#not final version of fic scene

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[kris-mage-fics]

Wintersun

A short Shepherds of Haven fic that takes place on Wintersun. Some vague spoilers for Chapter 4 and Blade's 5th day off in the Alpha build. Also there's a reference to this bit of a fic I haven't finished, but it's not necessary to understand what's going on.

| Ao3 | rated G | 628 words | Blade/Kyrahlise | under the cut for very light spoilers mentioned above |

"Happy Wintersun," Kyrahlise said as she handed Blade a slim package not much larger than her hand. Neither of them acknowledged the momentary brush of their fingertips.

The gift was neatly wrapped in paper she'd painted with winter berries and small swirls of gold. All tied off with a thin green ribbon salvaged from one of her old dresses. The design was overly flashy for his taste, but she had been too focused on making it pretty and was short on time to repaint something more austere.

Blade raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. "You didn't need to," he said, yet she could've sworn his face softened as his eyes traced the designs on the paper.

Kyrah smiled having anticipated he'd say something along those lines. "I'm aware. But I wanted to and thought you might enjoy it."

He looked up from the gift to meet her eyes. "Did you paint this?" Of course he remembered she painted. While in The Reach he'd fussed at her plenty to not paint outside. He trusted her judgment enough to promote her to Captain after a month, yet the cold was somehow too much. He made absolutely no sense.

"Yes," she said in a light tone.

"It's nice." Did Blade's compliment make her feel happy in a way it probably shouldn't? Yes. But she'd take that to her grave before admitting it to anyone.

"Thank you, though I hope you like what's inside more."

Blade's eyes went back to the present he held delicately. She ignored the strange little feeling in her chest when he untied the ribbon and slipped it into a pocket before carefully unfolding the paper. Underneath was a small book of poetry. "You remembered, thank you."

An unusual wave of nerves washed over Kyrahlise. What if he'd read this collection before and hated it? Well, there was no use worrying about it now that the book was in his hands. "Yes, by one of my favorite contemporary poets. Are you familiar with her work?"

"I'm not."

Her smile was tinted with relief. "I hope you find her poetry to your taste."

There was a upward tilt to his lips as he nodded. Kyrah gathered he was thanking her again, but reading his subtle expressions was like cracking a code.

Not that she needed to decipher anything to understand Blade's kindness. He'd always been considerate and respectful towards her. A sharp contrast to how many Norms treated her after she left the Circle. Like when he'd been livid because of what happened in that damned cave, it had filled her with so much warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have anyone care about her well-being. It was the catalyst for certain feelings towards him being stirred up. Feelings she accepted existed then politely ignored.

Though a recent incident in his room made her question if Blade was really as indifferent to her as he so often appeared.

When Kyrahlise glanced back up at Blade, his eyes were so gentle as they met hers it brought an instinctive smile to her lips. The first time he looked at her like that was when she learned black was the warmest color of all. The way his gaze slowly traced over her face almost felt like a sweet caress that seemed to stop briefly at her lips. But she was likely imagining things again.

A slight frown passed over his face as his free hand twitched, then clenched against his side. He looked at her another moment, gave a hint of a nod and another quick 'thank you' before turning and walking away. When he was out of earshot she sighed. Maybe one day she'd figure out what was really going on inside that inscrutable head of his.

[dreamsy990]

hi i wanted to draw my own au so have a snippet of scene i rewrote like 12 times and will likely rewrite again

[dreamsofbroflovski]

is it narcissism to giggle and kick your foot while reading something you wrote yourself? because i'm doing that rn

[th3p0rtalmaker]

Incarnate Deleted Scenes - Hector's (Scrapped) Transformation

Writing chapter 1 of my Incarnate fic took FOREVER. There were so many revisions, so much prep and planning that took place in my head before I started typing anything, and I think I genuinely triggered myself a little bit because there were several incidents where I would be in the middle of passionately and excitedly working on the chapter, only to suddenly feel drowsy and fall asleep while sitting at my laptop. I was going thru my Google Docs and found one of the original drafts of Hector's initial transformation. While rereading it, I realized it was actually pretty good and there were parts I might be able to recycle for later on in the fic. And since chapter 4 of Incarnate was really short, and it was posted about seven months after chapter 3, I figured you guys might appreciate getting to read this deleted scene while I work on chapter 5! Hope you enjoy! ^^D

(Continue reading under the cut)

Adira dropped to one knee beside him, eyes wide in disbelief. Her brother wrapped both arms around his chest protectively and gave her a fearful glare. “Don’t touch me! What have you done?!” Hector demanded. The panicked, begging tone in his voice didn’t make Adira feel any better about this horrific development.   “I won’t touch you unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she assured gently. Adira then turned and shouted down the bridge, “EDMUND!” thankful to see her king already halfway to them.   “No!” Hector yelped, rolling onto one side and turning his back to her. He was panting softly now, fear and anxiety lacing his every breath. “H-he can’t see me…I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…” he murmured breathlessly, beginning to tremble.   “Hector you didn’t do anything - Edmund and I will figure out what to do, you’ll be okay,” Adira soothed, sliding her Shadow Blade into the sheath on her back.   “What happened?” Edmund called as he approached the island of black rock. “The Moonstone shattered,” Adira replied, looking up at him.

  “How?” the king demanded upon drawing level with them. Adira stood and stepped around Hector’s body, letting the monarch kneel at his back.

  “I broke it,” she confessed readily, kneeling in front of her distraught brother. “The opal is no longer a viable container for the Moondrop’s power-” “How do you know?”   Adira gestured to the pile of rubble at the base of the pedestal. Upon registering the sight, Edmund’s face went pale. “The power of the Moonstone needed a stable vessel…” Adira trailed off. She hadn’t quite processed the sight of the celestial magic moving from one host to another of its own accord, much less the fact that Hector had been its first choice.   “Vessel?” the other knight whispered, his luminous eyes wide with horror. He lifted one arm off his chest for a sudden inspection. Adira saw the thin layer of red coating his skin, and was momentarily relieved to see one thing she did know how to deal with. “No-no-no, what is it doing?!” Hector whimpered.   “It’s just bloodsweat, tam'muḍu,” she assured. “You’ve had it a couple times before, remember? It’s a result of intense stress, which you are definitely undergoing-”   “It’s everywhere,” Hector muttered, holding his other arm beside the first. “Everywhere!” Adira took note of the thin layer of red liquid coating the second appendage, then let her eyes run along his form. She realized that the darkened spots on his tunic and leggings, which she had presumed were normal sweat stains, were quickly expanding to cover his entire body. And there was a definite red tinge to them. This Adira had not, in fact, had to deal with before. She only remembered a handful of occasions from their training years in which Hector’s anxiety had become so overwhelming that blood vessels just beneath his skin had temporarily ruptured. This allowed thin traces of blood to mingle with his sweat, painlessly seeping through his skin. But the bloodsweat had always been localized to one or two areas, never spread over his whole body. “Okay, roll onto your back,” Adira instructed, forcing her voice to remain calm. “We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.” Hector gulped, shivering and holding both fists to his chest.

  “Please-” she heard him whisper, although what he was asking for Adira didn’t know. Edmund carefully grabbed the younger man’s shoulder with a gloved hand. Adira saw Hector’s eyes widen briefly, before shutting tightly as his teeth ground together and he tucked his chin to his chest. She’d never done well interpreting the body language of other people, but she’d known Hector long enough to read him like a book. Before the king could pull on him, Adira’s hand shot out and grabbed Edmund’s, ripping it off Hector’s shoulder.

  “He said he didn’t want to be touched - we have to keep physical contact to a minimum,” she warned, throwing his hand aside. Edmund blinked at her, then glanced down at the pitiful state Hector was in.

  “I don’t think he’s going to react the way you normally do,” the king reasoned with a confused expression.

  “That’s not the point,” Adira countered firmly. “This is an emergency and he’s panicking. He needs to be cared for, not man-handled.” “And how are you determining the difference?”   “Right now, he is.”   “Adira! What happened to the Moonstone?” Adira nearly jumped at the sound of Princess Rapunzel’s voice. She and Edmund turned to see the Coronan party arriving at their end of the bridge, Rapunzel already standing close by and ogling wide-eyed at Hector. “Is Hector okay? How can I help?”   "Keep that blonde ball of nightmare fuel AWAY FROM ME!" Hector screeched, crossing his arms over his chest and curling further into himself. Rapunzel stepped back in surprise, the rest of her friends coming to a stop behind her.   After sharing a brief look with the white-haired warrior, Edmund told the princess, “You and your friends are not citizens of the Dark Kingdom, and should not be present for this.”   “What about me?” Fishskin asked, stepping up beside his girlfriend. Adira respected the concern he exhibited for a man that recently tried to kill him, but knew the presence of the long-lost prince would only agitate her brother.   “You aren’t a member of the Brotherhood, and you mean nothing good to Hector,” she answered soberly. “He needs the help of people he knows and trusts.”   “But I’m the Sundrop, there must be-” Rapunzel began to argue.   “Respect our boundary, princess,” Adira snapped icily. Her hand reflexively reached behind her head, fingertips brushing the hilt of her Shadow Blade as she leveled a glare at the Sundrop’s host. She’d witnessed the younger woman’s inability to resolve conflict and respect the boundaries of those she considered friends - she was beginning to see how much Rapunzel had to learn in the ways of respect and diplomacy. “You endangered my brother’s life without reason once already. I won’t permit it a second time.”   “He tried to kill us!” Short Hair snapped back, stepping ahead of Rapunzel. “Now she’s offering to help him, and your response is to threaten her?” Adira’s eyes narrowed, and she gripped the handle of her Shadow Blade fully. Rapunzel looked shocked, as if she hadn’t expected Adira to defend her own brother from unwanted meddling.   “Guys, let’s leave it,” Fishskin spoke up, glancing uncomfortably at Hector’s gasping, vulnerable body and placing a hand on Rapunzel’s shoulder. “This is serious. Adira and Edmund probably know how to handle it better than we do.” Rapunzel nodded silently, leaning into her boyfriend’s touch.   “Thank you, son,” Edmund said with a nod. Short Hair scoffed and held a short glaring match with Adira, before turning and following the rest of the group across the bridge and out of the Moonstone chamber. Adira maintained her grip on her sword’s handle until the door to the chamber gently boomed closed. She released the weapon with a small sigh and let her shoulders drop slightly.   “Hector, if you can’t roll over we’ll situate you,” she said, looking down at him. The younger knight’s eyes met hers nervously, his shoulders and chest heaving for breath as the bloodsweat soaked through his torn clothes completely. “But you can do it yourself if you want.” His gaze dropped away, and his face creased with a look of helpless discomfort as his parted lips began to tremble. Adira assumed the appearance of Rapunzel and her friends had spooked him too much. “You want us to do it - yes or no?” she asked gently. (Insert missing segment where Hector is covered in ooblek bloodsweat) Adira fell silent as the substance coating Hector’s body went from navy purple to an electrifying shade of blue, slightly glowing of its own accord. He yelped and yanked out of her grip, stared at himself in horror for a moment, then pushed himself into a sitting position with a loud groan.   “What are you doing?” Adira demanded nervously, holding one hand as close as she could to Hector without accidentally touching him.

“I’m not dying in a puddle of magic bloodsweat,” Hector grumbled irritatedly, pressing a hand to his injured ribs.   “Hector this isn’t the time for you to be moving in any way,” Adira countered, hoping she wouldn’t have to wrestle him back down. Edmund shifted his bulk a little closer to the smaller man, as if that would dissuade him from attempting to stand in his panicked state.   “Says you!” Hector sneered. “You don’t even know what’s happening right-”

A pained shriek rent the air, and then there were long, thin spikes of black rock extending out of Hector’s right arm, the one closest to Adira. They were clustered just beneath his wrist and elbow, and completely circumferenced his forearm. All three warriors watched in a mix of shock and horror as the shards paused, then laid flat against Hector’s forearm in a series of interlocking shards. The startlingly blue former-blood continued oozing from the seams between the black rock shards, a few drops growing large enough to slide down to Hector’s elbow and then plop softly on the ground.   Hector was staring in wide-eyed, slack jawed horror at his newly encased limb. Only a few moments of silence passed before he began releasing small whimpers and moans, his body starting to tremble. At his sounds of distress Adira snapped out of her own reverie. “Hector lay down,” she commanded sternly. He slowly and shakily complied, holding his right arm protectively to his chest. “Can I look at your arm?” Adira requested, forcing herself to speak in a calmer, soothing voice. Hector shook his head with a slight gasp. “Hector I need to see your arm-”

“It’s not going to help you,” Hector whimpered. “None of us know what’s happening-”   “I’m not going to do anything painful; I’m just going to scrutinize it,” Adira assured. Hector resisted a few moments longer, before reluctantly lifting his arm in her direction. Adira let him rest the appendage in her open hands this time, and her eyes searched the black shards for any helpful clues that could be found. Hector continued whimpering softly in a manner that perfectly mimicked his furry sisters. The oozing seams suddenly disappeared as the shards magically stitched themselves together, forming an unbroken layer that covered Hector’s entire forearm. An epiphany struck her.   “That’s what it’s doing,” she muttered conclusively.   “What w-what’s doing?” Hector demanded.   “What are you thinking, Adira?” Edmund inquired.   “The Moonstone - Moondrop has augmented his blood into some kind of adhesive,” Adira explained, looking up at the king. “It’s meant to hold the black rocks in place to form armor.” She lifted Hector’s arm slightly for emphasis, bending his elbow a little to make sure he wasn’t hurt by the action. “That’s why it made sure Hector was coated before the rocks even broke his skin. And if their emergence causes him to bleed, that means more adhesive for a stronger stick,” she explained. Hector’s face creased with confusion.

“Arm…wh-why armor?” he asked, sounding more out of breath with every word.   “Well, the Moondrop probably doesn’t want its new home to be destroyed as easily as the last one,” Edmund reminded them uneasily.   Hector’s eyes went wide and he shrieked, “NO!” He pulled his arm out of Adira’s hold once more and cradled it to his chest, turning onto his right side and curling in on himself. “No-no-no-no-no!” he whimpered in despair. This time it sounded as though he was truly starting to cry. “Make it stop! Give it the fucking Sundrop, not me!” he begged. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”   “Hector I swear on the house of my father I will find a way to reverse this, but it isn’t going to happen right now,” Adira affirmed, even as her stomach trembled from the weight of what she knew was about to take place. “You have to trust us, and you cannot fight what the Moondrop is doing.” Hector simply lay curled on the floor for several moments, panting heavily and making distressed murmuring noises. Then his body tensed and he let out a groan.   “Not again, not again-not again-not again-”

“Give me your hand,” Adira instructed gently, holding her own near Hector’s bowed head. “Let me keep your arm off the floor.” Shaking, not looking up at her, Hector slowly peeled his left arm from his body and rested his hand in hers. Adira gripped said hand and pulled it closer to herself, extending his arm just enough to be sure that the forthcoming black rocks wouldn’t come in contact with any other part of his body. Hector spasmed momentarily, and then the tips of fresh black rocks sprouted from the blood-adhesive coating his arm. Adira set her mouth in a firm line, but couldn’t completely hide her grimace. She watched the same destructive force that had torn apart her kingdom push itself through her brother’s flesh - while he was still alive to feel the pain.   Based on the sounds Hector made, he was groaning and growling through it with gritted teeth. His left hand tightened around hers in a death-like grip. His right hand dug into the black rock floor with curled fingers, scratching desperately. The new spikes of black rock reached a satisfactory length relatively quickly, and after a moment’s pause, laid flat against Hector’s forearm. He released a loud sigh of relief, then heaved for air as his left arm oozed and dripped for several seconds. Finally the flat shards melded into a single, unbroken layer, and Adira gently rested Hector’s arm on the ground. She let him lay still, breathing heavily with his head bowed, and studied his goop-covered body to figure out the best way to proceed. “Do your feet hurt from sweating too?” she finally asked. Hector panted for several seconds before replying.

  “Yes…why?”

  “We should get your boots off then. The black rocks will easily tear through them, but any scraps of leather that get caught between you and the armor might hinder it from conforming properly,” Adira advised.

  “By that logic, should we strip him entirely?” Edmund asked. Adira shook her head. “His tunic and leggings are thin enough not to cause problems, probably his socks too,” she replied. “And if we remove his clothes we’ll probably remove a significant portion of the adhesive, which his heart will have to work even harder to replace.” She fully believed Hector’s clothing wouldn’t be a hindrance to his future armor. She also knew Hector had a deeply ingrained discomfort with being seen naked that rivaled her aversion to touch. She could hear the relief in her brother’s panting immediately after her declaration that he would only be losing his boots. Addressing him once more, she said, “Hector, I’m going to remove your belt and garter so they don’t get destroyed or cause problems. I need you to roll onto your back so I can cut the garter off cleanly.”   “...You said…save it,” he wheezed, lifting his head to give her a confused look.   “We can mend it much easier if it stays in one piece,” Adira elaborated gently. Hector thought over her logic for a moment, before nodding dazedly. Adira took note of how dizzy and clumsy he was when simply rolling himself over. True to his prediction, he lay soaked and surrounded by a pool of his augmented blood, and the loss of bodily fluid was starting to take its toll on him. “Edmund and I will be quick,” Adira said as she drew a knife from her boot and slid her other hand beneath Hector’s garter. She looked up at Edmund and gave him a short nod, which he returned. “If you feel another wave of the rocks coming, tell us immediately,” she instructed as she positioned her blade beneath the garter, holding its sharpened edge against the accessory.

“‘Kay,” Hector moaned uncomfortably, his arms resting limply by his sides. Edmund deftly slid the knight’s boots off as Adira cut through his garter and pulled it off his thigh.   “Has your heart rate slowed?” she asked as she slid the knife back into her boot and set the accessory aside. She then grabbed the belt around his waist.   Hector, with his eyes closed, took a deep breath and weakly muttered, “No.” Adira nervously looked down at his feet. It was almost impossible to tell he was even wearing socks. His tunic and leggings had nearly disappeared beneath the ever-thickening layer of blood-adhesive as well.   “He can’t keep losing blood at this rate,” she grumbled to herself as she undid his belt, slathering her hands in the glowing substance as a result.   “Sister,” Hector grunted nervously as she pulled it off. After setting the belt aside, she turned back to make eye contact with him. “Please…this…is a dream?” he begged weakly. His normally luminous eyes were dim, while the glow of his magically augmented blood seemed brighter than a few minutes prior. Adira’s expression dropped sadly, and she gently pressed her soiled fist into her brother’s limp, open palm. “I’m afraid this is very real, tam'muḍu,” she replied. As the reality of the situation fully gripped him, Hector’s chest and shoulders began to heave once more. His eyes shut tightly and he started shaking ten times worse than before, pulling his hand away from his sister’s. He started whimpering in the manner his bearcats did, hugging himself and murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”  “Hector, you don’t need to apologize,” Adira insisted gently. “You did your job as well as you could. I’m the one who - I should have…” she trailed off.   She should have what?

Should she have abandoned her quest for the Sundrop upon discovering it inhabited the body of a foreign princess?   Should she have chosen another route through the Southern Mountains, avoiding a confrontation with Hector entirely?   Could she have been more careful and not unleashed the homeless power of the Moonstone on her own brother?   Adira found herself locking eyes with Hector once more, knowing what he deserved to hear, but unable to pinpoint why he deserved it from her.

“I…” Hector broke the staring match, grinding his teeth and pushing his head back with a loud moan. Letting go of the moment, Adira turned to see if she could pinpoint where the rocks would appear next. Edmund set his hands on Hector’s ankles in preparation, but Adira waved her hand disapprovingly. “Let him move, or do whatever he needs to,” she instructed. “We have no way of knowing where the rocks-”   Hector’s moaning became significantly louder and he started scratching at the floor with both hands. Edmund pulled his own hands away just as new black spikes began emerging just above Hector’s ankles and just below his knees. These were significantly larger than the ones from his arms. Twin armies of miniature spikes also erupted over his feet, completing their mission of coverage surprisingly fast and forming what looked like a type of shoe. Hector attempted to bend his knees so his feet could rest flat on the floor, his teeth gritted and his every exhale punctuated with a pained grunt. Adira eyed the spikes that would eventually cover his shins and calves as they extended out of his body. “He’s not strong enough to keep his legs up,” she declared. “Can you support him without getting stabbed?” she asked, glancing at Edmund.

The king nodded and placed his hands behind both of Hector’s knees, careful to not touch the emerging black rocks while bending his legs so his feet laid flat on the floor. These bigger spikes were causing noticeable bleeding, making the section of adhesive between them impressively thick and causing the pool beneath Hector’s legs to spread a bit faster. Adira felt a pinprick of relief once they laid flat against his shins and calves. That was instantly snuffed, however, as a new ring of spikes began pushing free just above Hector’s knees, while his lower legs still had oozing, dripping seams. Then her heart gave a nervous shudder as a second ring of spikes erupted above the first, and then a third, starting a new pattern that was directed towards Hector’s upper body. Hector began wailing open-mouthed, fingers curled and nails digging into the floor as his arms went rigid. Not seeing an opposing ring of spikes emerge closer to his hips, Adira assumed the black rocks were now on a course that would end near her brother’s head.   And that would require some repositioning.   “Lift him - off the ground!” she commanded. “They’re not going to stop!” She turned away from Edmund’s confused face and slid her hands beneath Hector’s lower back.   “What are you doing?!” Hector demanded through his wailing.   “Making sure there’s space between you and the ground,” Adira replied, practically shouting over the sounds of her brother’s pain. “We’ll hold you up until your legs are done, and then put you back down, okay?” she explained, pulling up so that Hector’s hips and lower back were suspended. Edmund held his knees even higher. The black rock spikes erupting over his thighs were much shorter and wider than the ones from his lower legs, yet they caused just as much bleeding. Hector’s legs twitched and spasmed as he vented his pain, feet flopping against Edmund’s diaphragm. His knees remained untouched by the rocks, merely slathered with the glowing blood-adhesive. “Did the seams on his lower legs close up?” Adira asked loudly, focused on keeping her brother partially suspended in the air.

“They did,” Edmund confirmed equally loudly.   “Good,” Adira replied. Once Hector’s legs were covered hip to toe by a flattened layer of the black rocks, she instructed Edmund to gently put him back down, moving in tandem with the king to limit her brother’s discomfort. Hector’s wailing was finally reduced to animalistic whimpering and heavy, ragged breaths. He lay with all four limbs splayed on the ground for a few moments, upper legs oozing from their still-open seams. Hector’s sweat-drenched head flopped in Adira’s direction, and he gazed up at her through unfocused eyes.   “You…s-said-” His eyes then widened and he sloppily slapped both hands to his abdomen, gripping it desperately. “Stop! Stop-stop-stop PLEASE!” Realizing his un-armored hands were going to be impaled, Adira did the one thing she really didn’t want to do in this situation. She grabbed his forearms and lifted his hands off his stomach, holding firm as he struggled to escape her grip. “LEMME’-!” he demanded, then cut himself off with a strangled, high-pitched scream, louder than any war cry she’d heard him emit on the battlefield. The shards of black rock that emerged to cover his abdomen were not long or spiked. They were wide, short, and round, akin to scales, and maybe a quarter of Adira’s palm in size. Their sharp edges gleamed like miniature chakrams as they broke through the blood-adhesive coating Hector’s belly, traveling in two opposite directions from the centerline of his body. Adira grimaced, seeing tears spill out of her brother’s eyes and pour down his face, mingling with the sweat dripping from his forehead. He ripped his right arm free and raked his nails across his stomach in an attempt to claw the “scales” from his skin. Adira quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, letting his left arm slide through her grip before tightening around his other wrist. Hector twisted and thrashed as the black rock scales blossomed over his torso, covering his stomach, pelvis, and chest and leaving pencil thin seams between them. No matter how hard he tried to yank his hands free, Adira refused to let go. The black rocks were relentless, spraying droplets of the glowing, blue blood-adhesive to pepper both their hands and Adira’s arm guards as they appeared, before laying flat to Hector’s form. If Hector’s fingers were trapped beneath his new armor, then…well, Adira didn’t know what would happen then. She was determined not to find out, no matter how many tears she had to watch him cry or how disturbed his screaming and sobbing became. The only thing that could possibly be worse than watching her brother be adapted to the Moondrop’s liking - against his will - would be watching that modification process go wrong. Hector tried pulling his wrists close to his mouth so he could sink his fangs into her hands, but Adira shifted and made sure he bit down on her forearm guards instead. He tried in vain to twist his neck and throw her arms aside, biting down multiple times in search of a promising grip while continuing to scream his lungs out. Adira simply shook him off each time. When she saw the black rock scales progress over his shoulders and around his sides, she let him latch onto her arm properly. Using it as a third anchor point, Adira began shuffling backwards on her knees and pulled Hector towards herself, rolling him onto his belly. “Get his legs!”

  At her demand, Edmund carefully grabbed Hector’s left leg and lifted it over his right leg, pushing gently against the man’s lower back as he did so. Adira waited until Hector was completely overturned to release his wrists and pull her arm from his mouth. Once he was freed from both their grips, Hector pushed himself up into a half-plank, shaking on his elbows and forearms, before falling flat on the floor. He was still screaming, sobbing audibly with his fists clenched by his head, which was turned to face Adira. The woman’s gaze flicked between his tear streaked face and the black rock scales that washed over his back and shoulders. They even extended down to cover his upper arms, stopping just above his elbows. The two waves met at his spine and merged together, and at last, the Moondrop was satisfied.

[jichanxo]

sunday six :D

taking the initiative for a change.... so i'm going to boop @four-white-trees @passthroughtime @skysquid22 @overdevelopedglasses

chipping away at sensei fic this week! here's kitakata and yagami making out lol excuse my bluntness... don't feel obligated to read if you're not into that o7

Yagami reached for Kitakata’s arm, found his hand, and guided it to his hip. Yagami pulled away from the kiss.

“Touch me, would you?”

Kitakata’s breath was warm on his lips. “Where would you like it?”

“Figure it out yourself.” He said and kissed him again. Kitakata didn’t seem to complain. His fingers slipped under the hem of Yagami’s shirt, meeting skin. He touched along the base of his spine, and Yagami couldn’t suppress the slight shiver that went through him. He could only imagine how gratifying this was for Kitakata. Hell, just seeing Yagami checking him out probably made his whole week, now this. He’d never be able to stop him from flirting now.

Yagami leaned into Kitakata’s hold, into his mouth, against that eager tongue. He was about to make Kitakata’s whole damn year.

[apheliia]

hydrangeas (the name of my demon slayer fic!) snippet upon ye... since chapter 1 is like, insanely long, i can afford to give you guys a big snippet teehee. @soleillunne

“Onee-chan! Onii-chan, look!” the brighter of the twins, Muichiro, exclaimed as he ran up to them, stumbling cutely to a stop before thrusting his arm outwards and up towards them. In it, a little flower was clasped. “It’s for you!” Amusedly trailing behind the boy were both parents and his slightly older brother, whose hand was held only somewhat securely in his mother’s. They waved with a bright smile at their parents before turning their attention back to their brother and kneeling down. “Aw,” they cooed. “Thank you Mui. That’s really sweet.” “Yuichiro has one too, but he’s too shy to give it to you,” the boy commented as he gently, gingerly placed the flower behind their ear. “Oh?” they replied, a teasing lilt in their voice as they curiously shifted their gaze from the youngest twin to the eldest. Yuichiro puffed out his slightly flushed cheeks with childish irritation that they had to actively restrain themselves from cooing at. “Is that so?” “Don’t say that, Muichiro,” Yuichiro huffed, shaking his hand free of his mother’s grip and reluctantly shuffling over to them. “Here,” he murmured, tucking his flower behind their other ear. They stared. Yuichiro knew instantly that he was in trouble. ‘Trouble,’ of course, meaning nothing serious–only that they were going to relentlessly tease him until the event became overshadowed by other tease-worthy occurrences. “You know, that’s cute,” they teased, hands reaching out and gently patting each of their heads, “you guys are the cutest.”

[direwombat]

a possessive kiss that is meant to stake a claim . + Sybille and Jacob?

another installment of me chipping my way through the prompts in my askbox. have a late-game katc moment where the gang (guns for hire) find out that syb's a peggie now :)

2.2k

It isn’t uncommon for Sybille to disappear for days on end. 

She’s a private person who values her alone time, and considering how much she’s done for the county since Joseph declared the Reaping, Grace is willing to grant her privacy. Without her, John would still be terrorizing the Holland Valley, and Faith — or, Rachel, as she’s going by nowadays — would still be infecting everyone’s minds with Bliss. Without Sybille, the Resistance wouldn’t have been able to organize in the way that they have. 

Without her, they’d still be fighting for survival, rather than making the organized efforts in dethroning Joseph Seed from his reign of terror. She stepped up when no one else would and became the leader the county needed. 

The poor woman has been to Hell and back more times than Grace cares to count. The woman works herself to the bone and barely sleeps. If she decides she needs some time to disconnect and get some rest, Grace isn’t going to stop her. 

Even machines break down if they’re not taken care of properly. 

But, after going a week without hearing from her, Grace starts getting antsy, and after another few days of radio silence, she decides to take matters into her own hands. 

She has a map of the Whitetails spread out over the table of one of the booths at the 8-Bit, desperately trying to get Nick, Hurk and Sharky to fucking pay attention. Last she heard, Sybille was in the Whitetails, which means that odds are she’s being held prisoner at the Veterans Center. And that means doing recon is essential. 

Jacob Seed is fucking smart. They can’t just go in guns blazing if they want to rescue her. 

“You know who’d be real good help here is Boomer,” Sharky says. “That guy could sniff out every Peggie in a ten mile radius! Locks onto Peggie B-O like a fuckin’ missile.” His grin falters and his heavy brow furrows as he frowns. “Where is he, anyways? I ain’t seen him around in a while.” 

“Might’ve gotten captured along with Syb,” Hurk says thoughtfully. “She said that John was gonna send ‘im up north before she freed ‘im, right?”

Nick groans in dismay. “Shit, Jacob better not be turnin’ him into one of the Judges. I don’t think I got the heart to kill old Boomie if he attacked me, y’know?”

“All the more reason for you all to focus,” Grace grits through her teeth. “Now, can we please —”

“Hey, y’all?” Adelaide calls from where she stands behind the bar, fixing herself her third cocktail of the hour. “I ain’t gonna say you’ll all want to see this, but, uh… I think y’all should.” 

“What is it, Mama?” Hurk asks. 

“I don’t — I can’t…” It’s the first time Grace has ever heard the woman at a loss for words. She’s usually so easy to joke -- the more serious the situation the more inappropriate the comment -- but when Grace locks eyes with her, all she sees is fear. “Just come look at the TV.” 

Grace’s stomach drops. 

Ever since the Cult took over, nothing good has been playing on TV anywhere in the county. Most days it's just broadcasts of Joseph’s sermons interspersed with other programs that are blatant Cult propaganda — cult song sing-alongs and storytimes led by the former-Faith, John’s alleged “self-help” programs, and, perhaps the only useful things that play between segments: Jacob’s five-minute survivalist tips. But every now and then, the Cult puts out something new. Something that looks more at home in a horror film than it does on public television. 

The broadcast of Deputy Pratt, ankle deep in water, tied to a chair, sobbing and pleading for his life will forever be burned into Grace’s memory. 

She and the boys slip out of the booth and all cautiously approach the television resting on the bartop. The video quality is poor — dark and fuzzy — but when she makes out the figure on the screen, she claps a hand over her mouth. 

“Shit,” she breathes. 

At the same time Nick cries out, “Jesus Christ!”

Standing, at attention, before the red-and-black version of the Peggie flag and dressed in the garb of the Chosen is the Deputy. She stares into the camera, her face calm and expressionless. No fear or anger; she remains stoic as the soldier she is. 

The camera zooms in for a moment and then back out, focusing on her face before the voice of Jacob Seed sounds from offscreen. “State your name for the record.”

“Sybille Marie La Roux,” she answers. 

Jacob steps forward, just enough so that only one of his broad shoulders is in frame. “Do you, Sybille Marie La Roux, solemnly swear to support and defend the Project at Eden’s Gate against all enemies, both foreign and domestic?”

The words ring bizarrely familiar in Grace’s mind, and it takes her a moment to recognize them as a bastardized version of the Army’s Oath of Commissioned Officers. Her breath hitches and dread roils in her gut. It twinges painfully when Sybille answers with a firm, “Yes, sir.” 

“Do you swear to bear true Faith and Allegiance in the Father and the Project?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bullshit,” Nick hisses under his breath. Bullshit, she’s swearing this oath of her own free will. Surely, Jacob did something to coerce her into this. 

But what if he didn’t? What if she is joining the Cult of her own volition?

Grace’s jaw clenches so tight that her ears ache. 

“And do you swear to well and faithfully discharge the duties asked of you by the Father and your Commander?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Jacob steps further into frame, completely obscuring Sybille from view. There’s the distinctive sound of a knife being unsheathed and Grace catches the red flash of its handle as he appears to lift one of Sybille’s hands and presses the blade against the soft flesh of her forearm. “Then in the name of the Father, I appoint you Judge, Jury, and Executioner of Eden’s Gate.” He wipes the knife against his jeans and slips it back into its sheath, and lifts his hand to draw something on the woman’s forehead. “May you act as God’s Divine Wrath and enact His judgment against our adversaries.” 

“Yes, sir.”

He leans down to pick something up and then moves to circle behind her, revealing the red cross he drew on her forehead. It matches the blood that stains the faces of the wolves he’s tortured into submission. Leaning down, his lips brush the shell of her ear and he eyes the camera with a sadistic smirk. 

Even where she stands, miles away from the Whitetails, Grace barely suppresses a shudder. It may be a video recording, yet she still feels like he can see them through the screen. 

“Praise be to the Father,” he says, low and breathy, with the intimacy of a lover.

Sybille lifts her hand to her forehead in salute. “Praise be to the Father,” she repeats. 

What happens next stuns everyone into utter silence. 

As Sybille’s hand falls back down to rest by her side, Jacob is wrapping a hand around to cradle her jaw and tilt her head up and towards him. It’s so quiet that Grace nearly misses it, but he mutters a quiet, “Good girl,” before leaning down to capture Sybille’s lips in a devouring, open-mouthed kiss. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans back against him, allowing his tongue to plunge hungrily into her mouth. Small, whimpering moans are pulled from her every time their lips move. As she tilts her head back to give Jacob easier access, the red scarf wrapped around her neck slips, revealing a band of leather wrapped around her throat. 

A sharp gasp flies from Adelaide’s lips and she covers her mouth and nose with both hands, muffling the quiet “Oh no…” as her eyes go wide. Nick’s face goes red. Whether it’s in anger or second-hand embarrassment, Grace isn’t sure, and both Hurk and Sharky’s mouths hang agape, absolutely dumbfounded. 

The Chosen uniform, the collar, the kiss — Jacob might as well be fucking her on camera. Not only has Sybille pledged her allegiance to the Cult, but she’s allowed herself to be claimed by one of the most ruthless men Grace has had the displeasure of meeting. 

When they part, Sybille’s lips are swollen and her eyes are glassy. Jacob’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back and holding her against him. Her head leans back and she melts into him,, seeming to forget that the camera is still there. 

But Jacob doesn’t. Piercing blue eyes focus back on the lens to address those watching. “Let it be known to all who stand in opposition to the Project: the Sword of Justice will be swift and merciless.” Everyone lets out a horrified gasp when he lifts Eli’s head — severed from his body — into frame by the hair. “Your sins will be weighed and judged. Those deemed worthy, those deemed willing to repent, will be spared. Those who aren’t…” he trails off, lips quirking smugly upwards as he glances at the decapitated head in his hand, “...will be set free.” His gaze snaps back to the camera. “This is the will of the Father.”

The video cuts out, replaced by static before it begins to loop. 

Adelaide turns the TV off, and all those gathered stare at the blank screen in horrified silence. 

Sharky is the one brave enough  to shatter it. “W…we’re gonna help her, right?” he asks, looking to the rest of the group with round, pleading eyes. 

“She’s gotta be brainwashed,” Nick says shakily. The flush of his face has given way to a sickly green. “The conditioning…there’s gotta be a way to deprogram her,” he says before tacking on an uncertain, “Isn’t there?” 

Adelaide’s brows knit together, and she looks to the boys apologetically. “Sugar, I ain’t so sure there’s anythin’ we can do.” 

“Why not?” Sharky asks. His voice is small, almost childlike. 

Grace’s stomach churns. “Because she’s exactly where she wants to be,” she says grimly. 

“What — how…?” Nick stammers. 

Adelaide taps at her throat. “The collar, honey,” she explains. “Y’all’ve met her. You think she’d be wearin’ that if she didn’t want to? You think she’d let him do that to her on camera if she weren’t at least a little into it?”

A wave of disgust washes through Grace. To think that the woman who helped her defend her Pops’ grave and saved Falls End — the woman she looked up to as a leader and commander — is now Jacob Seed’s pet. 

“I’ll be damned,” Adelaide sighs. “The military kink I kinda expected, but I ain’t ever woulda pegged her as a sub.” She knocks back the martini she’d been holding in her hand and grimaces again. “Guess we know why we ain’t heard from her or Eli in a while.” 

“Fuck,” Nick hisses. “Shit.” He drags his hand over his face and rubs at his beard. “How — how the hell did we miss this?” 

Grace sighs wearily and leans over the bar, pulling up the first drink her hand touches. Unscrewing the cap, she doesn’t bother with a glass and drinks whiskey straight from the bottle. 

At first she thought the delegation of missions was just Sybille being a good leader. It’s impossible for her to do everything, and, at the time, it made sense to have teams attacking outposts and doing what they could while Sybille was elsewhere in the county. But then she thinks about how much time Sybille had spent in the Whitetails — how whenever she disappeared for days at a time, it was always when she was up north. How she was always so irritable, almost volatile, whenever Grace had asked about how her “solo-missions” went whenever she returned. 

It’s easier to spot the red flags in retrospect. Hindsight is a bitch like that.

Sybille always played things close to her chest, hiding problems until they couldn’t be hidden anymore. Ever since the night she dug herself out of her own grave and struck Joey during Burke and Virgil’s funeral, Grace has known that something was wrong with Sybille. But she always assumed that they were close enough — that she was trusted enough — that she would confide in her if something was weighing on her shoulders. 

And maybe that’s Grace’s fault. Maybe she should have pressed harder or checked in more often. 

Not that it matters anymore. They all missed the writing on the wall, and while Eli was the first to bear the consequences, he certainly won’t be the last. 

The county’s greatest hope has turned into its biggest nightmare, and now they need to figure out how to fight it. 

Abruptly, the door to the 8-Bit swings open with enough force that it bashes against the wall. They all whip around, pulling their sidearms from their holsters.

Stumbling through the door is a man dressed in Peggie garb. His hair and beard blend into one dark, tangled mass around his face, and his bright green eyes are bloodshot and wild. Wheaty leans against him, his arm wrapped around the Peggie’s shoulders, while his other hand is pressed against his abdomen. Blood oozes between his fingers and he’s barely clinging to consciousness. 

“My name is Augustine La Roux,” the Peggie says, looking to all of them with fearful desperation. “I need your help.”

[beneathsilverstars]

finished writing the nille fic it goes so fucking hard now to find a beta and think up up a title- wait just thought of the title right now, it's a very obvious one, i love when a story has themes. ok nille fic soooon

[crimzoncrow]

🌹

I can’t pick just one for this wip, so have two!

If this spell messes with Kon's memories, if it makes him think that there's always been something where there was nothing—Tim can never in good conscience get into a relationship with him.

I love you, Tim is going to loop in his brain until he dies and every single time it'll just remind him of this and how none of it is real.

[ardentpoop]

[the-golden-ghost]

1,500 words babey

[amtrak12]

Fanfic Meta: First Draft vs Final Draft w/ Examples (1/2)

Does anybody remember those LiveJournal posts on fanfic meta? Like not actual fanfic, but meta on how to write/post a fanfic? There was a whole big table of links that I can no longer find, but I HAVE tracked down synedochic's posts on dreamwidth. These were hands down the most helpful things I've read on story structure until I discovered Helping Writers Become Authors years later. Just INCREDIBLE work.

Anyway, you still see meta on how to post fic on Tumblr, but you don’t really get writing meta much, unless someone is analyzing the text of a specific fandom. So now that I’m finally hitting the point where I can write to the level of my tastes (or near enough to enjoy reading my own work), I thought it might be fun to bring back that vibe and share some writing meta. Maybe some other fic writers or aspiring writers will find it helpful :)

My current WIP is a Lucifer story called “Can We Keep Her”, and it’s a full sci-fi/fantasy novel length fic. Like it’ll be 190k words long when all is said and done, easy. (And there’s still two sequels planned oops.) It’s my longest fic to date BY FAR, and I am utilizing every skill I’ve ever learned and still learning five more with every chapter. One of the biggest techniques I’ve been utilizing is using multiple drafts to take the story from concept to final draft. Now, I am not following the common writing advice that says to write the entire story first before editing. Maybe if I wasn’t writing fanfic that could work? Or maybe if this wasn’t my first story over 100k words? But right now, that common writing advice is firmly not for me. Instead, I’ve settled into a pattern of drafting several chapters (anywhere from 2-4 with several more outlined in detail) and then going back and editing them into a state that I’m happy with. Then, when they're edited to at least "readable", I go back to drafting. This pattern is working for me and, as a result, means I’ve gone through the outline -> first draft -> second draft -> final draft stages many times over the last few months. Which is why I figured it was a good place to start with fanfic meta :)

Some caveats on my writing system for this fic before I begin:

I did have a broad strokes outline (the major plot points) completed before I started the first draft, and certainly I had those before I started posting any chapters on AO3.

I might be an underwriter when drafting, but I’m an overthinker when outlining and editing so I don’t really struggle with plot holes. It’s more likely I’ll be able to fill in a plot hole later because of some detail I had already slipped into the story.

“Can We Keep Her” is by far my longest fic, but it isn’t my only novel-length fic or my only plot-heavy fic. I gained a decent understanding of what works for me when it comes to multi-chapter fics from my previous attempts.

All that is to say: your mileage may vary on editing chapters as you go vs writing an entire draft start to finish before editing. But the information I’m covering here should apply no matter when you prefer to edit.

It just so happened that Chapter 10 in “Can We Keep Her” provided a prime example of first draft vs final draft. I had a to rewrite the final scene in an entirely new POV, and as a result I still had the original first draft preserved in a separate document. (Typically, my first drafts get absorbed into final drafts through editing or else they get straight up deleted after I rewrite.) So I’m going to provide the first draft of the scene in this post below the cut, and then I’ll share the final version in a separate post (linked here and at the bottom of the post). Separate posts isn’t ideal, but Tumblr formatting doesn’t allow for better options. This way, though, you can open the posts in separate tabs (on desktop at least) if you prefer to view them that way.

At the end of each version, I’ll share my thoughts about them and cover things like why I chose the original POV, why I changed it, what my goals were for the scene, how the second version supports those goals better, and where I still think it could improve but ultimately ran out of time before it needed to be posted. I hope you find these thoughts helpful or at least interesting!

Original closing scene for Chapter 10 behind the cut:

Chloe was late for lunch. After waiting hours, watching time drag on, a family member of Joey Pillegi agreed at the last minute to speak with them over his lunch break. Chloe wore every professional mask in her arsenal to hide her impatience. Dan knew her too well to be fooled, but she didn’t think the grieving brother noticed. Unfortunately, the interview didn’t lead to another clue. The brother didn’t even know where Joey had been living the last six months, let alone that he’d joined a mob.

At least, Lucifer had finally texted after his therapy session had ended. ‘Apparently pink was the missing feature of the infant’s car seat’ wasn’t the most descriptive message, but it offered a few insights. Lucifer had bought a new car seat for Rory, and Rory liked it. Now hopefully, the rest of their morning had gone as well.

The penthouse elevator opened to the sounds of Rory’s happy chatter against the backdrop of the television. Lucifer spotted her immediately, but Rory remained out of sight, presumably tucked inside the largest blanket fort Chloe had ever seen.

“You two have been busy this morning,” she said.

“Hm? Oh, yes the fort.” Lucifer frowned. “The infant has this frustrating tendency to scoot herself underneath the couch. She’s bound to get herself stuck if she keeps that up!”

“So you made a blanket fort instead?” Chloe’s mouth quirked up into a smile. He’d done this before: complain about something and then do something incredibly thoughtful and sweet under the guise of removing an annoyance. She shouldn’t be surprised at this point, and yet it still managed to impress her every time.

Rory finally noticed her arrival and came crawling out of the blanket fort. “Mommy!” She sprinted over and Chloe dropped to her knees to catch her in a hug.

“Hi, baby!” Chloe grinned. Relief crashed over her as she got to hold Rory in her arms again. The morning had lasted way too long, and she was so glad she could check on Rory again. “Did you have fun with Daddy?”

“Lucifer,” said Devil corrected her. “Get her to use my name.”

“Right, sorry.” Though, internally, Chloe rolled her eyes over his continued denial.

Rory bounced excitedly on her toes. “I saw Aunt Linda!”

“I know you did. Were you good while you were visiting Linda?” Chloe stood up and asked Lucifer, “Did she give you any problems?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “She accused me of not listening.”

Given the context of therapy, Chloe wasn’t entirely sure who he meant. “Who did, Linda?”

“No, the infant!”

Chloe bit back a smile.

“She also accused me of arguing with her which I wasn’t doing,” Lucifer gave Rory a pointed glare, “until she said I wasn’t listening.”

Chloe leaned down to talk to Rory. “Was Lucifer not listening to you?”

Rory gave her a conspiratorial smile. “No, he didn’t listen at all.”

“At all?” Chloe gasped. When Rory giggled, she grinned.

Lucifer was far less amused. “Okay if the little demons-in-training are going to team-up together then you’re not allowed to gang up on me too.”

“I’m not making promises,” Chloe said, crossing her arms. She smirked at Lucifer’s annoyance.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Rory tugged on her jacket.

“What is it?”

“All of Charlie’s toys were gone!”

“They were? Oh, no!” Chloe had no idea what toys Rory was talking about. They might be toys back at her mother’s house or at a friend’s house or even a daycare her mother had taken her too. But playing along with the girl might get her more answers than asking direct questions.

“Yeah, they were all gone because Charlie’s mad at me.”

“You think someone’s mad at you?” Chloe asked.

Rory nodded. “Charlie is.”

“Why would Charlie be mad at you?”

“Because I flew without him.” Rory pouted either in a mimicry of how she imagined this Charlie must feel or because she didn’t like the idea of someone being mad at her.

“I see,” Chloe said, though Rory’s responses had only generated more questions. “Well, maybe we should just keep our feet on the ground and not fly for awhile. What do you think?”

“Maybe,” Rory said, stretching out the word in a very unconvincing agreement. Chloe hoped Lucifer was right and that Rory couldn’t truly fly with her wings. She seemed to grasp hiding her wings when they were in public, but if she could fly, Chloe feared the temptation would be too much for the little girl to resist.

She turned to Lucifer and in a quieter voice asked, “Who’s Charlie?”

He threw up his hands. “I have absolutely no idea. I thought she was trying to say Charlotte at first, but either that’s wrong or the girl has a poor grasp on gendered pronouns.”

“No, she seems to have pronouns down,” Chloe said, remembering Rory’s firm correction that Roger Bear used ‘she’.

“My only other guess would be an imaginary friend,” Lucifer said. “Apparently young children can have those.”

“Yeah, an imaginary friend is possible… or,” Chloe braced herself as she suggested, “it’s someone she knows back home with her mother.”

Predictably, Lucifer’s face twisted in disagreement.

“You think she was still made by your parents,” Chloe said.

“It’d have to be my father if she was,” Lucifer said. “Mum doesn’t have a way back to our universe. But I still don’t know why my father would try making a baby angel.”

Or why that angel would think you were her father and not her brother, Chloe thought as Lucifer walked off towards the bar. She could almost understand why he was having such a hard time accepting the obvious. If an angel child being born was so impossible (and for Rory to be Lucifer’s only child over the course of humanity’s entire history, it certainly seemed like angel children were pretty damn impossible), then why couldn’t something equally preposterous like God creating a toddler angel on his own be a valid explanation for Rory’s existence? The problem was, they weren’t trying to determine which explanation was more or less likely to have happened. They were looking for the explanation that best fit the evidence, impossible or not.

Rory desperately wanted to give her a tour of the blanket fort. Chloe assured the girl, she could show it off soon and they could even eat lunch under it, but first Chloe needed to talk to Lucifer. After pulling a pinky promise out of her, Rory toddled off to continue her Fringe episode, and Chloe walked over to join Lucifer at the bar.

A large stack of paper rested on the countertop, but Lucifer leaned on his elbows beside it, staring off into nothing.

“Celestial craziness or not,” Chloe began, “maybe you should start looking at this like one of our cases. Keep your mind open to all of the possibilities and follow the leads until you can rule something out.”

“Not everything is possible,” Lucifer said.

Chloe replied, “In Rory’s case, it sounds like none of it is possible. But she’s here, so there has to be some explanation for her.”

Lucifer sighed. “I know.” He turned his gaze down towards the stack of papers, but he didn’t touch them.

“What is that?”

“Just some names I need to look into.”

That was purposefully vague. Chloe reached across him and pulled the stack towards her to read.

“They’re just some names, Detective,” Lucifer repeated.

He sounded concerned, but he didn’t stop her from taking the papers or try to pull them back. Chloe really hoped he hadn’t backtracked to hunting down the mysterious Sinnerman he was so obsessed with. He had a daughter to worry about now.

The stack was indeed a list of names printed out on computer paper, but each name had a date recorded beside it.

“What are the dates for?” she asked.

“It’s when I last saw them,” Lucifer explained. “It’s probably a fruitless endeavor.”

All of the dates were from 2014. Three years ago and some change. Now, Chloe understood what this list was.

“You’re looking for Rory’s mother.”

Lucifer pulled away the stack of papers. “Like I said, it’s probably a waste of time. She might not even have a mother.”

The denial wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be. He did realize Rory being his daughter was the only explanation that fit. He just wasn’t ready to accept it yet.

“It’s a pretty big list,” Chloe said.

“My printer can’t print on both sides,” Lucifer replied.

Chloe wasn’t commenting on the length of the list specifically. She remembered all too well just how many people he managed to sleep with in [a week? Two weeks?]. Multiply that out to an entire year since they didn’t know Rory’s birthday, and Chloe almost expected the list to be longer. Then again, not all of his sexual partners could’ve given birth, so that would’ve narrowed down the list.

“Give me half.”

“What?”

“That’s a long list to go through on your own,” Chloe said. “I can help, so give me half.”

Lucifer shook his head. “You have a murder to solve. At least one of us should get to investigate something fun.”

“That murder investigation is stalled until we can either analyze those hairs we found or someone comes forward with information. There’s nothing ‘fun’ to do on the case right now.” Chloe held out her hand for the list. “I bet I can get through my half first.”

“Really?” Lucifer said. “You think turning this into a competition will get me to hand the list over?”

Chloe shrugged. “I mean, it’s not really a competition when I have every California and federal database to work from and you’re just crawling through social media.”

“I am very adept at finding information on social media,” Lucifer argued.

Chloe smirked, already knowing she’d won. She leaned in again to split the stack of papers up. “Here, I will take the bottom half so you can continue where you left off in the beginning of the list.”

“You don’t know that I’ve already started investigating,” Lucifer said, but it was nothing more than his game night protests as he searched for a loophole in the rules that allowed him to not actually lose. He was an extremely sore loser.

“Uh oh!” Rory left her castle-sized blanket fort to run over. “Fringe stopped, Daddy. Look.” She pointed back to the TV where the current episode had ended and the question of whether they wanted to continue watching had interrupted the end credits.

“That’s because the episode’s over,” Lucifer said.

“Fix it.”

Chloe answered, “Hey monkey, how about we get lunch first? Are you hungry?”

“I want more Fringe,” Rory said, glancing back to the paused TV.

“We can watch more Fringe, but let’s get food first, okay?”

It took a little more coaxing and challenging her to a race to the kitchen before Rory pulled her attention away from the television. But then she grinned and ran off down the hallway with Chloe while Lucifer yelled after them about falling. His list of names hovered in the back of Chloe’s mind all through lunch. She didn’t know which of them would ultimately find Rory’s mother, but if she found them first, that mother was getting such an ass chewing for giving the girl up. Chloe didn’t understand how anyone could look at Rory and decide she wasn’t worth fighting for. She’d been away from the girl for just a few hours and had still missed her desperately. How could Rory’s mother not be frantic after days apart? It was infuriating.

---------------

My Thoughts:

Yes, I do use the square brackets for notes to myself. :P I told y'all this was the first draft version!

So I went with Chloe’s POV originally for several reasons. First, I just kind of default to her POV? I tend to default to women characters in general in my fandoms (maybe because I’m a woman, maybe because I’m queer, maybe both). But also Chloe’s POV is a little more clear-headed and therefore easier to show the reader what’s going on. I do step out of her POV when she becomes super emotional like in Chapter 3 when she learned Lucifer is the Devil. (If a character is too emotional, it can be hard to portray their POV so I like to swing outside of them in those scenes.) But if Chloe’s present in a scene, she tends to be my default POV.

But there’s also a downside with being more clear-headed and not as emotionally invested in the plot (yet): sometimes it means you have less interesting things to say. Which is exactly the problem here. Chloe has nothing real to add in this scene.

Well, she has exactly one thing to add and that thing is the other reason I chose her POV initially: she missed Rory while she was at work and I desperately wanted to show her relief at getting to see her again. I’m more than a little obsessed with all the parental feelings in this story, and Chloe definitely has the stronger parental feelings in this moment since Lucifer is still in conflict over Rory being his daughter.

Except Lucifer’s conflict is exactly what we need to see at this point.

In addition to showing Chloe had missed Rory as if she was the girl’s mother (the dramatic irony, of course, being that she is the girl’s mother), I also wanted this scene to end with the decision to search for Rory’s birth mother. Which it does! Technically. But it doesn’t do it very well, and I always knew I’d have to smooth that out during editing. And while it wasn’t the primary focus here, I always want more Rory cuteness (the family domestics is kind of the whole point of this fic) and I wanted some glimpses into how Lucifer and Rory’s morning alone together went. This version of the scene covers both of those things, but again, not very well. And if I want to show how Lucifer and Rory’s morning went, then why wouldn’t I use Lucifer’s POV to show that more directly?

I realized pretty quickly when I went to edit this scene, that I should switch POVs. So go check out my second post over here to see what changed when I used Lucifer’s POV. Or if you’ve already read it because you’re reading “Can We Keep Her”, then just scroll down to the bottom and check out my thoughts on the changes.

[viperwhispered]

Hasffghg it should not be this hard to write a scene if you know exactly what you want to achieve and where you want to end up, but don't know just how to get there.

Like I know I want Jamil to be ruthless here but I also wouldn't want it to be something that realistically would be too unsettling for the reader to witness and urgh

[total-serene560]

So I edited the will scene in the newest chapter (Ch.3) for some timeline consistency fixes and added a couple new sentences- just thought I’d let people know if they decide they want to go back and re-read it.

[mithrilbookofmystery]

📓 👁👁

OK SO *slams down 30k words of draft* I know the original ask post said to talk about a fic I haven't written but haunts me, but believe me, this is fic is not written. We're like not even a quarter of the way through, most of this doc is notes, this fic have been haunting me since last june or so send help

So anyways. This is "the fic I'll never write" which I do have a tag about as you might have noticed, it's one of the very few things I have a tag for on here that's how much it's haunting me. I'm never going to publish this fic also, tho that's mainly bc A) it's way too fucking long B) the fandom and ship are both obscure as hell and C) its also embarrassing 😣 cringe is dead except when it's me and my fanned fictions. That being said, I'm calling the two guys A and B for simplicity's sake.

A and B hate each other's guts. They were friends once, but had a very big falling out with hurt feelings and bad miscommunications all around and basically they vowed to never talk to each other again. And then one day A wakes up and realizes that 1) his house got moved into while he was asleep(he is very ??? over this given that he was in the middle of moving in the day before; his house was basically empty 8 hours ago and now it is Not) and 2) B is coming over for lunch to pick up his stuff(????? This is even MORE confusing bc A is getting the vibe all of a sudden that they were in a relationship together? Which doesn't make sense bc he's not gay. Wait. Is he gay? What the fuck is going on???)

B comes over and they have a very stilted lunch (where it seems like B feels like something is off, too, but hes not saying anything...), B takes his stuff and leaves, and A spends the rest of the week alone in this house that he has both lived in for years and also Has Not and very confused about this new life he suddenly has.

And then A wakes up in a castle as the trusted advisor to the king in a medieval fantasy world and he is EVEN MORE CONFUSED THAN BEFORE!

Also the King is B. Great.

A spends a lot longer here than in the last universe (like 3/4 of a year), long enough for a magical war to come and pass, some character development shit to happen, and also for the King (who, again, is B) to fall in battle (and it's the one they win the war in too, RIP) and go into a Magical Nightmare Coma (bc they were warring with magical nightmare beasts). This is Bad, for a variety of reasons.

Now A is conflicted abt this bc B is his friend, bit also very much not, but that doesn't mean he wants him to die, but also the A of this universe, the advisor, is starting to get the idea to kill the king to get the throne... His death would be easy to explain away, given the circumstances...

A, instead, goes to find magicians to break the curse. This is the first good thing hes done all fic lmao

B wakes up, the kingdom throws a party, and that night, B tells A about how Something Strange has happened to him - he's not from here. From this world. He's from somewhere else, somewhere Different and in the Future but with no magic and he doesn't know how he got here or got to be possessing the king's body but he's been here for past like 3/4 of the year now and hes sorry for acting strangely if he has but he doesn't really know what to do-

A tells B that he's in the same boat, because he is. B realizes that this A is his A and he hates his A. So. B says some things he'll probably regret later bc being mean is the best defense he's learned against A's general air of uncaring-ness for the effects of his /j "jokes" (they're not jokes, half the time they're just mean, but anyways), and storms off.

The next day, A wakes up in a submarine. He thinks he is going to scream.

They go through....,,., a lot of universes. I think it's over 25 rn but idk. Some are shorter than others, the longest is like a year and a half but we'll get to that. The general arcs are:

1. The beginning bit (Just Broke Up, King/Advisor, Deep Sea Biologists (that ones just an excuse to stick them in a small space for a while to duke it out lmao), Astronauts (kinda same premise as last one but there's a third party now), Musicians, Wild West, Minecraft, Wizards, Desert Island (to quote the notes there, "they duke it out but calmer now"), semi-back in their home universe but something's Off, Superhero(B)/Supervillain(A))

In this part they start off hating each other, but slowly warm up to each other again by the Wizard universe (they're wizards there <3). They recognize that they're each other's only constant in this mess, so in the Desert Island 'verse, they agree to try and find each other right away in each new universe they wake up in (instead of messing around for a while before accidentally stumbling into each other like they'd done before). They debate about the versions of themselves they're possessing, with A very adamant about not changing each universe's lives too much, while B is willing to throw that out the window if keeping the status quo endangers each other. He's starting to like A as a friend again and doesn't want to have to tiptoe around him to compensate for this other life that was thrust upon him, sue him. This comes to a head at the end of the superhero verse when A foils his own plan to save B's life, revealing his own identity to the press in the process - VERY much changing the status quo of this A's life. B is very very confused and conflicted abt this but we don't know how A feels bc its B's POV this chapter.

Also it's worth noting that B still gets nightmares from getting attacked by a nightmare beast monster thing, and he will continue having them for the rest of the fic. They get a heck of a lot worse in the next one <3 and he doesn't tell A abt them until like 3 years into this bullshit

Also also they are so homesick already god bless

2. The Death Universes (the death universes) (this is the year and a half one btw)

They wake up in separate universes where the other is dead bc I love inflicting characters with hardships and problems and trauma <3

They get therapy in these ones too which helps them to like accept blame and shit when it comes to their old argument but also not blame themselves completely and break and also hold each other accountable more and in healthier ways

3. Post-Death bits AKA the rest of the fic p much (its like over half the fic I'm not listing all these out)

Points of interest:

- they reunite and are so so happy about it that they become codependent

- they go to a BOTW AU and B is Link and has amnesia but not just the B from the BOTW universe has it, the original B has it also and he. He fucking going through it man

- bc of the whole amnesia thing B starts thinking of himself where he's not really the B of whichever universe but hes also not really the original B either (tho that's always usually the one more in control each time); the two have kind of merged together, and each new universe creates a new version of B

- he goes with that for a while until it gives him an existential crisis and OG B starts maintaining his independence again

- anyways then they get more codependent <3 fruity edition

- they start to realize they're getting codependent and go :/ uh oh oopsie poopsie

- why did I say that I'm sorry

- anyways they try to homebrew some therapy for themselves but given their situation it's not exactly.. uh.... But tbh it's the best they got right now ngl. it works well enough

- it helps that the universe right after they agree to Spend Some Time Apart™️ they wind up in one where they physically cannot meet each other until they get to the end of it and have to make new friends along the way (Dead Gods AU my beloved....... <3)

- they get to a universe where they're Dads and Gay and Married and go 😳

- they only get fruitier from here

And then it vaguely ends around there. I don't really want to ever write an ending for it, if only bc it feels cheap to end it before they get home but also writing them going home feels wrong, but also, again, I'm never publishing this so I'm not too pressed about it

Saying that, I do want to share some bits from the scenes I have actually written that I'm proud of :3 A is red and B is blue. Sometimes the versions of themselves from a universe will have a different name and I do differentiate between the two; when that happens, the alternate universe versions will have a lighter color than OG A or B. Some of them aren't the same size so you'll have to tap the pics to read all of it

Their fight in the first universe, where they don't really know what's going on but they do know they have just recently broken up and are still very hurt abt that

P much the only scene written for the Superhero AU bit, mainly bc I know I cannot top this

There's a bit of a jump in their conversation between these two, but I hope it still makes sense. Mid-part 3, around the time when B's having his existential crisis and right when they start being fruity. (Pastel/Punk AU also High School AU but it's like the weird teen movie version of high school - they're a little weirded out by it lol)

And ofc Dead Gods AU my beloved <3

Also I made a playlist. They're not really in any particular order story-wise, and some remind me of the story more than others, but yeah :)

When I tell you this story fuckgin HAUNTS me bro......