“Wait...have...have we been going on dates?” 

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Actual footage of me going through @disgruntledkittenface‘s beta notes on my new chapter and getting to the part where she took the words and ideas I already had and arranged them to make me look brilliant. 

Betaing/Editing is SUCH an undervalued skill, y’all. It’s more than grammar and it’s more than saying I don’t know if this works, maybe try this instead. It’s having the ability to step back and see the bigger picture when the author is way too close to the work. It’s saying I SEE what you’re trying to do and I SEE the final piece you’re missing and THEN handing that piece over without asking anything for it in return. I’m so grateful to have a beta and friend who is so overwhelmingly generous with her skill. 

Feel free to reblog for your followers to do too! :)

War was here. Everyone knew it, everyone was a part of it in some way whether they wanted to be or not, and the same could be said for Quick. No one could live in peace anymore.

Quick never had a chance to live in peace, not entirely. Not since he started working the line of work he was in. The recent times have been the closest he’d been to peaceful in a long time, though, and he was craving the cut the knot loose and fully embrace a more mundane life. A faction war was a good place to get himself to that peace, though it wouldn’t come easily.

In the weeks of turmoil while the winds of war started to stir, Quick made all the preparations he needed. He wrote his will and tucked it into his journal, leaving that along with a few other various things in his hide away room in Orgrimmar. He knew even if he didn’t have the best relationship with his creditor he would at least be given the proper respect for his wishes to be fulfilled should he pass. His garden in Eversong had been plucked dry, the flowers spread about the area he made in his own little neck of the woods. The boxes of cigars he had never got around to selling once his business became lazy were sold in bulk to a goblin trader who was offering a good as a deal as he’d get from any goblin in Azeroth. Finally, he wrote a letter and folded it ever so carefully so that it would fit at the bottom of his coin purse, with a name and location for the letter to be delivered. 

All of his business was sorted so that if he happened to make a mistake too grave, his final words would be delivered, his gold would be distributed in the way he wished, and there would be no trace of his existence aside from those things and his body. If he didn’t fall, he had no intentions of being indebted by the end of the war.