by @doctorkei23 that I decided to pick it back up again, getting the suitable kick-in-the-ass I needed to buckle down and finish it. More proof that I love my readers and I listen when you ask me to get shit done (hint hint: my ask box remains open)! One final note about my writing / the ask before I get down and dirty with all that delicious Captain Kuchiki smut is that I tend to both follow, and ignore cannon as it suits me. And honestly, it suits to me to write Byakuya as ‘Hisana who?’ Love me or hate me for it, just my two cents.

The Ask:

When you returned home from your mission that night, there was a plain, nondescript large white gift box lying in the middle of the bed. It was tied with a thick black satin ribbon, and a note was casually tucked underneath it. Lying in wait for the recipient, you. Setting you things down, securing your zanpakuto in its place on the shelf, an empty spot immediately next to yours signifies where your husband’s belongs. Your eyes home in on the box with morbid curiosity, before you walk up to the bed and snatching up the small card tucked under the ribbon bearing your name.

‘Welcome home, my love. Once you’ve had the chance to relax, please put these on and wait for me. I have some work to finish, but I’ll join you as soon as I can.’

You tug at the end of the ribbon, letting the bow slowly unfurl, melt away, before pushing the remaining pieces of ribbon off the box impatiently. Lifting the lid, you peel back the layers of white tissue paper to find a jet black silk robe, and a crimson red set of lacy underwear tucked inside, striking colors, made even more so by the contrast. Trailing your fingers along the fabric of the robe, you’re amazed at how soft it is. Simply touching it feels like the flowing fabric will disintegrate under your fingers, it’s so exquisitely delicate. Eyes flashing down to your hands, you quickly realize you’re in desperate need of a shower.

You take your time, knowing too well that with your husband, “some work to finish” meant that he would likely be gone for hours. The warm spray from the shower does wonders to relax your tired body. The heat penetrates your fatigued muscles, and the tension dissipates, rolling off your body like the water cascading over your skin, and down the drain, never to be seen again.

Pulling the lingerie out first, you slip on the bra and panties, adjusting the straps, the band, and the lines of the underwear, until it lies perfectly on your body. It fits like a glove, just like your favorite set of underwear, in fact. He had clearly put a good deal of thought into his gift, getting the sizing just right to mimic the pair that you – and he – couldn’t live without.

Finally, you carefully lift the robe out of its box. Slipping one arm into the cool black silk, followed by the other, but strategically leave it untied, smiling to yourself. Byakuya wasn’t the only one who could make plans...

It perfectly frames the way the lingerie accentuates your curves, leaving just enough skin visible. After all your careful preparations, the silk feels more like an extension of your body now, rather than an adornment. Standing in front of the tall full-length mirror, admiring your figure, you have to admit, Byakuya really did have exquisite taste, but what more could you expect? He married you after all.

He slips into the bedroom without a sound to mark his arrival, content to watch you posing before the mirror for a moment, turning this way and that, a slight smile touching his lips. You feel his presence long before you heard his cool, even voice.

Slowly, he released the tight control he always held over his reiatsu. The pin-prickling sensation tingled all over your body, touching you everywhere. Closing your eyes, you let it wash over your skin before hearing him speak, snapping you out of your fantasy, but the reality is so much better.

“I have to admit, as beautiful as that robe is,” he makes a show of looking your body up and down as he speaks “and as stunning as the lingerie looks, you truly do put it to shame.” Byakuya says softly, stepping further into the bedroom, closer to you. The sound of his voice always sent a warm tingle down your spine, and desire pooling in your core…

Especially in moments like this, the two of you in your bedroom with an entire night stretched out in front of you. You turn, smiling, to face him, running your hands over your curves to draw his eyes to your body, wanting to feel his hands explore your body the way his eyes did.

“It’s beautiful. But what’s the occasion?” Positively grinning, your pulse quickens watching him approach. One more step closer, then another, and another until he’s close enough to touch.

Byakuya quirks his brow, but the rest of his features remain even. “Since when do I need a reason to give you a gift?” Its true, he constantly give you small tokens, a note, a bracelet, maybe your favorite perfume if it were a special occasion, but this gift was far more extravagant. He easily manages to hide his true intent behind those calm grey surveying eyes, as he steps behind you, circling you. Reaching out, he trails a long finger over the silk of the robe down your stomach.

Your breath catches in your throat. Biting your lip, wishing he would do more than touch you, wanting him to rip the robe and lingerie off, but his fingers remain only where the robe covers. Byakuya presses the delicate silk into your body, pulling the fabric and releasing it to wash over you like a wave. You hardly notice that each motion has been slowly walking you closer and closer to the bed until the backs of your thighs bump up against the pillowy futon.

Byakuya leans in close, his lips ghosting over your neck and up to your ear. Close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath, but still not close enough to contact your skin, making your body ache in desperate need of his touch. “Lay back on the bed, my love.” His words were whisper quiet, but commanding all the same, making your core throb.

“mmm hmm.” You nod, closing your eyes and smiling, as he reaches out to your waist. Another slow touch of his calculating hands over the silk has Byakuya cupping your breast briefly. His thumb slides over your nipple, rewarding your eager compliance to his directions with a quick pinch before moving down quickly to catch the tie of the robe. He only needs to pinch it, letting the tie free itself from the loose loops of the robe as you drop down to the bed, shuffling back towards the headboard. Your eyes, hooded with desire watch him closely.

The silk splays out beneath you beautifully, just like your hair across the pillows as Byakuya slowly drags the soft string of the robe over your thighs, up your stomach, and between your breasts, while he moves with it along the side of the bed towards your head. He eyes you carefully, temporarily transfixed watching you shift your hips from side to side, arching into the cool black silk dragging across your heated skin, eyes tightly shut. Gods, how he wants to pounce on you right then and there, but he isn’t ready to give in, not yet anyway.

“Put your arms above your head, my darling.”

You oblige, smiling, feeling one strong hand drag up your side against the silk, pushing your arm up along with it. Placing your wrists above your head, reaching for the headboard, your arch your back, highlighting the swell of your breasts. Your eyes remain closed but you can feel his devouring your body for a brief second before securing your wrists in his preferred shibari double-column tie to the headboard. He moves with lightning speed, like he’d done this before.

Well, you both had. It was an old favorite…

He quickly sheds his haori and shihakusho, casting all his clothing aside, uncharacteristically not caring where they land. He was far too absorbed in watching the scene unfolding below him. Your eyes were still cinched shut, as you licked your lips in anticipation, rubbing your thighs together lightly as you waited for him to return.

Byakuya descends upon you in an instant, making you gasp. Unwilling, and unable, to wait a second longer before feeling your body beneath his. You pull at the ties binding your wrists, wanting so badly to touch him, but he simply smiles, his teeth parting next to your ear.

“Nice try, my love. But you know by now...” He holds your chin, angling your face to his with two simple fingers, his lips part yours as his tongue draws a slow circle around your lips that leaves your head spinning and your lungs gasping for breath. “I get to touch you first.”

His fingers caress you softly, but purposefully, as he traced a line down your body, stopping between your breasts to unsnap the clasp. One breath, the heavy rise and fall of your chest, was all it took for the lace to roll off your skin, leaving you exposed for a split second before Byakuya’s hand covered one breast while his lips devoured the other.

Panting and pulling at the tie binding your wrists, you arch into the warmth of his body. It was all you could do. “mmm… Bya-kuya.” Gasping out the words, your fingers dance above your head, rubbing against the tie. The soft silk providing the perfect aid for your imagination as you picture his hair running through your fingers.

Byakuya gives each nipple a last teasing flick, smirking proudly at your writhing, panting figure. The bed shifts around your body as you feel his resettle at your side, his erection already pressing against your thigh as he pulls your leg in closer to his, spreading you to create just enough space. His fingers press into your lace covered core, trailing up and down teasingly until he slips a finger underneath the fabric and into your waiting channel.

“So tight.” He muses, working his finger in and out of your body against the confines of the lace.

“Then… take them… off!” The last word leaves your lips as a moan as he plunges another finger into your heat and stretches his thumb up to your clit, pushing on the little bundle of nerves with the exact amount of pressure he knows would have you clawing at his back in seconds. Byakuya brings his face down next to yours. His careful, even, breath in your ear makes your walls tighten around his fingers, as he smiles.

“I wasn’t referring to the lace, my love.” His tongue trails around the shell of your ear briefly before its gone again, always leaving you wanting more. “But I suppose you’re right. These have served their purpose.” He pulls his fingers away briefly, ripping the delicate lace from your body, enjoying every second as he watches your eyes widen in shock. He chuckles briefly watching you.

The sound of his laughter was always music to your ears. It was a noise that he shared with almost no one but you. Outside the bedroom, he was Byakuya Kuchiki, taicho of the sixth division, and head of the Kuchiki clan. But around you, he could be different. He could be the wild, impetuous Byakuya of his youth. And tonight, he wanted to be wild.

He eased his long body back down next to yours, pressing his hard shaft into the soft skin of your thigh. You twist your body to angle towards him, but before you can lift one hip off the futon, you feel his fingers pressing into your most sensitive skin again. They trace over your slit as Byakuya watches you arch and gasp next to him, biting and pursing your lips.

“Bya-kuya… plea-“ His lips pressing against yours cut off the rest of your request. His tongue slides against yours in tandem with his fingers, as he pushes them back into your slick, waiting channel. His thumb presses against your clit again as he picks up the pace now. Twisting, scissoring, and curving his fingers in you. His mouth drinks in every pant and moan that leaves your lips until he feels your body tense and shudder as your arms pull on your binds and his name echoes through the room, propelled by your voice.

Your muscles are liquid, pooling into a puddle on the futon. You raise your arm languidly to stroke his face, smiling when you realize the bindings are free and you can finally run your fingers through his silky black hair.

Byakuya places a tender kiss to your wrist as he climbs between your legs, stroking your thighs open, though you need no encouragement. No words need to be exchanged as you smile at each other like conspiring thieves. One knee snakes around his hip, spurring him forward, as you wrap one soft hand around his painfully hard dick, stroking him as he slides forward, plunging into your heat.

Your body arches up sharply in a desperate effort to get closer. Byakuya smiles, wrapping his strong arms around you, lifting you to settle in his lap as he sits back. Your body slides down his remaining length, impaling you, stretching your walls as one small shift of your hips allows him to reach deeper. Byakuya groans in satisfaction feeling your walls envelop him. He brings his lips back up to yours, sucking and licking while you gasp as you roll your hips over his.

His fingers span your back while his thumbs press into your hips, measuring and guiding each roll of your body over his. He feels your walls fluttering around him, uneven still, as the rhythm of your hips begins to falter.

“Byakuya…” you gasp, lips pressed to his. “I-I’m-“

“Me too, my love.” He sighs, thrusting up as much as the position allows, while he pulls your hips down against his. Your walls clamp down around his shaft in long, even strokes, drawing out his own release as he fills you, holding your body steady to his.

As your eyes drift closed that night, you feel Byakuya’s warm body curl around your back. He wraps an arm around your waist and draws you against him, tucking your body to his as you both relax into sleep.

Byakuya kisses your cheek, then lays his head next to your on the pillow.

“I may say that Rukia is my pride,” his arm tightens around your waist again, pulling you so close your bodies are practically one. “But you, my love, are my joy.”

#byakuya kuchiki #byakuya kuchiki x reader #buriedinbleach #ao3 #shadowsnlace #doctorkei23 #warning: smut ahead #all work and no play

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biotic-raptorian-angel · 6 years

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Scene: Venetian Masquerade- Retribution

This was intended to be the 500 follower reward. But writer’s block had me at a standstill with my work. So here it is finally!! I love all of you so much for following my page. It means so much to see you all enjoying some of the things I post. I hope this turned out alright.

Enjoy my little seelen <3

Once word had reached HQ in Venice that Operation Retribution had been an utter failure, the young doctor found herself pacing in the med bay awaiting the injured Blackwatch agents' return. Her main concern was Moira, the renowned geneticist was brilliant in the lab, but not someone trained for fieldwork. This thought settled heavily in Angela's heart as the familiar sounds of boots pounded on the tile hallway just a few feet away, her bright blue eyes darting to look out the glass windows. The familiar sight of fiery locks tucked under a black beret was enough of a welcome sight that her heart melted and shoulders relaxed.

“Moira. Thank gott you are alright. I read the reports of what happened but there wasn't anything in it about injuries or who got exfiltrated. Come, come let me look you over.”

Delicate hands began to tug at the taller woman's arms, but Moira stood in place unmovable.

“Moira? What's wrong? Are you injured?”

Examining eyes traced over the Irishwoman's suit, no gashes, a few scrapes and scuffs of the armor plates but that was it. What was wrong with Moira?

“We've...we've been put on lock down. The entire Blackwatch team, our names have been redacted, even put on a watch list. But we need to get out of here. I can't stay cooped up like that, not while we are in Venice. I have one thing I must do before we leave here for good. Will you join me?”

A clawed hand rose as the other began to unclip the collar and breastplate of her suit, the armor pieces falling to the tiled floor with clangs and mismatched eyes softening as if to beckon the doctor closer.

“Where are you going?”

Moira stripped herself from the armor to be standing before Angela in black military cargo pants and her black sleeveless gel suit.

“We are leaving here and having a night on the town. My treat daor.”

Before the blonde could protest, the Irishwoman snaked her arm around her waist and led her off towards the hangar. Walking past guards who simply saluted them, none with enough gall to say a word other than “ma'ams”. Keeping her head held high so as not to draw suspicion, Moira continued on to one of the smaller hangars that was a makeshift motor pool of civilian vehicles. Upon finding a small sedan style car, she pulled the passenger side door open and bowed her head.

“Get in daor. Time for us to take a ride.”

A smirk curled her lips as she watched Angela hesitantly climb into the car, the door being shut just as she settled in her seat. Rounding to the drivers' side, a playful chuckle escaped her as she herself climbed into the car and hands were instantly searching the visors for keys. Upon finding them, silence fell between them as she simply drove off base towards the beautiful city of Venice.

Lights whisked past as Angela's gaze stayed glued to the beautiful cityscape rushing by, having given up arguing with Moira over what plan she had in store for them this evening. It was as if the older woman knew these streets by memory, each turn was deliberate and when they finally arrived at a storefront, she seemed all too eager to rush inside. The taller woman rounded the car, pulling Angela's door open with another slight bow of her tall form and that damned smirk that just proved she was up to something. But as the blonde stepped from the car, a beautiful period costume shop engulf her sight. Golden letters scrawled across the main window 'Madame Louflaire'. Holding onto Moira's hand as she was pulled closer, those blue eyes seemed to almost sparkle at the gorgeous dresses in that window.

Tugging her inside, Moira nodded her head to the over dramatically dressed woman who wore a Victorian style puffed out bell dress.

“Welcome my darlings! Have you come to shop for the grand ball?”

Moira took the woman's hand and placed a soft kiss to its top as she bowed slightly.

“Yes we are, have you some recommendations for my lovely angel here? This will be her first ball.”

Shimmering green eyes traced over Angela before the woman laughed and grabbed at her arm to drag her off.

“Come, come darling. I have a few options that you would look ravishing in.”

Looking over her shoulder to Moira, Angela shot her a glare that warned of possible violence if things went south. That devilish smirk curled her lips in response as she nearly danced around the shop and gathered up the beautiful pieces to an outfit that had already caught her attention.

Making her own way to get dressed, she easily slid into the black dress slacks, white button up and crimson vest. Fingertips traced over the black velvety design that broke up the red silk of the vest, looking up at the short cloak, a smirk curled her lips as she twirled it over her shoulders with dramatic effect. Stepping from the dressing rooms now, her eyes darted allover the half of the shop that was littered with different shaped masks. Those contrasting eyes settled on a black one that was adorned with long devil horns and golden lace and jewels. Lifting it up to her face, she chuckled as she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror, turning left then right her smirk only grew.

“Grand.”

Angela found herself overwhelmed with a beautiful dress that the shop owner had tossed over the dressing room door, the third to be exact by this time. A dull white with grey worn edges, it flowed like a breeze as she pulled it fully over her curvaceous form. Large white wings adorned the shoulder, adding to her normally angelic facade which played so perfectly with the golden hue of the curls that fell around her neck and spilled over her shoulders. A sudden mingle of Italian lingo filled the hallway as she noticed Moira was speaking now to the shop owner. Before she could finish adjusting herself, a silver metal mask was offered over the door and as the light caught it she gasped at its beauty. Holding it up to her face and tying the black ribbon behind her head, she smiles softly at the sight of her full outfit in the mirror.

“Are you done my dear? We must be going soon.”

The young doctor took a deep breath and pushed at the door that separated her from the Irishwoman. Once in the hallway, she half expected Moira to be waiting there but it was empty. Making her way back into the shop, she was caught off guard by the dark figure standing at her side. She looked up with a slight fear in her blue eyes at first but was caught within the trap of the other's presence. Staring into those nearly glowing mismatched eyes, Angela became helpless as the dark horned mask seemed more than appropriate for the devil herself. The feathered wings that adorned her shoulders rustled slightly as she stiffened herself to Moira's soft grasp, a clawed hand traced her jaw just under the shimmering mask covering her own blushing face.

“Well don't you look absolutely biblical daor.”

Her deep Irish drawl dripped from those words as those eyes traced along the intricate design of the mask now covering the angel's face. Angela found herself nearly breathless at just how handsome Moira looked in this moment, fighting back the urge to reach up and caress her cheeks, she lowered her gaze slightly.

“This wasn't my choice remember.”

“Ah, but we do look perfect together. The beautiful angel and the cunning devil.”

A slight shake of her head confirmed Angela knew the fact all too well, but there was no time to waste. Moira bowed her head to Madame Louflaire before taking Angela's hand and leading her out the shop door. A slight shiver coursed through the blonde's body as the excitement of tonight was like electricity in the air. Music, voices and the smells of food and wine spun through the night as if a grand party was being held. Only a few blocks away from the small shop they were int, bright lights adorned an extravagantly large set of stairs leading into a beautifully massive building crowded with others dressed in dramatic attire and masks hiding their faces.

Being led up the stairs slowly to enjoy every delightful sight the party had to offer, Angela found herself in awe at the beauty and brilliance of every fine detail of the costumes and décor of everything around her. Not realizing they had arrived inside until the sound of music began to flood her limbs, she looked up to Moira who had her typical smirk on those thin lips of hers.

“You seem to know your way around this place. Have you been here before I presume?”

Leaning closer so her low voice could be heard over the music, she responded without even looking down to the younger.

“I've come here every year for the past to decades. I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

That realization settled into her mind as she thought she had know everything there was to know about Moira, but here was a huge and significant detail that had eluded her attention this entire time. She should have known that the geneticist would find things such as this having a magnetic pull to her personality. Before she could dwell on this idea, her attention was pulled fully to Moira as her long slender hands took hold of her own hand and one settled at her hip gingerly. Before she realized it, they were twirling about on a massive dance floor, Moira having effortlessly spun them into the current dance mid-way. Each step was taken with a precise form from both women as Angela simply admired the finesse the tall woman had in those impossibly long legs of her.

Moira took it upon herself to show Angela the beauty of such a grand event by first lavishing her with the attention of being the most beautifully outfitted woman at the entirety of the ball. Showing her off on the dance floor was the best tactic in her mind, everyone would be staring and taking her in as they twirled and swayed to the music. Those feathers catching the movements and golden curls bouncing around her neck like a collar fit for a queen.

“You seem to be jumping right back into our steps daor. Those lessons I gave you have stuck properly haven't they? It's wonderful to see you a bit more lively than usual. Dare I say you might be enjoying yourself here?”

Bright blue eyes darted up to meet those glowing mismatched as a slight scoff left her plush lips.

“I only learned these dances to quiet your insistent pesterings. Once something is learned, it never truly leaves your mind. You of all people should know that fact. But I can say, this most definitely outshines what I had planned for my evening back at HQ.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from the taller woman's chest as she twirled Angela about with one hand and stopped her bu placing the other around her waist and leaning her backwards.

“Have I ever disappointed you with any of my evening plans?”

That devilish grin curled her lips as memories flashed of their evenings together, between tender moments catering to the young doctor's interests to more lavishing ones of enjoying one another's bodies all through the night.

A heavy blush coated the blonde's cheeks underneath her mask as she was held in a rather dramatic pose before Moira pulled her upright and tucked her closer to her chest.

“I divulge the fact that no, I have never been bored of an evening spent with you.”

As the song continued, the two women found themselves nearly melded together in the sways and twirls of their dance. One last look upwards had the angel caught in the devil's grasp as long fingers drew her chin up and her lips were captured by the other's. The world melted away around them as their dance slowed to a standstill, Angela running her hands up to tangle within those fiery locks as the kiss took its full hold on her heart. Moments passed like hours as they indulged in the heat and desire of one another, reluctantly pulling away to stare into eyes that wanted more.

“It would most definitely seem you are enjoying this evening, my angel.”

Blue pools of lust stared back up to those contrasting ones and all Angela could muster were a few words.

“I fear I fall for the devil more and more as each moment passes.”

#rp scenes #overwatch #moira #mercy #angela #retribution #Venetian Masquerade #500 followers #follower appreciation

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gilly-jilly · 7 years

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JackScriptedEye: Day 1

Sooo, guess who’s participating in this little author’s activity that’s going on in the JSE community?

Yup, it’s me. Who’d a thunk’d it, right?

Honestly when I first saw this idea I got super excited to do it. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before but I absolutely LOVE to write (you know, when I’m not pulling my hair out over writer’s block). The minute I read about it I knew I had to take part in it.

For any of you JSE fans out there who have that little spark of passion for writing, take a look at the link above! Or check out the details here. They both lead to the same page so don’t worry about it :)

If you do decide to take part in it, have fun! Go wild! And for those of you who are just here for the story, enjoy :D

Day 1: Take Jack, put him in a setting you find comforting, and describe it!

It was a sunny day, the first one in what felt like ages.

The wispy grey clouds and dimmed atmosphere were replaced with beams of light and a radiant blue sky. Though there were no clouds to block out the sun’s blinding rays, the occasional gusts of cool air that blew through the streets of Brighton were enough to provide a perfect balance of warm sunshine and a light coolness.

It was on this day that Jack decided to spend his time at a local park close to his new home.

The small park that he’d chosen to take refuge in was full of life and vigor. It came as no surprise to him that others wanted to enjoy the nice sunshine for a change, so the area was bustling with strolling couples and families with children celebrating such a perfect day.

While he enjoyed the air of enthusiasm that came with the crowds, today he had chosen to rest in a small, secluded area of greenery where he sat contentedly under one of the many elm trees in the vicinity.

The scattered rays of light that peaked through its branches painted his face like a web. Though he could feel the roughness of the bark through his shirt, it didn’t dig uncomfortably into his back. In fact the tree’s support felt more snug than anything else, almost like receiving a stiff hug from behind. Alongside the tree’s slight rigidness, he could feel the cool sensation of the grass and soil beneath his fingertips as he rested against the trunk.

It was in this placid environment that we was able to view the scenery around him.

Jack closed his eyes and let out a sigh as a gentle breeze swept past his ears, caressing his face and ruffling his hair affectionately as if he were a child again. He smiled.

It was the little moments like these that allowed him to appreciate just how grateful he was for being here, being alive.

As much as he loved his job as a YouTuber, the constant demand for daily videos and fan interaction, admittedly, tired him out. There were no vacation leaves, little to no time to make for himself and Signe. It was a constant flow of editing and recording that he couldn’t, wouldn’t, break. Now that wasn’t to say he didn’t adore what he does, in fact he couldn’t be happier working as a full-time YouTuber, but even he got caught up in the turbulence of it all, and in mellow moments like these amidst the chaos of Youtube life it served as a refreshing period of self-reflection and leisure.

Jack arched his shoulders and felt, with satisfaction, the tension leave them as they and his upper back let out a small crack. He sighed once more and melted into the tree trunk.

Yes, he thought, it was moments like these that really made him appreciate all that he’d been given. As he was on the verge of falling into a calming sleep, a feminine voice sounded in the distance, its melodic tone being carried by a new, smaller gust of wind that came as gently as the first. However this time it beared a quiet message that tickled Jack’s ears.

“Sean!” Signe called, her voice mingling with the sound of the tree’s branches rustling against each other from the breeze. Jack lazily opened his eyes and twisted his body to peer past the trunk he sat against. Signe’s approaching figure could be seen jogging towards him, her dark brown locks bouncing joyfully up and down as she made her way over to him. With the way the sun reflected against her hearthstone glasses and highlighted her delicate features, he couldn’t help the warm smile that made its way across his face. What did he do to deserve someone like her.

Her figure towered over him as she finally made her way in front of him, adding another piece of shade to his already shaded figure. She smiled playfully. “Well, don’t you look cozy,” she said. Jack chuckled and craned his neck to look up at her.

His gaze veered towards the cloudless blue sky behind her, taking in the way it made her stand out with the darker shades of clothing she was wearing. “Nice day,” he breathed in content. Seeing where his gaze was focused on, Signe turned to look to the sky as well, humming thoughtfully.

“It is,” she replied, before turning to smile at him. “Not too hot, not too cold, but still sunny.” She squatted down to meet him at eye level and crossed her arms over her knees, letting her chin rest on top of them. “Ready to head home?”

Jack peered fondly into her cool grey eyes and let his thoughts wander.

He thought back to his new recording studio with its incomplete padding laid out across the walls; the black and green chair and computer system that he used every day to record videos. He thought of the painfully white walls and wooden floors that were just waiting to be filled with all sort of new furniture and trinkets of their liking. He thought of home, of Signe, of YouTube, of all of his friends and fans that got him as far as he is in life.

With these thoughts in mind, his heart swelled with adoration, and he smiled.

“Yeah…I am.”

#jacksepticeye #jackscriptedeye #writing #my posts #AHAAAA #also probs gonna skip some days #oh well #also this is probs a mix between day 1 and 2 #no harm in combining the two a bit #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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robbiefarlow-sidequestfitne-blog · 7 years

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New Post has been published on Side Quest Fitness

New Post has been published on http://sidequestfitness.com/9-keys-to-make-your-writing-great/

How to Fuck Up Some Commas: Or, The 9 Keys You Need to Make Your Writing Great

170.

No, that’s not the number of video games I’ve beaten in my life. And it sure as hell isn’t the number of women I slept with before my wife (that was less than 10).

It’s the number of articles I’ve written over a two year period on my site, and across the Internet on sites like:

Roman Fitness Systems

BroBible

MyProtein

AskMen

J Max Fitness

Listen, Money Matters

That doesn’t count all the ghostwriting, emails, e-books, and social media posts I’ve written either.

I’m not writing this as some form of public masturbation about what I’ve accomplished (okay, fine, maybe there’s a little jerking off going on).

What spurred these thoughts are the handful of emails and messages from random people I’ve received in the last few weeks/months asking about writing. Most of these coming from people new to the world of online fitness.

This article serves two purposes then: 1) it’s a bit of a reflective piece for myself, and 2) it’s a piece I can now use when someone asks me about writing or content creation on the Internet.

So to the young bucks who’ve asked me about writing, here’s what you need to know about getting better as an Internet scribe.

Do the Work

How do you improve at anything?

Repetition. Repetition. Repetition.

It’s how you get stronger in the gym, how you get better at guitar, and it’s how you improve as a writer. The more you write, the more opportunities you have to improve. And that’s why if you’re an aspiring scrivener, you need to write every day.

Writing every day doesn’t mean you have to publish every day. But unless you completely excommunicate yourself from social media, you’re gonna write something. And as Tim Ferriss has said before:

“How you do one thing, is how you do everything.”

It took me a little while to learn this; and by little while, I mean one soul-burning John Romaniello “goddamn it” look before I realized that everything I write — Tweets; Facebook Posts/Comments; Instagram posts; Text Messages; Emails; FB Messenger conversations — should be treated with the same care and diligence I’d give any article.

There’s another reason why you need to write every day. The online world is saturated with content. And the way you make yourself stand out is to be really fucking good. Not mediocre; not so-so; not worthy of a gentleman’s C.

No. You need have to be better.

And if you want to be better, you have to put in the work.

The simple act of writing every day, and paying attention to what you write—no matter the medium—generates awareness to how you write. And like the awareness that comes from tracking calories, you begin to deconstruct your own writing to see where you suck.

From there, you’re able to improve and get better. Because if you’re not getting better, you’re dying.

Vomit is Better Than Perfection

Some things write themselves.

You know it. You write it. Edit a bit. And, “voila!”, you’re done. But the deep shit—the words you bleed onto the page—sometimes need to come out in whatever way possible.

And if what comes out at first is incoherent babble, that’s okay—the first draft is supposed to suck. Everything sucks the first time.

Don’t try and be perfect. Let your sentences sound like the ramblings of a drunken madman teetering down Bourbon Street. That’s okay. Because you’re getting it out.

Most of the time, that’s the hardest part: getting it out. Your brain wants you to make it perfect; your soul needs to exude it; and your hands are sitting there stuck in the middle trying to placate both parties.

So nothing happens. You stare at a blank screen and tell yourself this is impossible.

Hemingway put it best:

Write drunk. Edit sober.

Let your soul bare itself however it sees fit. Then let your brain clean up its mess and make it sound better. Whatever you do, get the words down. Then go back and clean up the vomit.

The Building Blocks

Ultimately, writing is a lot like playing with LEGOs.

As a kid, I never claimed the rank of master builder. I pretty much built towers to see how high I could take them before I had my action figures demolish them.

But you can build some amazing shit out of LEGOs. And words are kind of like LEGOs. (And yes, you can choke on both.)

When you write a sentence and break it down—not only grammatically but visually (or how it flows when you read it)—you’ll begin to see how you can alter the structure, meaning, and cadence of a sentence with punctuation or changes in vocabulary.

Take the sentence below that I pulled from my first draft:

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules—master them, actually—before you can break them.

If you look at this sentence as LEGOs, and punctuation and vocabulary as LEGO pieces, you’ll begin to see how you can add or change certain pieces that change the sentence completely.

Add a comma after the word “and,” and it adds a slight pause and emphasis for needing to know the rules:

There are hard rules about grammar. And, you need to know the rules—master them, actually—before you can break them.

You could also replace the em dash with parenthesis, which makes the words “master them, actually” more like an aside. But parentheticals only work when you’re able to remove the words within them without jacking up the sentence. In this case, it does; but to me, it loses a bit of oomph.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules (master them, actually) before you can break them.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules before you can break them.

Those small tweaks to punctuation change how you read the words in your mind or out loud. And if you wanted to change the cadence of the sentence, you could do so by adding a few more periods.

There are hard rules about grammar. And you need to know the rules. Master them, actually. Before you can break the rules.

(“them” needed to be changed to “the rules,” otherwise, that would have been a sentence fragment)

I don’t proclaim to be a grammar master. I’m still learning. But, I am experimenting with how to structure sentences, and when, what, and where the right punctuation should go to change the rhythm, emphasis, or spirit of a sentence.

Like the LEGO towers that my action figures shattered in my youth, sometimes a laconic sentence is more useful:

Master the hard rules of grammar, before you break them.

Read a Book, Read a Book, Read a Motherfucking Book

youtube

Before 2016, I’d read a total of 25, maybe 30 books. Last year, I read 27.

And besides the fact that many of those 27 books inspired articles or emails, the biggest lesson I learned from reading more books is that it makes you a better writer. Why?

If for no other reason than it’s research. Sure, you’re learning new ways to improve yourself or your business or diving deep into an exciting world full of interesting characters, but more than that, it allows me—as a writer—to see how the best wordsmiths craft their work.

How do they create tension and mood within their writing?

Why did they choose to use an em dash and not a comma?

When, how, or why did they change cadence, and how did that change impact me?

What words do these authors use that will expand my 6th-grade lexicon?

I love reading now. It’s the first thing I do every day. And it’s the one thing I feel—next to writing every day—that’s improved my skills the most.

Write By Hand

(Confession: I wrote this entire section on my phone while on the subway in NYC.)

Listen, I’ll be the first to admit, my penmanship is grotesque. Doctors have better handwriting than I do. Still, something happens when you write by hand.

Over the last decade, a few studies have even shown that there’s a clear distinction between writing by hand or on a keyboard. For instance, one study showed that the brains of children “lit up” when asked to write a word by hand vs using a computer. And some doctors believe that as you age, it’s better to write by hand because it improves motor skills, memory, and acts as a good cognitive activity as you age.

I can read the science and I can agree with most of it. But, for me, writing by hand—even the simple act of taking notes while listening to a podcast or reading an article—spurs something more visceral and taps into a creative vein in my mind that writing in Google Docs or iNotes can’t.

That doesn’t mean I write every word of an email, an article, or social media post by hand. 65-70% of what I write is done electronically. But the stuff that burns, that scratches at my soul, and threatens to haunt me if I don’t put it down, comes out on paper.

Where a word processor has distractions like a toolbar or even the ability for you to open another tab and check Facebook/email, what you write on paper stabs you in the eyes—forcing you to examine and come to terms with what’s on the page.

You can erase it and change it, sure. But the remnants of it—the shadow of your erasures or the strike through of your pen—stare back at you and remind you that those are words you wrote; words you believe.

There’s a cathartic connection—a bleeding—that happens when your mind connects with your hand; you struggle less and write more truthfully.

The Best Form of Flattery

Imitation does not mean plagiarization.

Do. Not. Steal.

That’s wrong, and if you do it, you’re a douche-canoe.

(Douche-canoe is something my friend Aadam says all the time—yes, he has two A’s in his name, that’s not a spelling error. And though I could have made you think I invented the funny word “douche-canoe,” I did not. Aadam did. See, I’m giving him credit and not stealing it.)

When I taught myself how to play the guitar, the first songs I played weren’t my own. I played everyone else’s. And when I did decide to write my first song(s), I imitated the chord progressions from the artists I was listening to at the time. (Thanks, Howie Day.)

But that’s how everyone who picks up a guitar starts their career.

You play Bob Dylan, Deep Purple, Hootie and the Blowfish, and once you’ve nailed the basic chord progressions of your favorite songs, then you’re more likely to experiment and find your voice and create your own music.

And in a lot of ways, that’s what I’ve done as a writer. Writers that I admire and find extremely engaging have been the ones I’ve tried to imitate. Not because I want to be them. But because I needed to play their chords to find my voice.

That’s one of the first things I’ve told anyone who has asked me for writing advice:

“take something you want to write, and write it as if your favorite author wrote it.”

Examine how they use and shape words. And then try and play their song.

But please, don’t steal. There’s a difference between stealing and imitating.

How to Unblock Writer’s Block

This is the 2nd time, and it won’t be the last, that I’ve mentioned Roman in this article. And it might sound like I’m sucking his dick a little bit (I am), but without Roman, there is no Side Quest Fitness; and really there’s no Robbie Farlow as I stand now.

But when it comes to writing, Roman knows his shit. And he often posts tidbits about the (or his) writing process on Facebook or Instagram. When he does, it’s fucking gold; and I hoard it in a secret folder on my phone.

For instance, this is is a screenshot of a comment he left my friend Aadam Ali when Aadam was struggling with writer’s block.

“So Robbie, what do you do when you have writer’s block?”

My usual response to this question is that I throw on some Dashboard, cast myself on the floor, and scream the lyrics to the heavens while I beseech my muse to return. I’m like half joking when I say that. (Half.)

The other half involves one or two of the following, and these are usually what I recommend others do as well:

Masturbate

Take a walk

Listen to a podcast

Read

Write something other than fitness

Film yourself speaking about what you’re trying to write. Walk around your room with a camera on and just record yourself talking about what you want to say.

Drink whiskey

Play video games

Learn a new song on the guitar

Take a shower

Sing This Bitter Pill as loud as possible

Writer’s block, for me, is usually a sign that I’m fighting something I should be writing. Or that I’m trying to make it “perfect,” instead of vomiting my soul on the page.

Writing What You Know

Before I ever decided to become a trainer or even launch my coaching business, I read articles by the giants in the industry. And these guys are smart. Like, the best of the best. But I’m no Tony Gentilcore, Dean Somerset, Dan John, or Ben Bruno.

Those guys dive deep into the science behind how the body works while you lift. But, me?

I love reading anything written by the best of the best, and (for the most part) I understand the super-sciency terminology they use.

But my friends who first came to me and asked about getting in shape, probably don’t. And the clients I work with don’t really care about the science either. What they want are the exercises that help them feel better, move better, and look better naked.

And it’s my job to take the knowledge I have, and that I continue to seek, and add a bit of a nerdtastic flare to it—providing my readers and clients with a frame of reference they connect with, be it video games, comics, Star Wars, or sports.

Those four things above are what I know. They are who I am; and the lens through which I view the world around me.

I don’t know everything about kinesiology. But, I do know how to connect diet to Indiana Jones, motivation to Lord of the Rings, leadership to Call of Duty, and pretty much everything else to Star Wars or my love for UNC basketball.

So that’s what I’m gonna write about. Oh, and Buffy.

It’s Not the Tool, It’s How You Use It

Before I joined the Roman Fitness Systems Mastermind, I remember having a long conversation with Tanner Baze about how we hated reading sales copy. We felt dirty. Icky.

Like the words we were reading were written by He Who Shall Not Be Named himself.

God, were we stupid.

We were looking at copywriting all wrong. Or, at least, I was (I don’t know about ole dtbaze).

Because the truth is, all writing is copywriting.

Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Rothfuss, King, Shakespeare, every single author who has ever written a story or a screenplay, was, essentially, writing sales copy.

Copywriting—in the sales realm—has one primary goal: to get you to buy whatever product the ad is selling.

And if it’s good copy, each word will sell you on reading the next line in the sales ad until you buy.

Oh, shit. That’s exactly what good authors do as well.

Each line sales you on reading the next line. Why else would you read a gigantic 1,200-page book if you weren’t buying each line and spending the only currency you can’t get back: time.

And of course there’s bad, smarmy, snake-oily sales copy out there that makes a ton of money selling bullshit.

But hey, someone made a gazillion dollars writing Twilight fan fiction that then became a best-selling series and Hollywood film franchise. So sometimes evil wins. And yes, you can use the power of words in 50 different shades of evil to sell bullshit.

Or, you can learn to harness the power and use it for good. And that’s what a good writer, or copywriter, would do: use words for the betterment of humanity.

The Penis Pen is Mightier

Truth is: I’ve always been a writer.

I wrote my first story on a piece of cardboard I pulled from a trash bin. It wasn’t very good. It sounded like a five-year-old wrote it. Because a five-year-old did write it.

But I stopped writing around the time I got a Nintendo. And only picked the pen back up when I fell in love with poetry as a teen.

My years as a poet ended when a few friends accused me of being a bit too emo (whatever the fuck that means). And from that point, the only writing I engaged in were the mandatory papers I had to write in high school or college.

Secretly, though, I missed writing.

I may never be a Hemingway. Or a Strauss. And I sure as hell won’t ever be a Shakespeare. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t, or shouldn’t write.

Writing every day for two years has improved my quality of life.

I don’t wake up and despise the morning anymore. My thoughts are more clear. I’ve taken more stock into what I think and believe because I’ve been forced to write them down and confront those words face-to-face.

And, above all, I’ve found something that’s galvanized my soul and that I’m driven to improve upon every, single, day.

So if you’re an aspiring writer, whether you want to write fitness blogs, short stories, or a novel. Do one thing, and one thing only—write.

Write like a motherfucker. Then, continually look for ways to improve. Study the authors you read and imitate their style. Treat every word you write on social, in text messages, or in your journal as if it were being published in The New York Times.

And as the great Romaniello once said:

Don’t let the idea of ��what your writing may become” interfere with the process of actually writing it.

#geek #habits #life #mindset #motivation #nerd #success #Articles

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