#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 :')

[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

[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.

[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.

[kalosian-woods]

GIMME 💫

“I didn’t expect you to come around again.”

Sawyer gave a small smile to the Gym Leader beside him, knuckling his pants as he fidgeted in his seat. “I’m… not sure if I should continue my journey anymore.”

The Gym Leader barely paused as he moved across the field, checking off details on a notepad. Sawyer wiped his eyes roughly, as if it would make him seem more refined. As if it would grant him the slightest edge in this battle. As if it would even matter. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I should never give up? That I have my whole journey ahead of me? That I shouldn’t let one incident back at Hoenn stop me now? That I should stop worrying about—“

“I won’t tell you anything now,” the Gym Leader said. At Sawyer’s surprised glance, he added, “I don’t think you need me to tell you how to live your life. If you want to continue, if you want to go back— I won’t blame you either way.”

“B-But you’re—“

The Gym Leader shook his head, tapping his pen on the notepad twice. “I’m… just me. And you’re you. After a battle, we all have our own lives. We don’t stop living it because of our title, or the results. And you shouldn’t make it that way either. If you really need to go back, then don’t hold yourself back. If that’s what makes you happy.”

Sawyer wiped his eyes again. What’s gotten into him? He’s so lucky that Treecko isn’t out right now. “I left Hoenn from Rustboro.”

“Where the Legendary Pokémon were.”

“Yeah.” The Trainer twisted the material of his shorts, trying to bite back and swallow down his emotions. His Pokémon need someone strong. He needs someone who is strong. This Gym Leader expects someone strong. “I made so many memories there. Got lots of good notes as well. And so quickly, so easily, everything went wrong. If I left a few months later instead…”

“And what if I didn’t meet this Trainer from Kanto?” Sawyer looked down at where the Gym Leader was. He continued, tapping on the notepad with every sentence. “What if I didn’t go on a journey? What if I didn’t meet my Pokémon? What if I never lost my Gym? What if I fulfilled my promise to a dear friend at the very start?”

A Luxray padded forward from one of the side doors, a crackly mewl coming out of her throat and she stopped to stretch. The Gym Leader smiled at her, a little sad, before turning to Sawyer. “Don’t think about what could’ve happened. You’ll never grow if you get stuck in what could’ve been. Sure, maybe everything would’ve been better if you never risked your life with the journey you’re taking right now…”

“Qui-la! La quil, din-din!” And there was that Quilladin, getting huffy as he made his way to the Luxray and tapped at her side. “Qui?”

“Lux.” The Electric Type turned her muzzle away, standing taller, and Quilladin pouted. The Gym Leader laughed a little from where he was leaning on the bleachers, so close to Sawyer.

Sawyer risked so much going on this journey. When everything from wild Pokémon to the terrain itself can turn against you, it’s hard to not think of the worst case scenario. Treecko does his best to stop him from worrying, but… it’s just as much a part of him as the skin over his bones. This worry that does nothing but make things harder for him.

“But maybe you’ll never have went through the good things as well. The Pokémon that you’ve befriended. The people that you’ve met.” An Emolga flew on top of the Gym Leader’s head and settled atop it, ruffling it. He smiled and patted the Pokémon, hand soft and slow as he gazed at Sawyer. “Every experience counts. The good and the bad.”

“Every experience….” Sawyer put a hand on his chest, feeling where his own notebook laid. Every bit of EXP that he got…

The Gym Leader nodded at what he saw, putting the notepad into his pocket and stretching out his arms. The Quilladin noticed the movement and rolled towards him, tugging on his pant legs with lowered whine. The boy bent down and patted his head, Emolga lazily flicking his tail from his perch. “Is it Heliolisk again?”

“La-ladin!” Luxray yawned as she padded forward, her own tail moving about dismissively as she nudged the Quilladin. His spines flexed but he stood his ground, and the Gym Leader shook his head as he stood up and grabbed the banister. 

His left arm shook for a second before he breathed out, flashing Sawyer a big smile. “Anyways, it’s probably best to not make such a big decision on an empty stomach. Since you’re here this early, care to join me for breakfast?”

Swirlix popped out of her Pokéball, barking happily as she bobbed across the air towards the Gym Leader. Looks like someone made up her mind, and Sawyer couldn’t really find the heart to deny her this. After all, this might be their last meal in Kalos. “Okay, but hopefully you’re just as good as a cook as you are as a Gym Leader, mister.”

The Gym Leader laughed, waving his hand around dismissively as Quilladin tried to jump up to tag Swirlix (and possibly try out her sugary coat). “I do my best, but I’m not restaurant-level if you know what I mean. And don’t call me mister, it reminds me too much of my dad. You should know my name by now, Sawyer.”

“Um, I do know!” Before, on the first day. But Sawyer is a polite fellow first and foremost, and this was a Gym Leader! The first one he had truly challenged. He wasn’t really on a first-name basis with him, exactly. “Also how would ‘mister’ remind you of your dad? Doesn’t he have a name too?”

“You’ll be surprised how many people don’t know the name of the local mechanic.” Leading him to the elevator, he pressed the button. Even after all this time, Sawyer still found himself giddy over signs of trust like this. He’s never went this far into Prism Tower, and even after confessing his possible retreat back to Hoenn, this Gym Leader is still treating him so well.

Kalos, for all of its strangeness and danger, had treated him very nicely so far as well.

Sawyer found his hand drifting to his Pokéballs. Treecko, Slakoth, Swirlix. Half an official team. He’s learnt so much here. Done so much too.

Maybe…

The elevator dinged as it opened, the Quilladin quickly running in to sequester himself at the back. Luxray rolled her eyes as she moved alongside the Gym Leader, and Sawyer took his other side as the doors closed in front of them. 

“So, theoretically, what if I did forget your name?”

The Gym Leader laughed, his voice echoing inside the metal box as they went up, up, up the most famous landmark of the land, and Sawyer felt his heart calm down a little bit.

“Maybe I should’ve introduced myself better the first time. 

He’s so scared, all of the time. Despite his promise in Hoenn. Despite all of the trust laid upon him.

“I’m Clemont, the Lumiose City Gym Leader, a part-time inventor and an older brother to a sister that I hope is doing okay without me. In proper culture, it would be considered nice to introduce yourself too.”

But maybe… he can be someone else here. Maybe he can try something new as well. It’s never too late, right?

“I’m Sawyer, I’m from Hoenn, and I’m challenging the Kalos Gyms to get into the League and win with my partner Pokémon and the rest of my team at my side. Is that okay?”

“It was better than before, that’s for sure.”

(Two boys grin at each other as the elevator dinged again, an enthusiastic Quilladin rolling by them to get to the kitchen first.)

[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.

[the-golden-ghost]

1,500 words babey

[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.

[divomria]

Inspired by the scene from staroverlordao3 incredible fic, the line is covered in jellyfish

( I finally finished it! By the way, this isn’t how Viktor looks in this fic and not how I picture him either, unfortunately, I just didn’t have time for more complicated rendering. Just imagine it’s an alternate universe version of the fanfic 🪼 )

[shadowsong26x]

things that occurred as i am pondering 'percussive maintenance':

...poor sam, stuck being the awkwardest fifth wheel in the universe for two thousand years lol.