Beta Examples

[masterjendu]

Greetings folks,

A few gals were bandying about the idea that it might be interesting to follow the beta/edit process in action. To this end, I shall begin posting the edits I do for The Apothecary by Tara the Phoenix. I'll post the beta'd form here just after the corresponding chapter is posted on Pens.

I am by no means an expert editor but I have a good time doing it! And you might find it interesting to see where the story had gone if I hadn't been involved. Who knows, maybe you might have wanted it to go that way and will end up wishing I had never been involved!!! You can also get an idea of where and how Phoenix and I agree and disagree (she is very patient with my tunnel vision for romance!) and how awesome it is (for writer and beta) to have the opportunity to dialogue. So, hopefully writers and betas alike may find some use in this thread.

Edit: Additionally, all betas, writers and readers alike should feel welcome to post their own work and comments here!

I've also put some stuff in from The Lamb.


Jen

[masterjendu]

[center]~30~
Fruit[/center][center](Found here)[/center]

There was a small and deep and strangely malignant part of Tara's mind that knew that things were about to change. Part of it was due to the game she had in mind, a game to play with Willow. Another part was about Faith, Willow's strangely familiar driver. She had sent Faith out as a test, to see how long it would take Faith to return, and how intuitive Faith would be concerning her budding relationship with Willow.


transition? These two paragraphs don’t seem to match, my friend. You do make the connection three paragraphs down (the one starting with “So as much as...”) but “Yet in all things...” is not flowing naturally from the paragraph above.

Yet in all things, in all moments, Tara could always see the first instant that Wilkins had taken her collar. He had been a young man then, dirty yet couth, somehow surviving the diabolical hatred of the streets of Samarkand without hearth or home. She had been unconcerned at first that he had found her, had captured her. Humans had such foibles; they spent their three wishes easily and without thought. She would be easily freed.

Not Richard Wilkins, though that had not been his name back then.

So as much as she hated to think of games, of riddles, of looking for motives, Tara knew that she was sending Faith out for more than fruit. Six thousand year old habits died hard, and the woman was damningly familiar.

Faith returned to them in forty two minutes, bearing bagloads of groceries and an overnight bag for Willow with a change of clothes and toiletries. Knowing now how far away Willow's mansion was, Faith's alacrity nice word! in finishing this mission was surprising, especially as Tara began to unpack all the fruit. There was, as she bid, a single piece of fruit in dozens of varieties. Papayas and pomelos, apples and apricots, dragonfruit and dreamberries (I’d love to have a dreamberry!) , lychees and limes, bananas and breadfruit and pineapples and more.

And Willow; her eyes were bright, there in her chair, and she watched Tara's movements with an eagle eye and barely restrained curiosity. The girl was so incredibly endearing that Tara could have fallen in love with her again if such love did not already lay seige siege to every corner of her jaded heart. Love it! It was a painful wanting ache that struck her in the chest as she looked at the First Lieutenant of the Drakensdvaerder, now that Faith had departed for home, knowing that Willow would be staying with her this night.

Trying to ignore the smouldering look on Willow's face, Tara concentrated on setting out the fruit on the immaculately tiled floor of her kitchen, remembering with some difficulty the last time someone had slept with her in her bed.

It had been a woman.

It had been Eva.

It had been one hundred and twenty three years ago, and her sister merely held her as Tara sobbed herself to sleep. Sister of race, though not of blood, but Tara had never felt towards Eva as she did towards Willow. Despite knowing of Willow's skills, despite knowing of Willow's training, Tara felt an incredible surge of protectiveness regarding her, wishing she could wrap her up in gauze and keep her safe from the world. Having Eva hold her that terrible night had been necessary; Eva's touch did nothing for her except comfort.

Not so with this firebrand, this Willow. Tara was still amazed and a little appalled at how quickly she had fallen for this mortal, and more than fallen. She was now risking everything for a person she had only known for eight days. A person whose death she'd mourn for eight hundred years, collared or not.

The price of immortality.

Willow was such that deserved to be mourned with fervour and intent; while Tara lived her memory would never fade from the world.

And Tara would live forever.

Willow was not blushing now, not as she had been moments ago when she told Faith to return to the mansion without her. She hadn't really needed to say the words; Tara had hinted as much when she sent Faith on her errand, only hinted, and the remarkably intuitive girl had returned with an overnight bag. The blush on Willow's face then was enormously charming, and Tara vowed to do whatever she must to see that slow ember alight on Willow's cheeks.

They had both changed into nightclothes; tank tops and silky pants. Hesitation was thick and searing. The blush Tara loved came and faded; Tara wanted to see it again.

This game, taught to her by Eva, So they were lovers? They had sex? This definitely makes it seem so but above they seem more like friends with benefits if anything. This fruit game seems like something you would do with a lover not a friend with benefits; it seems intimate. Maybe Tara just knows this game or was inspired to invent it? Maybe Eva told her about it? Dunno! I realise that there were possibly deep feelings with Eva but the way you’ve described their relationship above doesn’t make them seem so and for some reason I’m not on board with she and Tara having played this game. Yes, it is the romantic in me! Options: 1. change your description of the nature of the Eva-Tara relationship; 2. change the fact that Eva taught her the game; 3. ignore my romanticism! Rumination done!! would do the trick nicely. Would Willow see the game for what it really was?

Yes. Oh, yes, she would. She was the First Lieutenant for a reason.

Who is the Marshal General?

"You don't have anything kinky planned with all of this, do you?" Willow asked, half admonishing and half hopeful.

"We could layer in all sorts of levels of kink if you'd like," Tara replied. "But suppose we start off rather innocently, just to give us some room to play in." Tara sat on the floor, two knives on a napkin next to her, completely surrounded by fruit except for a bare patch right in front of her. She patted that space of tile and said, "Come sit with me, Willow."

The girl actually swallowed and blushed just a tiny bit, and there was a hard knock of desire in Tara's gut. Trying to stay playful, at least for now, Tara watched Willow come to her, and there was no wicked black eye on Willow's face, nor the constriction of her ribs, nor the bristled scab over her belly. Anya, for reasons of her own, had healed them both. Tara was quite grateful. This game would have been difficult, otherwise.

She was still rather astonished at the oath Willow gave. That deep malignant part of her wondered why Willow had done it, what Willow had to gain.

Willow seemed a little uncertain of how exactly to sit, so she sat cross-legged at first, facing Tara. Flashing a low

seductive!

smile, Tara uncurled her own legs and splayed them, one on each side of Willow's thighs. Scooting forward just slightly, Tara tugged at Willow's ankles until Willow unfurled her own legs; Tara placed them quite deliberately around her waist, until she and Willow, face to face, were only a foot apart from each other, their legs supportive and comfortable. Well described!

"Hi, Willow."

Willow swallowed again and said, "Hi."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes and no," Willow replied honestly. Tara lifted an eyebrow and Willow continued, "Not that I'm uncomfortable sitting like this, it's actually quite cozy, so I guess I'd say the uncomfort I will accept her grammatical incorrectness cuz it is cute! part comes from not knowing what we're doing."

"Still no birthday clowns or alleys," Tara said.

"I know, but I don't see any chocolate, either." Willow squirmed slightly, settling deeper into their leggy embrace, and another thunderbolt of nerves crackled along Tara's spine, her loins moist and thick.

"This is better," Tara said, her voice slightly husky, picking up a piece of fruit nearby, which happened to be a strawberry. "The game is this," she began to explain. "You will close your eyes and keep them closed, no peeking! I will choose and eat a portion of fruit and kiss you. If you can correctly identify the fruit I just ate, then I have to truthfully answer any question you ask me, barring those secrets that are held by oath or compulsion."

Awesome!Game!

Tara certainly didn't want to be triggered again, and who knew of the secrets of a Drakensdvaerder?

Willow's eyes had grown darker and more wicked as Tara explained the game. Tara was glad they were both sitting on the floor; if Willow had looked like that when they were upright, they wouldn't have stayed upright very long.

That wouldn't really have been a loss, though.

Focus. Questions. Answers.

(kisses!)

"Would you like to play?" she asked, delighting to play innocent, even though she knew full well what Willow's answer would be.

"Hmm, let me think. Yes," Willow replied instantly.

"It sounds like that think wasn't well thought out. Are you sure?" Tara teased.

Willow's hands wrapped around Tara's lower back and pulled herself even closer, arching her knees over Tara's thighs. Their faces were not very far apart now, and lit only with a single naphtha lamp on the nearby table. For a moment Tara wanted to give up the idea of the game and just kiss Willow senseless.

Too many questions. This was a perfect way to answer them.

Besides, Willow was already speaking. "Eat the damn fruit, Tara," she mock-growled.

Willow was already closing her eyes. A little hesitant now, Tara looked at the enormous variety of fruit, wondering what she should start with. Anticipation and need were cluttering up her insides. Finally she chose a nectarine, pared away a piece of it with the knife and popped it into her mouth, being sure to coat her lips liberally with the juice. She chewed and swallowed and then whispered, "Keep those eyes shut, Willow. I'm coming in." This line totally reminds me of the movie The Pallbearer. Super cute!

They were already so very close to each other. Tara lifted her hands to cup Willow's face, to ground her and center her. Willow was already leaning towards her, her I’d probably lose this second her (just for flow) eyes screwed shut. Even with the warning, Willow jumped slightly at the contact. Then Tara kissed her, starting softly, a repeat of their very first kiss that day in her den. Just lips and no more, and just when it seemed Willow was about to change it, as she had that day, Tara pulled away.

Tara put her hands on Willow's hips, and Willow opened her eyes. She ran her tongue over her lips and then said, "Nectarine."

"You're right." This seems abrupt and without feeling. Any chance we can get a reaction from Tara to the kiss? Maybe she licks her own lips or is distracted by Will licking her own lips? Or why she had to pull away: so it didn’t escalate or sumthin? Some heat? Am I makin any sense?

"So I get to ask a question? Any question? And you'll answer?"

"Yes, but if I can't answer it, I'll tell you instead of leading you on to another sword fight."

"Thanks for that."

"You're welcome." Impish warmth was spreading throughout Tara, for this easy camaraderie was fast becoming addictive. Even deeper in her heart and soul, a place still untouched by any of Wilkins' manipulation, any of the horror of mankind for six thousand years, Tara knew that she needed more than a whirlwind of love with Willow, some hot and fiery blaze that would burn out and die too soon. She needed this friendship as well, this connection of mutual interest and desire. Intimidated slightly by the opulence of Willow's estate, Tara was glad they could come back to her place, for it was as safe as she could make it, collared as she was by her Master. Her books, her music, and now her Willow. Love these insights.

"Why do you hate the Beerenberg volcano?" Willow asked. She hesitated slightly, as if unsure what sort of questions they were allowed to ask and answer. Tara felt sure that there were far more burning questions inside her, but she must not know if this was a favourite things and colours kind of game, rather than a reveal your heart kind of game.

But with that one question, Tara knew the game would be interesting, indeed.

Willow was waiting. Her legs were very warm over Tara's legs, her chest rose and fell with unimpeded breath. Her red hair was falling over the cream of her shoulders, the tank top she had changed into.

Not merely adorable. Beautiful. Stunning.

Tara put her hands on Willow's knees and answered fully, knowing that by giving more here and now meant that Willow would feel obliged to respond in kind. There were a few things that Tara had to know.

*****

July, 1350 A.D.

Crusted with ice, the cone of the Beerenberg Volcano was a timid pimple above the Arctic Ocean. It would be four hundred years before the great eruption that would create four square kilometres of land, thrusting the volcano proudly into the sky. For now it groveled in the eternal sunlight of the Arctic summer; a mountain as yet undiscovered by mankind.
As near as I can tell (correct me if you have some other info, though), the May 17, 1732 eruption was actually pretty minor. It did create a cone called Eskkrateret, but I’m not certain about Beerenberg being as wee as you’ve described pre-1732. Indeed, from what I can gather, the main cone (the Nordvestkapp Formation) was formed 8-10,000 years ago. It is a beautiful paragraph, though.


Norvegia was a warlike place, but there was no battling the enemy that overtook them and the entire civilized world. It was the Black Death, and like any pure eruption, it was unstoppable.

Tara died of it on a lumpy mattress in Marseilles just three years earlier. It was a particularly horrific and painful death, and she wished she could have spent more time recuperating in the warm womb of the earth. Tara died of the Plague? I realise this is your own alternate universe, but in our universe, the Black Death entered Marseilles in January, 1348 (so, two years earlier?).

It was only there she could be with her pure mother.

Those of her race who were optimists believed that the eruptions happened for a reason, that the djinn was rocketed to the earth with the intent and well-wishes of the universe.

It was hard to believe when she was spit up by the volcano on the sere and frigid slopes of Beerenberg, clothed in nothing but human bones and skin over her eternal spirit of fire. From her bubbly blanket of lava Tara was thrown into hissing steam baths of liquified snow, cooling quickly in the Arctic air.

Every time she was birthed on the Jan Mayen island of Norvegia, through the Beerenberg Volcano, she died of exposure, shedding her adult human body as easily as she had been clothed in it. Her spirit of fire would race back into the molten core of the earth and await another eruption.
Super cool description and story! But I’m kinda not getting it! She dies of the Plague, she gets rebirthed from Beerenberg, spit up on the slopes, dies of exposure, back into Beerenberg, dies of exposure, etc. Yeah? How does the cycle stop (or do we find that out later)? Why was her spirit sent to Beerenberg after she died of the Plague? I think the mystery can sit as you’ve written it but there will be a lot of questions.

This time was no exception, and Tara had long ago stopped counting the number of times (forgot an s there) she had died.

*****

Willow didn't even bat her eyes; Tara interpreted only the slightest hiccup of breathing as a sign that she was surprised by Tara's story. Not wanting to go into further specifics, Tara closed her eyes, propelling forward the game.

Willow seemed content to play along. Tara heard some rustling, then the soft moist sound of Willow chewing and swallowing. Then Willow's warm fingers on her cheeks, drawing her close. The moment Tara felt the splendour of Willow's lips, so supple, so addictive, she ran her tongue over them, getting a taste, before tilting her mouth. A slow onslaught ensued, as their mouths locked tightly around each other, as their tongues dipped and caressed warm confines. A honeyed kiss, deep and passionate. Willow began to pull harder at Tara's buttocks This word seems out of place here-too formal or something. I know it is a fine line between formal and raunchy but buttocks is taking away some of the magic for me! , tucking her pelvis as close as possible. With their legs tangled as they were, with the velvet gasps from Willow's mouth, Tara again nearly forgot what she was doing.

It was Willow who pulled away slightly this time. Her face was flushed and expectant.

Oh, yes. The question. Did she want Tara to guess correctly or not? She must, with such a distinctive choice.

"Pineapple," Tara said.

"Yes," Willow replied. "Ask your question."

"Why did you kiss me the way you did, that first day?" Tara asked.

The slow morphing of Willow's face from something so charged and expectant to this abraded, downcast expression almost tore Tara's heart out. By some well of courage, Willow never shut her eyes or looked away from her. For a few moments she was silent, and Tara knew she was trying to find the right words.

It was the kiss that changed Tara forever. For her, it was the only question that mattered. If not for that kiss, her life would have continued the same way it had for five hundred years, all Willow-less and unknowing of the beauty that could await her. Beautiful description of Tara’s motivations.

If not for that kiss, for the desperate longings it afforded her, Tara may have already succumbed to the will of her Master.

Willow did not know the depth of it, but it may have been that kiss that saved the world. Love it!!

"In the beginning, I didn't mean to," Willow began, hesitant and slow. "I thought you kissed everyone on the lips, some chaste peck, no doubt, and that I would be no different. I had never been kissed by a woman before, and the very thought of it was frightening, but I was determined to have my dream, no matter the cost. The money I knew about, but the kiss I did not. So yes, it began with you kissing me."

Willow blinked, and moistened her lips with her tongue, and Tara felt her heart expanding, to creak against the walls of her chest. "But then you looked so..." and here Willow paused a moment, looking at Tara oh so carefully, as if these words were only swords to duel with. "So lost, so fragile, so incredibly bereft of hope," Willow finally continued. "It had also been a very long time since I'd been decently kissed. When I discovered how good it felt to kiss you, hell, how incredibly freaking fabulous you tasted, with that current of sadness underneath, a longing and hope maybe even deeper than my own, I decided to kiss you back."

Willow was touching Tara's lips now as she spoke, cupping her hand under Tara's chin, her thumb grazing Tara's lower lip. Her gaze was mesmerizing, and every word she spoke was written in that precious and Drusilla-violated Willow-book of memories, a look to remember when Willow was gone, and every one of these Willow-moments just another method of torture when a new century came to pass, leaving the old one and everyone in it to the dust.

After her words, Tara immediately wanted to ask another question, for the careful acquiescence of this woman now was so contrary to the nature she had portrayed since that first day. That other Willow, the rapier-bearing and formidable Willow with the bandage on her arm and iron in her eyes, so strong and confident and bulletproof, who would not bend nor break, who would not willingly relinquish any form of control. Love the Will description. How on earth did Willow come to trust her enough to let all her barriers down?

Only now, among the fruit, in the glow of naptha, did she get an inkling of the torment Willow must have felt when Tara rejected her at the end of their kiss that first day.

One thing was certain. Not counting whatever oath Willow had made for her, they were connected now, more than these limbs, this warmth, here in her kitchen surrounded by fruit. Love the visual!

There was no turning back.[url][/url]

[Paint the Sky]

Thanks, Jen, for starting this thread, and thank you Phoenix for allowing us to follow the evolution of your fabulous story.

May we comment and ask questions about the process?

Lets say the answer is yes - lol.

I'm actually impressed by the lack of 'blue pencil'. Was it always like this - have you always been 'detached' in your involvement, or have you fallen into the trap of making too many suggestions?

Is it easier not being a writer in that you keep objective about the 'job' you are doing?

The writer learns their craft through writing, and makes many mistakes along the way, so I'm curious to know if the same is true for the beta?

This is such an interesting subject for me, so unless the thread is closed to comments and general input about beta-ing, it would be nice to hear from other betas as to what pitfalls they encountered, and maybe also from some authors about problems with being beta'd.

[masterjendu]

Wonderful questions, Adrienne!

1. May we comment and ask questions about the process? You may indeed ask questions about the process and feel free to add your own beta action! I have changed the title of the thread to reflect the more open nature you described!

2. I'm actually impressed by the lack of 'blue pencil'. Was it always like this - have you always been 'detached' in your involvement, or have you fallen into the trap of making too many suggestions? The lack of blue pencil is due to the fact that what I am doing for The Apothecary is what Jen (Phoenix; I hope everyone realises I am not talking about myself in the third person when I do that!) has termed 'beta lite.' This is mainly due to lack of time on my part and not at all due to feeling trapped about suggestions. I was nowhere near as detached for The Lamb and Jen and I had an excellent give and take (often going through 2 or 3 drafts before posting). I do always try to balance my suggestions with the fact that this isn't my story; so if the advice I have is just a matter of style, I'll let Jen know that.

3. Is it easier not being a writer in that you keep objective about the 'job' you are doing? Probably. As I said above, I am usually able to keep in mind that this is not my story. There have probably been times when I am a little disappointed when a suggestion doesn't make it in, but I give Jen a good-natured jab about it and all is well!

4. The writer learns their craft through writing, and makes many mistakes along the way, so I'm curious to know if the same is true for the beta? Absolutely! I had never done this before now and wouldn't consider my learning curve complete by any stretch of the imagination! I think there is also a 'getting to know you period' with the author. Chapter 16 of The Lamb was the first one I beta'd and I had no idea what I was doing; most of it was praise and ruminations. I got quite a bit more constructive as the time went on but it wasn't until Chapter 37, when Will and Tara first get together that I felt comfortable enough to really enforce myself. I remember meeting Jen for lunch and basically telling her that "she could do better." We also had to have a pretty open discussion about sex, so it was absolutely great for our writer/beta relationship!


Bring it on other betas/anybody else!!!

[masterjendu]

I am sorry for the double post and for the fact that it looks like I'm talking to myself a lot in this thread. But I felt that in order to illustrate some of my answers to PTS' queries, I would post the Skittles from Chapter 37 of The Lamb. This is actually the second beta'd draft of this chapter and there had also been much discussion in person prior to this. Skittles are what Phoenix and I call the feedback that goes back and forth so much that it requires different colours. Plus, rainbows are awesome! So, my comments are in blue and green and Phoenix's are in red.

And I promise not to post here again until somebody else does!!


[center]The Lamb
Chapter 37
Amplify
(Found here)[/center]

I think amplify is still a good title. Things definitely get more intense here, so the amplification is implied! I'm glad you like it. I've always wanted to use it. It is perfect.

(Oh, no, Willow, this is not the end. This is only the beginning.)

Tara had pulled on a t-shirt and gotten up to use the washroom. Willow put her hand over the warm space on the sheets where her girlfriend recently lay. She could smell the lingering scent of the salve on the sheets and on her fingers. Memories of Tara swirled through her mind, the unknown word (jertfa) still troubling her, but in the thick and warm darkness of the early morning Willow brought other, more pleasant thoughts to her mind.

(If you wish it, I'll never leave you again.)

Slim light spilled from underneath the bathroom door. Willow could hear the water running and she wondered, oh she wondered if her spell worked for her beloved. They had come so close, so very close to fulfilling something she could barely imagine, but those demon grooves stopped them every time. With so much pain in Tara's life that she could do nothing about, Willow hoped and prayed that this one thing had worked. There would be no more barriers, no more reason to stop. She could allow herself this, this pleasure in a world where so much had gone wrong.

(I saved the world, Tara, but not for me. Never for me.)

But Tara had proved otherwise, hadn't she? Through her sacrifice, her devotion to her patient, Willow had come to realize that, though her friends were gone, she was still alive. And being alive was a very good thing. And more, Tara had shown that being alive was more than monster fighting, and slaying, and thwarting the forces of darkness time and again with no reward to show for it; being alive meant enjoying the simple things, like a durian in a marketplace, like a kiss on a couch, like the prospect of being with a beloved one forever. Who was this woman who had entered her life, and saved her in every single way imaginable?

(I'm the woman who's going to make you happier than you've ever been.)

Willow could believe it. The attraction, the longing was undeniable. And this very night, when she pressed her own breasts against the bare back of her girlfriend, she knew she wanted to make love to her, to brand her own name on Tara's lips forever, to make her feel ecstasy and pleasure beyond anything she'd ever experienced before, enough to dull the pain that continually wracked her lover's body. Willow's pain, taken to save Willow.

(Just save me, Willow.)

What Willow would have done to take Tara away from this world, Willow's world. Walking the mausoleum (was it only an hour ago?) thanks for the reminder, when I'm writing, it takes so long to write that I lose sense of timing no prob! only reminded Willow of the terrible sacrifices she and her friends had made, time and again, without anyone knowing. She wanted to take Tara away from it all, and have no worry other than what to eat for dinner. It was impossible, now. The amulet chained Tara in far more ways than Willow could probably imagine, and Willow certainly didn't want Caleb to be a part of her life in any meaningful way.

(Just what does Tara mean to you, Willow?)

Tara was no longer simply a woman, simply a nurse. Tara was Willow's new north star, her new sun. nice return to the sun imagery you used early on love using repetition. Also it was Tara who used it for Willow, so it was nice to flip it over. I really like the idea of having a person be a guiding light. It was Tara who illuminated her way into the darkness of the forthcoming years, transformed that darkness into new light and new possibilities. It was Tara who would guide her through it all, that low infectious smile on her lips and three pale lines across her face. Monster grooves. Just to segue into the next line: yup, works well

(I used to have a monster fighting team.)

At this moment, more than any other, Willow was consumed with grief for her dead friends. How was she to save this precious woman without Buffy, without Xander and Giles? Giles always had the answers. He had his books, and his connections to the Council, and a great deal more savagery than she had once suspected could exist in a tweed-clad librarian. I loved that dichotomy of Giles character Xander was more than just the guy that got the donuts and fixed the furniture. He could see to the truth of things, could see into the heart of the matter, even only through one eye socket. And Buffy, dear Buffy. Never just a Slayer, though that was certainly handy. Buffy was courage incarnate; she never backed down from a fight, even when she was reduced to slinging burgers at the Doublemeat Palace. More than a Slayer – she was the first person to awaken Willow to a better, albeit more dangerous, life.

(It's a good fight, Buffy, and I want in.)

Understanding pierced Willow, with an actual physical pain. It was all Buffy, again. Even from beyond the grave, Buffy and her sacrifice (jertfa) hopefully this is still subtle, but everyone will catch it they will but it is no big secret that Tara thinks she has to die is what brought Tara to her. Without Buffy, Willow would never have met Tara, and she would have gone on her merry little way eventually, battered, bruised, bereft, grieving for a loss she never could fully comprehend. There would have been a Tara-shaped emptiness in her life, and she never would have known it. Love it!

(Could she be in better company? We can care for her here, for she is one of us.)

Willow was a witch. She knew what prophetic dreaming was. The Scoobies, they would accept Tara in death, just as they would in life. But not yet. In this, Willow was certain. No mausoleums, no marble slabs, no cold and lifeless hands, no cold lips, not yet not yet not yet.

She didn't even realize that she was weeping until Tara crawled back into bed beside her. Tara's anxious face filled her view, and she found herself aching for Tara's touch. Banish the ghosts, Tara. Banish the demons, banish the dreams. Please.

Why did they need no words?

Willow once wryly thought that there was no force on earth that could shut her babbling mouth. Until she met Tara. At first she kept quiet because she wanted to impress this enigmatic and mysterious nurse, and knew that random spouts of nonsense often erupted from her lips. Then she kept quiet because she realized that there was a wavelength between her and her brown-haired lover, a wavelength she never had experienced with Oz or anyone else. It was like a cord connecting them, eyes to eyes, heart to heart. No lies. No words. Only truth.

In the silken moonlight and streetlight, Tara's eyelashes seemed dipped in gold and stroked with shadow. The three lines down her face were thin and pale, in stark contrast to her luscious and full lips. Her eyes were roiling in joy, in playfulness, and those eyes alone drew Willow from the dark place she had been inhabiting, the mausoleum of her mind. Did the spell work, then?

“You mean?” Willow whispered, pointing to Tara's t-shirt covered chest.

For her answer, Tara gave her that low smile before sitting upright in the bed, the sheet pooling by her waist. Willow sat up as well, aware that the cold draught from the window was making her nipples stand at attention.

(You know better, Willow, you know what is really happening. You want her. With every fibre in your being, you want her. And your body knows it.)

For a moment, Willow wondered if she should cover up, lift the sheet in some modicum of modesty. But then that moment ended, and another began, containing the universe within. As Willow watched Tara's fingers seductively pull up the edges of her shirt, slowly tugging the garment up and off her body, revealing impossible smoothness of skin, three long and thin pale lines between her breasts where only hours before Willow knew there were demon grooves, Willow was pierced again by understanding.

She was reborn.

Her old self was consumed in the ashes of Tara's love. Just like a phoenix, only problem with my pen name is I feel weird using this word you’ve put everyone else in, you should be in there too! And the simile is too perfect to pass up Willow stepped forth from those ashes, she was finally sated, she had dined long enough on the ashes to last a lifetime, there was better food now, now there was chocolate. Taraliscious. Tara bared her breasts to her, and in doing so she bared her soul, and there was space there for Willow. Willow could barely comprehend the hollowing that must have taken place, to make such room for her in Tara's very being. She only knew that she would never, could never be the same.

Tara bared her breasts to her, and her eyes looked on her with not just the brotherly benevolent? perfect. thank you. love you'd expect from a nurse, from an angel, but the soul-consuming, body-wrenching, cataclysmic I love this word. Reminds me of very early on when I said is love anything but a disaster? Yeah, I remember telling you that that line summed up the whole fic romantic love you desire for a lifetime and have never found before, not in anybody. Tara bared her breasts to her, and Willow knew what her new life would entail, now that she was reborn from the ashes.

(You didn't want me to fully understand your sacrifice. If I understood too much, I might have fallen in love with you. There would have been joy, Tara.)

There would be love. Nights and days of it. She could make it her life's work to love Tara the way she deserved to be loved, and it would be the most worthy thing she'd ever done. No demon, no dilemma, no apocalypse could even be measured against it. Joy, peace, happiness, these things would be alien to her no longer. Before she died, Tara would know. Not just the pleasure of the most amazing sex she could imagine, and boy would Willow ever deliver, but more than that. Tara would know what it felt like to be the sole purpose and intention of Willow's life. That nothing, no nothing, would ever separate them again. No amulet, no Caleb, no jertfa mausoleum echoing with the prints of the dead.

Because she was in Tara, and Tara was in her. And did it really matter that Willow had come to this point so swiftly? Mere days it was, since she first met Tara in the coma world of Sunnydale. Willow was a seasoned fighter now, and death had come too close.. erase a period here thank you No time to waste, not when you lived as a Scooby. Thought I should include this, because it really does happen rather fast. Not as fast as in katjenson's story, but still fast. Yup and it speaks to the carpe diem theme pervading the earlier chapters.

Tara bared her breasts to her, Again, love using repetition. and Willow licked her lips and stared. The amulet had been swung to Tara's back again. With a soft hand, Tara lifted Willow's hand and placed it fully on the skin between her breasts, the skin that only hours ago had been puffy and inflamed. It was now clear, and smooth, and completely healed. Willow looked at her hand, nestled so gently between Tara's breasts, and with a finger she touched those scars, traced the length of them, noticing Tara's shiver.

“You did this for me,” Tara whispered. “Now we can,” nice thanks for the suggestion. I like it. cool. me too and she paused long enough to push Willow's body back down on the soft bed, looming over her with ardent intensity, a desire Willow had never seen in anyone's eyes, not Oz, not anyone. “...do this,” Tara completed, before kissing Willow, hard.

Oh. My.

Tara's lips were crushed on hers; Willow opened her mouth and Tara's lips tilted sideways, her tongue lightly ran over Willow's teeth before dipping inside. A gulf was emerging deep in her gut, as aching joy built deep inside. Because it wasn't just Tara's lips, it was Tara's hand, which was drawing slowly down from Willow's face, stroking her neck, running down and over her collarbone, then latching onto Willow's small breast, cupping it in her hand, then rolling the nipple lightly in her slender fingers.

Willow moaned into Tara's mouth; it felt like there was a live wire connected between her breast and her core, a wire that sparked her, and wetness pooled between her legs. Tara was kissing her, almost bruising her with her desire, and Tara's leg insinuated in between Willow's. Her foot slid between Willow's ankles, pushed them apart. Still her fingers played with her nipple, rolling and lightly pinching, each touch setting off a cacophony of nerves. Pierced with joy, wallowing in ecstasy, Willow wanted to touch Tara as she was being touched, but it seemed she lacked some essential motor function. All of her attention was on Tara's hand, Tara's foot, Tara's mouth. Can you change up the order here: Tara’s foot, Tara’s hand, Tara’s mouth. I keep seeing ‘foot and mouth’ together! I get you. No one wants to be inadvertently thinking about cows here. Exactly!

Tara's mouth, which moved to kiss and suck at Willow's neck. Willow arched her neck back, opening her eyes briefly to see the ceiling and the top of the headboard, the prints Tara had placed on the wall. But she closed her eyes again, panting slightly as Tara began to kiss her neck. Willow jolted as Tara pressed her tongue into the hollow at the base of Willow's throat as she simultaneously kneaded Willow's breast.

“Please, Tara,” Willow whispered, a torrent of wet desire running through her limbs. Tara lifted her head long enough to look Willow in the eyes; she gave a hot, searing glance, your suggestion, thank you! That’s why I get the big bucks! And I am happy you agree; the smile was good but it is much better now that you have her smile later on. Amplifies the intensity, as it were! then shifted her body so she was laying more on top of Willow, her foot scraping lightly up Willow's calf, deliciously spreading Willow's legs. Willow could feel the fabric of their shorts underneath them both. Tara's head then dove down again to Willow's body, her hot mouth closing over Willow's nipple.

Oh. My.

Tara's other hand swiftly found a place at Willow's neglected breast. As her tongue rolled lightly over the sharp nub, her fingers alternately rolled and lightly pinched her other nipple. Willow gasped as Tara suckled at her, her other hand hot at her breast. Then Tara took the nipple in her teeth, and Willow felt the jolt deep inside her, deeper than ever, somewhere near her very soul. Willow ran her hands over Tara's back, touching the beloved skin, running over the amulet which had canted off to the side.. two periods Seriously, what's up with that? Jeepers, I must be losing my mind. Once is funny, but two times? Can I blame it on my computer? Yep, computer problem. Uh huh!

Unbelievable. Both of Tara's hands were now drawing slowly, langorously languorously (don’t believe me eh?) I do believe you! My spell checker isn't working. Again, computer problem. down Willow's sides, descending until they touched the elastic waist of Willow's shorts. And there they hovered, for Tara was asking a question, unspoken she was asking a question.

“Yes, oh please, Tara,” Willow panted, and some part of her was keenly aware that this was the moment it would all change. This was the universe within. Her north star was about the shine the way for her, into a new life and new understanding. Aha! See!

So Tara drew down Willow's shorts and her panties, lifting them over Willow's pert ass, drawing them exquisitely down her legs and finally tossing them over the side of the bed.

My turn. I love that Will is active!

Willow grasped Tara's waist as she hovered just above Willow's body; she raised rose (same as the lay/lie issue) someday I'm really just going to have to learn that so you don't have to keep correcting me. I must have been asleep that day in school. It is amazing what teaching ESL in another country will do for your grammar! up enough to turn the tables, to push Tara down on the other side of the bed. Willow was afire; she wanted to feel Tara's skin on her, all of it. She looked into Tara's eyes as her fingers grasped the waist of Tara's shorts and Tara nodded, breathing heavily. There wasn't much seductress yet in Willow nice characterisation, but she knew she would learn, that Tara would teach her all sorts of things. So she pulled, over the roundness of Tara's buttocks, down her long and shapely legs, and the moonlight and streetlight splashed over Tara's chest, making her glow. Willow dropped the shorts over the side.

Immediately Tara wrapped herself on Willow's lean frame, her arms crushed tight around her, their breasts mashed pressed? Or are you going for a stronger word? Mashed seems odd. Okaly dokaly. together, her leg curling around Willow's leg possessively. Skin on skin, the whole length of her.

It was more exquisite than anything Willow could ever have dreamed. For days now she had been drowning in Tara's scent, had cherished every moment they spent together, from the hand-in-hand shopping to the kissing on the couch, and to have it all culminate in this moment was almost more than Willow could bear. But there really wasn't much space for thinking, not with her brain dealing with an overload of sensation never felt before. Beautiful!

So she drew her fingers over Tara's back, skirting the amulet that fell to the side, drawing her short nails down the fragrant skin, kissing whatever part of Tara happened to be close; her lips, her forehead, the crown of her head. On her back, Willow again felt Tara's foot sliding along the inside of her calves, gently pushing her legs apart. Tara's fingers were sliding down Willow's body, cupping a throbbing can breasts throb? Maybe heaving or is it too cliché? I think they can throb, after they've been teased like that. Heaving is a little bad-Harlequin-ish Yeah, I tried to think of another word cuz heaving isn’t great but throbbing felt kind of like pulsing to me. I’ll get past it! breast, skirting her belly button, drawing ever closer to the place Willow most wanted those fingers to be.

She was breathing heavily now, and thrusting her hips upward as Tara insinuated her thigh between her legs. Willow wrapped her erase the ‘her’ (makes it sound like Will only has one leg) Can't have that. You're very good at this, you know? Just earning my keep! one leg or it could be wrapped her free leg. about Tara's thigh, felt a circle of warmth and wet where Tara's core rubbed against her. Tara was moving back and forth, subtly, in gentle motions, that portion of her upper thigh rasping against her center. She lifted her head from Willow's breast, her eyes closed for a moment as she rose up, her breasts swaying to her hips hip’s movement (or ‘with the movement of her hips’) another lesson I missed in school. I really hate apostrophe's sometimes. , and the moonlight struck her back and cast her into partial shadow.

Willow looked at her then, and her own hands, which had been grasping the sheets or the pillows, her hands ventured up to grasp caress? yep.those pendulous sorry to be so picky about these words, but pendulous isn’t doing it for me either; maybe just glorious? being picky about words is what I pay you for. Or what I would pay you for. Pendulous just gave me an odd image. and glorious breasts, nipples hardened into sharp little nubs, and at her touch Tara opened her eyes. Is it possible to get a little more here? Poor Will has been trying to touch Tara’s breasts for so long, only to be thwarted by those bandages. Now she has healed the wound and should be able to revel in her first touch of girlie. I understand that you are building up to her revelation in the next paragraph, but first booby-touching time is pretty amazing! Here is where I definitely need the voice of gay-love experience. I'll certainly try. I’ll see what I can do to give you some insight (although I am not Knowledge Woman by any stretch of the imagination!). I suppose it would be akin to the first discovery of male parts but far more intense. The parts are not foreign. Girls know how their own breasts, etc. like to be touched so they can be intuitive about touching someone else’s and are therefore more in tune with the effect they are having (thus making it more enjoyable for them; if that makes any sense). For Will, who has been with a man; things are gonna be much softer, gentler, and there will be much more give and take. This is basically the point of no return for her. I know a lot has happened leading up to this and she was active in taking Tara’s clothes off, but this is major. There is something wonderful about the juxtaposition of firmness of the nipple surrounded by the soft globe of the breast and pressing into your palm (zoiks, can’t believe I just wrote that!) that is just inherently woman and intoxicating. Boobies are like the sexual Rubicon for Willow (holy was that a geeky thing to say!!!). I should stop!

And Willow knew. Swimming behind the eyes was a vast purple curtain, the word jertfa hovered just beyond, and there was a great and terrible shadow, stung in the center with a single point of light; the white spot at Caleb's collar. They were not two, they were three. That sucks royally, doesn’t it? Creepy that Caleb is there too. I debated leaving this in, but had to remind everyone of the stakes involved. Yeah, it is kind of a pause in the action, but at the same time makes the love scene unique. Leave it in, methinks.

Willow saw herself as she must have been that day when Tara took it all, she took it, and she can't give it away, she took the broken skull, and the broken rib, the sword puncture wound and the inflamed scrapes and the vampire bite at her neck, she took it and she kept it and there it was and how could Willow have forgotten?

No more tears. Willow felt all this in a flash, and in that flash she vowed to fight, to give, to battle, and to love. Love like there is no preacher in her brain. Love like there is no medical test awaiting. Love like Tara deserved to be loved. Beautiful way to keep the intensity of their lives in mind. The poor gals can’t even just enjoy one another without thinking about all they have suffered (and will suffer). Well maybe they can Monday night! You mean I gotta come up with all this again! Oh my. Kidding. I knew it was coming.

Tara may have stopped then, in that stark moment when Willow realized all this, could Tara sense Willow’s pause? Definitely. Can you make that clear? Maybe just a look of concern from Tara? but then Willow rose up, just slightly, just enough to draw Tara's breast into her mouth, enough to cup Tara's bare buttocks with her hands and press her closer. At her electrifying touch on her ass, (I’m thinking that the feel of Will’s mouth on her breast for the first time would be more electrifying than the touch on her ass; again, they have been working on breast touching for a while) Got it. Perfect. Tara lifted her head and moaned, a deep gutteral guttural See? Where's my freaking spell checker? I think it took an unauthorized vacation. sound that resonated in Willow's depths, triggering yet another flood of warmth and wet to her core.

Willow released her suckling hold on Tara's breast, and used a spare hand to pull Tara's mouth down on hers. Can you give a reason for Will to release the breast so soon? She needed the intimacy of Tara’s mouth on hers? Or better yet, she could whisper I love you in her ear and then with the frantic kissing; thus prompting Tara to make her move, to give Will release. Oh yeah. Definitely need some I love you's. Like you said, they are conspicuously missing. It just seems that once Will gets Tara’s breast in her mouth she wouldn’t want to let go too quickly. If it is gonna be so quick, she needs a reason. A little internal (albeit muddled) dialogue might be okay too. Or! Tara could say I love you here (lean down and whisper it in her hear), causing Willow to kiss her. There they latched, kissing each other frantically, and Tara pulled out her thigh, wet with Willow's nectar. Just before Willow could complain, somehow, into Tara's mouth, she felt Tara's hand, not stopping at the soft curls, but descending, descending to the place that throbbed, that ached, that begged for release.

Tara's thumb barely flicked her clit, and Willow thrust her head back, breaking her incredible kiss, breathing in heavy gasps. Mesmerising. Tara smiled, the moonlight glinting off her perfect teeth, a low and knowing smile that Willow caught only a glimpse of before her eyes rolled back again. She was vaguely aware that one of Tara's hands was kneading her breast, but all of her attention was focused on the other hand, the one with fingers that brushed her velvet opening, swirling around the silky depths. Beautifully characterised Another flick of long/tender/gentle/ stroke/caress over? (flick seems painful or quick here somehow) gotcha. You're like a walking thesaurus! her clit, and Willow writhed underneath her. “Oh, Tara, please,” she gasped, not really knowing what she wanted to ask, just wanting to be fulfilled, to be filled, to be brought to a place she rarely experienced.

“Please what, my love /Baby/Willow You really like that, don't you? ?” No question, I love “my love” as an endearment! “Please what” seemed a little blunt. Tara’s mandate here is going to be to treat Willow like gold; as gently as possible. She knows how intense and emotional a first time (and a first time with a girl) can be. This lovemaking is all about Willow; all about Tara giving to Willow; making sure Willow is okay. I also thought about her saying “Tell me what you want/need, Willow/Baby.” Something to show that Tara is looking after Willow in this. Tara asked can we have a qualifier here so we know that Tara isn’t really in control either? Tara breathed/asked breathily/etc? , low by her ear, actually licking it with her tongue. Love the ear licking!

“I need you,” Willow begged she isn’t able to say much more! , and it was just enough, for two of Tara's fingers thrust easily inside her, reaching for a place that wasn't really physical; it was spiritual and emotional and metaphysical and easily not of this world or this plane, but part of that cord that connected them, the fingers tugged at the cord, made it stronger, fiercer, unbreakable adamantium, something that would exist far longer than this pitiful world. Breathtakingly beautiful Just solidifying the cord idea. Glad it turned out. It did indeed; very lyrical. The fingers drove her, filled her, and with each thrust, Willow felt herself get closer and closer to something she could barely name.

Another flick smooth/soft/firm brush/stroke? of her thumb, and Willow's hips raised rose from the sheets, never displacing the fingers that continued to thrust, now a little harder, now a little faster. Her climax began to roar in her ears, she gasped with a raw breath. She was almost too far to hear Tara's words, “Come for me now, Willow.” beautiful

And the fingers inside her, they paused there at the top, and rasped against her slippery channel and vastly, mightily, Willow came. Arching her hips and crying out, her walls clenched against Tara's slick fingers, pressing against them as they slowly withdrew. Small technicality: Tara probably wouldn’t withdraw so quickly, but would instead let Willow ‘ride’ out her climax completely; bringing her down softly from it. It is the gentle way to do it cuz a quick removal can leave you feeling very empty and vulnerable. Awesome. Thank you. Head flung back, her breathing ragged, Willow clutched at Tara's body, pulled her in close, tucked her along her bare limbs as she tucked her by her heart. Fading rapidly, how is Willow feeling? Willow felt Tara pull the sheet over them both, felt Tara's hand possessively cup her breast, and then she felt no more. The I love yous are conspicuously missing! Can we have an I love you from Tara as Will falls asleep (in answer to Willow’s I love you above!)? Tara has never said it yet. At this moment, more than any other, she's probably ready. Yes, she is. Will said it in the ether (and had implied it before that) and there really hasn’t been much opportunity for Tara to say it since then. While they are making love (either now or earlier on or both times!) seems like the perfect time for her to say it. I am of the opinion that once you know you love someone you should tell them as often as you can.

Moonlight and streetlight spilled over them both, until the first lightening rays of dawn began to steal into the bedroom. It was Monday morning, and neither of them knew that their lives were about to be inextricably altered forever. It would be Ethan who would eventually reveal the calamitous nature of Caleb's gift. Althanea and Angel searched for a demon for Tara and for a knife. And Faith, across the ocean, waking in the afternoon nice time difference! It is nine hours, right? I think I told you 9 in the outline but it is actually 10 (I forgot to account for daylight savings). Sorry. with Jude's slender body beside her not a bad reward for Jude! , the scent of their love-making sweet in the air, had no idea that she would once again hold the scythe in her hands.
Fantastic ending.


Well you did it, Jen! And it is wonderful!!! It all seems to happen pretty quickly (and desperately) but not unnaturally so. Tara would be content to make love to Willow without expecting reciprocity and Willow would be pretty overwhelmed afterward, thus falling asleep. They can take their time for exploration tomorrow when doctor’s visits aren’t looming and there is time to really get to know each other’s bodies. Sorry I was so picky about some of the words, but I needed to uh... feel or see them. And that's why you make a terrific beta. Especially in this chapter, because being [having been : )] a straight girl, I'm at a loss. Just using what everyone else has written. I hear ya! I don’t think I’d be able make up a hetero love scene out of thin air. If possible, though: we need a little more of Willow in this chapter. It is from her pov but we don’t really know what she is feeling. Not too much cuz as you pointed out, she isn’t capable of too much thought, but it kind of feels like she is being acted upon.

Remember: Jen is in blue and green and Phoenix is in red.

[Zooeys_Bridge]

Jeepers, Jen, you picked one helluva chapter to resume Skittling. I couldn't concentrate on anything but well...the, um...stuff.

[masterjendu]

There definitely is some wonderful rainbow fun, isn't there Rach?!

[Tara the Phoenix]

A single girl eating macaroni and cheese (made without milk or margarine because she really needs to go grocery shopping) and giggling at the computer screen isn't really a sign of sanity, is it?

I forgot some of the good stuff we passed around while doing The Lamb! At least we're both geeks, and comfortable in our geekdom.

If you've got the time, feel free to share Angyles. We actually did several drafts of that one, with quite a bit of changes. It's up to you, though. You are the master of this thread.

Just to chime in, though. Having a beta means the world to a writer. I can get so caught up in my own view of the world that sometimes I forget that my readers are just as invested in my story as I am. Jen helps me keep it global, keep it right, even to the point of researching time zones and everything else. Everything I write is better for going through someone else's brain first.

Especially on the past tense of lay/lie. I still haven't really figured that one out. (ssh, don't tell Masterjendu...)

I usually do what she suggests (which is why Angyles is a whole lot better now), but once in a while I don't. Like she said, a light jab and then it's done - she did her own research on the Beerenberg Volcano and found out stuff that I completely ignored. At my own peril, obviously. (I was too thrilled with the way I had written it.)

Thanks for posting this chapter, Jen. I had a good chuckle with my mediocre macaroni over our skittles.

Jen
(Phoenix)

[masterjendu]

Thanks for writing in, Jen! This is definitely not all my thread so let's please have other writers and betas and anyone else write in too!!!

Below you will find the edits for the most recent chapter of The Apothecary. We went through two drafts before the posted version. I have posted the first edit (with Skittles) and then portions of the second edit.

Skittle Order: blue (me), Red (Phoenix), purple (me)

Enjoy (and please let's hear from some other folks!!!)


[center]~31~
Angyles[/center]

As always, the taste of lychee reminded Willow of Berlin.


She had eagerly wrapped her fingers in Tara's hair as they came together for their kiss. She had I would suggest starting this sentence with different words than those that start the sentence before it Kay, will do! cool!! not been content with a mere taste of Tara's lips; she tilted her mouth as she kissed her, their lips moving in a slow and fire-breathing cadence, Tara's touch a livewire on her skin, an igniting brand, joy and agonizing desire deep in her stomach. Love the molten imagery all over the place in this sentence but it is difficult to make sense of. I think I’m just not buying ‘fire-breathing cadence.’ As wonderful as it sounds, what does it actually mean? Trying to describe the breaths in between - so I'll try something else. it is a wicked metaphor but I just can't see it.


Fear was there as well, a tiny and nearly buried fear. This game, if it could even be called a game, was more like psychological warfare. Tara said that Eva had taught it to her; Willow also knew that there was a hard little knot of jealousy regarding that piece of information. Did Eva teach the game in word only, or had there been lips involved? Excellent questions!!! And thank you for placating me on this fact! In my head it was only one way - and never lips! I never even considered that you would think it was the other way around...


Six thousand years, Rosenberg. She's bound to have kissed a few people, just like you have kissed a few throughout your significantly fewer years.


Tara was breathless when Willow pulled away. Willow placed her hand on Tara's knee as she ran her tongue over her lips, and the taste had left better! no doubt within her this clause is awkward for me, something about taste having something, maybe held instead of had?; it was exotic, it was subtle, and it was Berlin.


Buffy.


Amor vincit omnia. Very nice to bring us back to chapter 23 and our Carvaggio. This was traded for while travelling with Buffy in Berlin. Are you throwing this is to remind us of Buffy? To have Willow remind herself that there is hope with Tara? Is it sarcastic because Buffy died anyway? I guess my questions speak to the nature of your use of these italicised phrases.. Are they in the characters’ voices or are they your (the author’s) manipulations/to get us thinking a certain way (or both)? This would be Willow's hopes - a place she had never expected to find for herself, a place where "love conquers all". I may go on a bit more here, then, to explain how the taste of lychee has a softly bitter aftertaste... Sounds good but again (as I've said below somewhere) putting it near a mention of Buffy makes it seem like she loved Buffy. I feel as though you can explore this phrase in a Tara context a little more here.


"Lychee," Willow said.


"Yes."


Willow was quiet for a moment, wondering which question among the thousands beared the past tense of bear is bore. If you think it looks odd, maybe change the word altogether? I think I will change it cool! asking next. Her curiosity about volcanoes was certainly not assuaged, but when Tara had asked her question


(Why did you kiss me the way you did, that first day?)


Willow knew what kind of questions were fair game. Time to ask one that had been plaguing her for some time. "Why did my dream go wrong?" Willow asked quietly. "I mean, you'd have a lot of unhappy clients and no repeat business if all their dreams went the way mine did."


This close to Tara, lit by the naphtha lamp, Willow caught a glimpse of the ocean of immortality that roared within her, some alien quality, whether by the tilt of her eyes or the shadow on her cheeks. It was an unwelcome reminder of the truth that Willow and Tara would eventually have to face.


Willow shut her mind on such talk. Nice! As she had been taught, only the now mattered.


The now, and justice by the sword.


"I don't kiss clients on the mouth," Tara began.. "I never have before you. But when I did, some of my nightmare transferred to you, as you saw by my hair changing colour. Yet yet is not necessary as a conjunction here. I don’t think you need a conjunction at all. Kay. I've never seen inside a dream before; usually my nightmares are composed on a global level, not individual. Wars, rumours of wars, swords and bloodshed. Tortures and rapings and abuses heaped and heaped on me, as payment for the dreams I make."


Words were weapons. Willow shared those memories now, and the hatred building towards Tara's Master got grew stronger and stronger with every word.


Would there be any way to redeem mankind in the face of this woman's suffering?


And what question would Tara ask next? More importantly!! It is important that Willow follow her own admonishment and remain focused on the here and now.


Tara was already closing her eyes. Willow looked at the vast array of fruit surrounding them, and carefully picked a cherry. She took great care to liberally coat her lips with the dark juice of the exquisitely ripe cherry.


Tara took her time in tasting Willow's mouth, tilting her this way and that as they kissed. Willow was quite glad they were sitting down; the desire to go further


hotter


faster


was still very strong, but at least her knees could buckle here without dumping her unceremoniously on the floor.


"Cherry," Tara said as she retreated.


"Yes. Your question?" Again I feel as though some of their responses to the kisses are somewhat pat. I realise it might get a bit redundant to talk about their breathlessness every time but without it this seems like a business transaction. Kissing is awesome and should leave you breathless!!! For that reason I find it hard to describe every single time. The ante has been raised - the kissing is good, but the questions burn just as brightly. Maybe instead of breathlessness (to me, being breathless every time is like creamy heaving bosoms) I'll make her take a moment to collect herself. She could just whisper it or have some emotion in the way she says it. It is the dialogue without any description that makes it seem businessy.


Such hesitation in the lamplight. Such barely concealed fear.


This was no game.


"Your dream, it turned out so wrong. Why did you come back to me?"


Tara so warm, so fragile under her hands; a gazelle hunted by jackals. Such pain on her soft face.. Following the deepest urge of her soul, finding courage where she had never looked for it before, Willow found the strength to tell the truth, and all of the truth, the truth of a warrior.


*****


Willow had woken from her purchased dream with the feeling of the sword hilt in her hand, the hot bloody fingerprint of the sadistic apothecary dunno how much you wanna capitalise but could do it here too. on her cheek, sour bile in her throat and shame and sorrow so deep she felt she would die of it.


Love, chemical love created by a chemist, floated along her bones, sparked her nerves, made her weak with want.


Willow looked at the cracker jack ring on her hand, and found she could not think of Buffy at the fair, the Buffy before the agonizing summer training camps, the Buffy before the Drakensdvaerder made her into the Marshal General, or the Buffy who had carried Riley's child. She only saw the fallen Buffy, and her own hand on the sword hilt, plunging into the body of the apothecary. capitalise here too?


The Apothecary, who would pay for what she had done. She would pay for this tainted dream.

A perfect painting of how Will must have been feeling.

She locked the cracker jack ring in a drawer, and now just Xander's old comics came to mind, of soldiers preparing for battles, with their shields up and locked, their sword partners ready to die for them. Willow's shields, so precarious the day before, so somehow fragile before the damning luscious woman that was the Apothecary you need to be consistent with capitalisation of this word; pick one and go with it (I’m on board with capitalising it every time), were now going right back up, the way they had to be.


She should have known better than to let her guard down, especially for a pretty face, especially for someone who kissed people for profit.


I want her.


To the vid screens, because if she was ever taught anything it was to know thy enemy.


(Only the now


Justice by the sword)


That mark, in the crook of the apothecary's capital elbow. And then Jenny's face when she walked in and recognized it, and when Willow looked at her she could always remember the way the Gyptian had looked the day of the extraction, the skin between her shoulders blackened with the brand, oozing blood, the reek of the charnel house. The sword in Willow's hand the day of that extraction had been charmed; Willow seemed to float out of danger with no effort at all. After they had rescued her from Alyanya's torture and had brought her home, after Jenny had been nursed back to health by Buffy's mom, did Willow begin to understand who Jenny really was.


The next Queen of the Gyptians.


A betrayer.


"That mark," Jenny said. "I recognize it."


That very day Jenny had begun to make a potion of prophecy, using her own methods to find answers. Meekly, as if a lamb, Willow had allowed herself to be traipsed across the globe, knowing full well that the Gyptian could keep no secrets from her, that it had been a wild goose chase with only one purpose: keep Willow away until the potion was ready. Rumania. Tokyo.


What Jenny and Giles still had no idea about was what Willow was really doing during those crucial days. I'll rewrite this whole sentence. sounds good!


She had her own methods, did she not?


Eireland, the land of leprechauns and mists.


speaker for the dead


angyles I believe this is the Welsh for angel. The Gaeilge (Irish) for angel is aingeal (plural: aingil). Of course (and as blasphemous that may seem to some of us!!) maybe the Irish in your story speak Welsh! It is Angel. I wanted the name to be close enough for readers to recognize. If it's Welsh, maybe I should move this experience to Wales, and not have it in Eireland at all. It doesn't need to be in Ireland. Well, you could use the Gaeilge aingeal (cuz I am very biased for the Irish!!!) but I will admit that it isn't as pretty looking. There is a passage tomb in Wales called Bryn Celli Ddu from about 5500 years ago similar to those in Ireland. It doesn't have the cool trees around it and it isn't as haunted as Dundermot but it might do the trick.


*****


The blood offering had to be lamb.


Willow thought of Buffy, the night of the fair, those words of hers that had elevated Willow to never-before-imagined heights, words to sprout wings and fly with uncanny ease, Every time you write stuff like this it seems like Willow was in love with Buffy! Then I'll need to make it clearer that Buffy helped her come out of her shell in a way that no one before ever had. Maybe I can bring up that friendship equation idea again, and how this was the first instance that Willow believed she was actually needed by Buffy as equally as she needed Buffy herself. nice! and she killed that lamb herself, as she had to.


The little body had shuddered in her hands. Willow hated every moment of it and directed all her hate, all her malice and fear and rage into the destruction of the Apothecary, who would pay for what she had done. Even this kill could somehow be leveraged onto the damnation of the woman in the den, who had destroyed one of the last of Willow's best memories.


It was bright near-midday at the grange, stirring blue skies over the open fields near Ballymena, Eireland. Okay so in your world, the Irelands are still united? Ballymena is Northern Ireland in our reality Might be Wales now...The mound was distinctive; it had the only copse of beech trees for miles around. The leaves were addled by the breeze, making furtive and skittish sounds, disdaining the sunlight.


Willow came up the mound armed in her red-tasseled rapier, with the blood offering in a gourd. She was alone.


She stopped upon the crest of the Dundermot Mound, surrounded by trees. Under her booted heels was the horned cairn she was looking for. A shiver of fear seemingly flensed nice word; I’ve never seen it used this way, though-only when they flay the skin off whales. Thank you - it's a shivery word. her muscles; never in her life had she so wanted to run away.


The conquering of that moment, that wildfire fear, that bone sapping terror, such an insignificant thing in the tidal waves of time, yet so essential. The conquering of her fear was the moment she broke her covenant, and she didn't even know it. She wouldn't recognize it for some months, not until after Tara was gone, not until the next time she would stand on the mound with a new blood offering of gazelle. Not sure what covenant you’re talking about here but nice foreboding! I could mention it, but not here!


Her lips still burned with the memory of the Apothecary's kiss.


Willow stood her ground. Her red hair was pulled away from her face in fighter's mode, her clothing was seemingly molded to her skin; no looseness, no quarter. The everlasting and indifferent sun shone on her, filtered through the beech leaves, and she shivered under its touch. Her face was tight, her lips near bloodless with strain.


The gourd was still warm, the blood was fresh.


And she poured it, a steady stream, upon the horned cairn at the very moment of noon, keeping back half of it. The ground beneath her quivered, and before her feet the mound cracked open to reveal a narrow and deep staircase that led to the core of the mound. Probably too many mounds in this sentence. Kay.


Willow took the rapier from her hips, the rapier that was her favourite weapon, marked with Nipponese symbols and a charm for good luck, and thrust it into the ground for safekeeping. She isn’t allowed to enter the mound armed? Certainly not. It's a trust thing. The gourd was not discarded, (oops!) and Willow took a last deep breath before steeping stepping down the narrow staircase.


The smell of earth and decay was strong, but her need was stronger.


Her pinky finger felt empty and abandoned; there was no cheap plastic ring upon it..


She disappeared into the gullet of the mound, and finally the stairs stopped. At the landing was a broad concourse of paving stone, lit by flickering green lights. As she walked carefully through the tall avenue, she drew near to one of the lights, curious by about? (she is curious or the light is curious?) how it worked. She had to swallow her tongue over her surprise; tiny caged pixies hung all forlorn, glowing with green light. They did not even look up as she walked by; was she invisible to them, or simply unremarkable?


At the end of the avenue stood a man facing a basin of water on the far wall. He stood with his pale back to her, and he wore no shirt. I would reverse these two clauses: ‘He wore no shirt and stood with his pale back to her.’ (cuz it follows that she can see his pale back if he isn’t wearing a shirt but not vice versa) Agreed! From his incredibly muscled shoulders emerged enormous wings of dark golden brown; she was struck by the conspicuous absence of a few primary feathers, gaping tooth-like holes in his dark wings. He frighteningly resembled the impish cupid in the Caravaggio painting, who stood triumphant over the spoils of the earth in his dark eagle wings.


Had he been plucked for his most powerful magics? More blood than one opened the door to Dundermot Mound.


A gleaming manacle was about his ankle, and the connecting chain that dragged upon the floor made no sound. It defied the laws of science, and Willow found herself strangely upset by it, as if she needed that chain to make noise as it slithered across the floor. Nice characterisation. It had a span of several metres and no more. This last sentence seems out of place here. I need some way of showing what little space he is allowed to inhabit... I'll think on it some more. The description could just take place before Willow's revelation (i.e. this sentence should be part of or just after the first sentence).


"What is your offering?" he asked, not turning around, dipping his fingers into the swirling basin of water. From it shot forth light and a symphony of dark sound.


"I bear an offering of lamb," Willow replied, and though she was quaking in her boots her voice was remarkably free.


Only then did he turn to reveal a strong and chiseled face, marked by ancient weariness and scorn. "You dare much, Willow Rosenberg."


Willow was unsurprised that he knew her name. Angyles knew many things, perhaps all things. It was what she had been counting on. Rumania, Tokyo, and finally Eireland; her search for truth had long ago passed the point of no return.


"My need is great."


"Then submit your offering to the well of the world," he intoned, stepping aside so she could see the whirling basin of water. Willow did not hesitate; she strode forth and poured the lamb's blood in a steady stream upon the waters. There she remained, waiting for instruction.


"You get one question," Angyles said. Is Angyles his name, his race, his title? Or is it Angyl (like below)? He is the one, the only, the Angyles. (I'll fix it down below...)


Willow nodded.


"Thrust your hands into the basin."


Willow did as she was told.


"Speak your intent."


Willow had thought long and hard about her one question. She had penned a hundred different questions, searching for the one that would satisfy her deepest need. The answer was born of labour, not a gift from the gods. From them she had no gifts.


"What is the soul deep desire of the being known as Tara, the Apothecary?"


At first Willow thought she had been cheated of her question, that the blood offering had not done as it should have. Could her informant have betrayed her, was her sacrifice of the lamb in vain?


All that stared back from the basin of water was her own reflection. Constant. Steady. Strong.


Only after long minutes did Willow understand.


(she desires me) LOVE IT!!!


Then did the well of the world erupt in noise and furor; first showing glimpses of the blighted earthly existence of the Apothecary, horrifying images of disease and heartache and despair, collared and beaten and nearly broken. Willow saw the images, her heart reaving inside her, remembering the Rumanian boy she had once seen and wondering how deeply down the well of depravity mankind would tunnel.


Finally one single image that thundered through Willow's hands, rocketing to her brain.


Tara, collared and insane, surrounded by a horde of feral black panthers. Her hands were bloodied and she laughed in creeping madness. Her fingers steadily strummed against her collar in an endless litany.


The sky above her ruptured, and from some dark hole emerged horrific locusts of destruction, to feed upon the bounty of the world.


The basin must be self-aware, and making plans for its preservation. So it is showing Willow this in the hopes that she can do something about it? You betcha! The apocalypse was nigh, and Tara was the key. Near her, Angyles Angyles? see above for consistency in this fluttered his wings, and a single downy feather flitted to the earthy ground. So he loses feathers for each question answered? Kinda like Tara’s punishment? Loving it! "The Oracle has spoken," he said, and the spell was finished.


I love where this ended up, Jen!

I'm pleased with it, too, but I do think I'll end up rewriting a great portion of it. I'll send you the new chapter when I can. Hopefully my hungry kittens are patient!

_______
DRAFT2

Words were weapons, and Tara was merely an armsdealer arms dealer. Willow shared those words now, and would use them to execute vengeance on Tara's Master.


Could she possibly love Tara enough to redeem mankind?


And what question would Tara ask next?


Tara was already closing her eyes. Willow looked at the dreamberry; it was the one fruit here she was not allowed to partake of. Should she hide it? Should she mention it?


After a moment, she decided to leave it be; when it was Tara's next turn, she would mention it, and hope that Tara would accept no explanation. Tara's intuition would likely scream the answer, but at least Willow would break no oath. Interesting mystery there. The dreamberry was my fave!! What’s wrong with it?


Willow looked at the vast array of fruit and carefully picked a cherry. She took great care to liberally coat her lips with the dark juice of the exquisitely ripe cherry. The darkness of the flesh reminded her of Faith. Is it odd for her to be thinking of Faith at a time like this?


She leaned forward and grasped Tara behind her neck; she guided Tara's lips to hers. As Tara began kissing her, deeply, thoroughly, Willow tentatively let go of her over-processing brain, those rational parts of her mind that never seemed to shut up. It was a very brief and small surrender; she gave herself over entirely to the sensations that gripped her body. Not only the soft and firm pressure of Tara's lips, but also Tara's hands, caressing her spine, Tara's legs, gripping her.


Tara's breasts, glorious against hers.


Tara took her time, tilting Willow's mouth this way and that, controlling Willow's neck with her lithe fingers. Willow could never have determined how long they sat there and kissed, slow and tender kisses that snuck behind her heart and thickened her chest. Tara pushed lightly with her tongue, so Willow opened her mouth, and Tara gently grazed the inside of her cheek; when she accompanied that beautiful ravishment with a soft hand on Willow's breast, Willow's world seemed to fold in on itself completely; only sensation remained, of being swept out on a tide. Now that is some heat!!


She had surrendered.


Willow felt nearly desolate when Tara pulled away. Willow She recaptured her Tara’s lips for a hot and fiery extra minute before allowing the woman to retreat. NICE! That wasn’t so hard, was it?!!


There was high and glorious colour on her cheeks, and her eyes were marvelously dark and enchanting. "Cherry," Tara said, touching Willow's lips with the tips of her fingers.


Willow kissed those fingers before replying, "Oh, yes." She drew one of those fingers into her mouth and was rewarded with a gasp. She kissed those fingers once more before managing to ask, "Your question?" nice! All I have to do is ask and I shall receive!


...


No such secrets could be kept from Willow. She had her own sources. To Rumania she went, and also to Tokyo.


To Ynys Dywyll (Dark Isle...nice!) , the Welsh If you wanna do your cool thing where country names in this reality are closer to their names in their native tongue, Wales is called Cymru. isle of Anglesey, the land of Cŵn Annwn (the dogs of the otherworld? Were they from Anglesey specifically? I did find a story about them chasing an evil fisherman there but they seem to be from all over, or maybe Gastonbury was the door to Annwn). I am rambling on about nothing here, aren’t I? and the legendary seat of King Arthur. Very nice.


*****


Willow purchased the tiny bleating thing from a stout woman in the village; paying far too much since she did not speak Welsh. Would Willow really not speak some Welsh? That doesn’t seem like our Will, research gal extraordinaire. I know you’re trying to bring Xander in here so you can bring up the fact that this isn’t a sanctioned mission but maybe she would just overpay cuz she was in a hurry? Or maybe she has tried and there are just too many consonants for her to get her wee mouth around. She could have used Xander's help with the translation, but she knew what she was doing was deeply against the rules. He could not understand, and he was in Persia.


Only vengeance mattered, revenge for Buffy's blood spilling into her most treasured memory. That was the day Willow found out that the friendship equation was in balance, that Buffy needed her as much as she needed Buffy, and that all she ever wanted was to be needed, to be valued, and more than just homework help. Much better!


...


It had been you seem to be changing tense here. You’ve been going with past simple for the duration so should stick with it here (no need to jump into past perfect). Thus: “It was summer solstice...” the day (this ‘day’ is redundant if you use midday) of summer solstice, and Willow killed the lamb exactly at midday.


...


Only then did he turn around to reveal a strong and chiseled face, marked by ancient weariness and scorn. "You dare much, Willow Rosenberg."


Willow was unsurprised that he knew her name. Angyles knew many things, perhaps all things. It was what she had been depending on; Rumania, Tokyo, Cŵn Annwn; her search for truth had long ago passed the point of no return.. I see now where I was confused above. From what I can tell, the Cŵn Annwn were the hounds of Annwn (the Otherworld) and is not a place name. Correct me if you have better info, though. If you’re looking for a place name, Llanddaniel Fab is the village closes to Bryn Celli Ddu or maybe just go with Ynys Dywyll, Anglesey or even Cymru.

[Trom DeGrey]

Yay. Just..... Yay, to the whole thread.

[MagicPancakes]

Just wanted to say, this is a wonderful thread. I've always been really self-conscious about my writing, and to see some people just throwing themselves out there sort of helps me with that. Its inspiring :-) I've always been a fan of the beta process but never experienced it or saw it in action so for me this is really awesome. Thanks guys!

[Morrigan]

This thread has made it more clear to me than it already was that I need a beta.

Great show-and-tell of the process, and much appreciated.