#second draft

[i-am-trans-gwender]

Writing a first draft is frustrating because I know most of it's going to be completely changed by the time it's done. It makes the first draft feel pointless even though it's not pointless. You gotta have a first draft in order to get a final draft.

In a book i'm writing there's a bunch of things I want to do but can't until the second draft because if I did them now then I would have to start over.

[faux-ecrivain]

Draft 2 of the demon king request

(I believe this was one of the drafts that @a-bookworms-teashop helped me polish. This was also an intro for the demon king x hero reader, but it ultimately didn’t make the cut. Why was it rejected? Well, it needed more dialog and since I want to fulfill each request perfectly this draft was scrapped.)

(Unedited) Once upon a time there was a strong courageous hero destined to defeat the evil demon king and through many trials, and tribulation, the hero had eventually defeated the demon king. Of course, the people rejoiced and celebrated this win for years to come, at least that’s what they say. However, the truth is after you had defeated the demon king, there was but a brief celebration then everything went back to normal and you were simply another forgotten hero.

             The only one that didn’t seem to forget you was the demon king. Who continues resurrecting and often goes out of his way to court you, but that wasn’t entirely abnormal. As you have made many friends, and many enemies, that seem to have gotten the idea that you have intention of romancing them. No idea how or why, but they do think that and it’s caused you to relocate many times. Luckily your garden was unharmed throughout the entire ordeal and perseveres despite how often the world seems intent on destroying the only joy present in your life.

        Speaking of which, you are currently tending to your garden, you relished in the peace of the afternoon and the warmth of the sun. There’s a rare smile of your face and for once the world seems alright. Sure, sometimes your mind will drift back to the times of your adventures and you’ll feel a yearning to travel once more, however you never go through with such thoughts. As you were busy pruning your rose bushes, something blocks your sun and causes a shadow to envelop your bush. 

        You frown and whip your head up to face whomever is blocking your light, your anger quickly turns into annoyance once you realize that the one standing before you is the demon king himself. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” A sneer left your mouth, showing just how unhappy you are with his presence.

[adventuresofmelody]

Ok. So I have decided to share with y’all, the first chapter of the novel I’m writing! I’ve been working on it for 5 years, and after an excessive editing process I’m fairly pleased with it. Let me know, if you happen to read it, what you think though please.

Without further ado, The Fallen’s Outcry, Chapter 1

One man that people should not test above most else is the devil. That’s something we’ve been taught for as long as the devil existed. However, there are a select few that could test the devil and live to tell the tale. One who held the man’s respect. One who held the man’s fear. Or one who held the man’s heart. Few held his respect. Fewer still held his fear. But there was only one, who held his heart. After multiple lifetimes without the love of his being, Lucifer was finally reunited with Morgana, the only woman who had ever wormed her way into his heart. He hadn’t admitted it in her absence, but he had missed her greatly, more so than he had originally thought. He missed her eyes, and they way they’d sparkle when she laughed. He missed her voice, the way it seemed to soothe every ache in his soul. He missed her touch, the way it seemed to immediately calm him and bring him joy. However, since her return from the realm of purgatory, that cold, dulled place where it felt worse than the fires of hell themselves in Lucifer’s humble opinion, she had changed. Gone was that sparkle in her eye, replaced with hard determination. Gone was the soothing cadence in her voice, replaced with an almost raw grit that panged him every time he heard it. And gone was her calming touch, replaced by an absence of which he was unfamiliar with. He called it an adjustment period. She just needed time. Time to get used to things like warmth, color, and actual food. She would return to him. She had to. She was home now.

Lucifer took pride in three things: One, his ability to remain calm. Two, his ability to keep a clean dwelling. And three, his ability to enjoy a good drink. After being awake for a total of one week, Morgana was testing his ability to do all three things. After a reunion that was worthy of being written in the stars, she delivered a swift kiss to his cheek and disappeared into his study, where she tore through his library with reckless abandon. She ripped books from shelves and tore pages out of tomes older than she was. She knocked down shelves, overturned tables. It was as though she was trying to find a sewing pin amongst the heaviest and thickest books in his collection. It took him three days to clean up that mess.

After that, she went into a rage, refusing to assist him in his work or even partake in pleasant conversation. She went on about the fact that her confinement wasn’t fair, that them being placed in hell wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. She raged about how unjust the system was, and how rigged He had made things after the fall. How deities were given fates worse than death and how the demons in Lucifer’s realm were looked at as second class citizens, while angels could roam the cosmos, going wherever they pleased with nary a system for checking their whereabouts. Lucifer took it in stride, meeting all her complaints with a cool comment and a glass of wine. That is, until the day that she threw his favorite bottle of whiskey into the fireplace. That was the day he lost his cool.

“Alcohol does not grow on trees down here.” He seethed, glaring at the fireplace with an almost pouty scowl. Morgana immediately softened, recognizing that she had gone a step too far.

“I am just frustrated.” She answered, her voice softer than he had heard in a while. However, it still held that edge, that grit. And that kept his ire firmly in place.

“Yes.” He paced in front of the fire. “And your frustration is leaking over onto me.”

“My love, you cannot blame me.” She started, moving over to Lucifer’s expansive bar. He watched her as he paced and tried to calm himself. Deep breath in, deep breath out. She tinkered, pouring a bit of this and a bit of that into a glass, shaking it almost expertly before pouring it into a glass. Huh, a martini. He hadn’t had one of those in a while. He kept up his breathing, feeling a little more calm now. She brought it to him as he stopped pacing, his fingers brushing hers as he took the glass from her grasp. He smirked as a light blush covered her cheeks, pleased with himself that he could still cause a reaction from her other than anger after all this time. Morgana sighed, the sound seeming to deflate her frail body.

“There has to be something we can do.” She mused. He took a sip of the martini and fought not to make a face. It had been a long time since he had tasted a drink that was not in some form or fashion whiskey. But that jarring taste was enough for him to feel the remaining anger draining away from himself. Finally, he was calm again. He watched Morgana as her eyes darted sharply, as though she was hearing things he could not. Or listening to things he couldn’t hope to. Her eyes never lost that edge of determination though. He swore she slept with that look. He took another drink and gave her his best neutral expression, despite the sympathy he couldn’t help but let into his bright blue fire eyes.

“If there was anything that could be done, I would have already looked into it.” He answered her, watching her with that casual stare as she finally sat, folding herself gracefully onto a nearby chair. Lucifer didn’t move from his spot, just watched and waited.

“I heard a rumor while I was in purgatory.” She said carefully. He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise offered no reaction.

“I imagine you heard a great many of those. Especially given my feelings for you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She took a breath. “I heard a rumor that, if proven true, could give us our lives back.” Now that was a dangerous line of thought. Lucifer wanted to immediately shut it down, to convince her to leave it lie. She didn’t understand, having been lost before the great battle. She didn’t know what His army had done, what the fallen angels had faced. The horrors that came about before the brief respite of peace that they now all seemed to live in. He wanted to tell her right then all the dangers, all the reasons why they could not think of these things. But he didn’t want to break her completely, and he thought being exposed to the horrors that He had unleashed in the name of peace would do just that. After a great pause, he continued their conversation, trying to shut her down gently.

“Morgana, we cannot think of these things.” Lucifer told her softly, a brief shake of his head.

“I heard Gabriel say He was no longer in power.” She argued. He raised his eyebrows. When had she spoken to his brother. She shrugged at the raise of his eyebrows. Ah. She wasn’t talking about it then. Lucifer gave one curt nod, deciding to ignore that aspect of the statement entirely.

“That’s true. But He won’t be out of power forever.” Morgana stood up, as though she had been filled with renewed vigor.

“Which is why we need to act.” Lucifer sat his glass to the side, panic beginning to set in. He tried his best not to show how nervous her statements made him, tried to deescalate the situation by checking her facts.

“What makes you think these rumors you heard are true, my dear?” he asked her. She grinned eagerly at him, thinking he was interested in her rumors, her theories, her plans.

“The man who told me of this, he mentioned the Olympians.” She said. Now Lucifer was intrigued. The Olympians believed themselves to be gods, and were even worshiped for a while as such. However, at the time of the fall, they too were cast out. Some were exterminated, of course. Made an example of. But no one remained in paradise with Him. No one was spared some form of punishment. At least, no one he knew of. But while they were cast out, they were not cast down to him. They must have been given their own punishment realms. Or perhaps…Perhaps they were in purgatory with Morgana. How cruel was that, to keep the people that could for sure set free the fallen so close, and yet none of the fallen truly knew. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? One clearly did. One who was still in purgatory. One who told his Morgana about this in the first place. Feigning disinterest, Lucifer picked back up his glass, taking a drink of the martini. He almost choked, having forgot for a moment what he was drinking. He really did need more variety in his alcoholic beverages. Beside him, oblivious to his struggles, Morgana nodded.

“He mentioned one Olympian in particular. Which is why my attention was caught to begin with.” She said. Lucifer leaned forward.

“Which one?”

“Zeus.” She said his name with a tone that said she knew Lucifer’s attention would be caught with this knowledge. She wasn’t wrong. He was very much interested now. Lucifer knew the location of a couple of the banished ‘gods’. He knew the fate of a few others, ones that no longer existed after the fall. But the trio that he did not know were Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. And knowledge to the location of the three of them, well. It could be powerful. He set the drink aside again, no longer interested in it.

“Who gave you this information?”

“I told you that already. A man in purgatory.”

“His name?” Lucifer could find him from here if she had his name. Names were something he was familiar with.

“No. I….I never asked. His cell was down the hall from mine.” She shifted, looking more than a little embarrassed. She no doubt knew that Lucifer dabbled in names, and that he could have easily found the man’s file had she been smart enough to take his name. Lucifer watched her, saying nothing. He couldn’t be angry at her for not asking the man’s name. She wasn’t sure she was ever getting out after all. And if that man was on the same floor as her, well. It was no wonder he never saw him. While Lucifer was granted permission to visit a few souls in purgatory, Morgana’s entire floor was off limits to him. He didn’t learn that until he was on his way to getting her back however. He shook his head, tuning himself back into the conversation as Morgana continued,

“He claimed he had been given information about the location of Poseidon by Zeus himself. Even described him to the letter.” Lucifer was definitely interested in that. More interested than he cared to admit. But he didn’t want to get Morgana excited for nothing. He looked at her, trying to study her face. Despite how much he was trying not to excite her, he could read the eagerness in her eyes.

“Can you remember the cell number you were placed in?” he asked her. She shook her head.

“The cell I was in was on a separate level. Down below. It was dark. I wasn’t…I’m still not sure….” The harsh glint in Morgana’s eyes wasn’t reflecting determination anymore, it was reflecting fear. Almost panic. Lucifer immediately felt guilty.

“That’s alright.” He answered, his tone surprisingly soft for the king of hell. He took to pacing again, not able to face her while she was in such a state, thinking a moment. He knew the area that she was speaking of, having been to purgatory many times. He wasn’t allowed to go in to that floor. He knew the barrier keeping him out was due to Morgana being in. But now that she was out…perhaps he could enter. He stopped pacing, thinking again. When had he last gone to purgatory? Had he gone since her recovery? No he hadn’t. He knew he should though. He knew he needed to go and check, needed to see for himself the state in which his love was kept for so many lifetimes worth of years. He moved over and kissed Morgana’s forehead.

“Stay here, my dearest.” He told her, walking out. Morgana moved as though she would follow him, but changed her mind, folding herself into the chair by the fire to wait. Lucifer was pleased she didn’t follow. It showed him that she trusted him to investigate. Lucifer walked down the stairs, deeper into the bowels of his domain. The heat barely phased him anymore, but he knew it was there. He could faintly hear screams from further down. He tended to ignore those. Taking a left at the base of the stairs he headed into his armory, and unsurprisingly, found his second in command down there. Raphael.

Raphael was tall, even compared to Lucifer. He had jet black hair cut fairly short on the sides, but a little longer on top. Just enough to brush his eyebrows. His eyes were deep green and almost glowed with an ethereal light that indicated he was not, nor had he ever been, human. The man wore a chain mail tank top and dark pants, the ends of which disappeared into thick black boots. He had a sleeve of tribal tattoos on his right arm, a swirling dance of ink that seemed to tell a beautiful story, even if no one but Raphael understood it. Lucifer nodded to the man, who gave a brief nod back.

“Boss.” Raphael greeted him, his voice deep and raspy from lack of use. Lucifer gave him a soft grin.

“You know as well as I do, you do not have to call me that.” He chastised him gently in response. Raphael gave a brief look before relaxing his stance a little.

“Yes, well. Old habits and all that.”

“Just because you are my younger brother, does not make you any less my brother. I don’t make the others call me by a title like boss.”

“Not even Gabriel?” Raphael flashed a teasing grin at this jab, not meaning any harm. Lucifer grinned right back, not at all bothered by the brotherly teasing.

“Gabriel, I might ask to call me boss. If I could get the stubborn man to agree to do so.” Lucifer answered. Raphael laughed, relaxing fully. He nodded in agreement. Lucifer decided to move to the armory, pulling out some basic blades and sheathes, setting them all aside. Raphael raised his eyebrows.

“Rare you decide to spar with the army.” Raphael said, not hiding his curiosity. Lucifer nodded.

“Indeed. But I am not doing that today either.”

“Those are sparing blades.” Raphael answered, stepping forward now. Lucifer almost growled aloud at his mistake. Was his mind truly that distracted? He looked at Raphael, who immediately took that step back. Lucifer sighed.

“Forgive my attitude.” He said, gesturing towards the cabinet of blades. “If you please?” It was rare Lucifer asked for help. Raphael came over and carefully removed the blades that Lucifer had picked from the table, putting them back slowly. Almost as if he were afraid of retaliation. Lucifer merely watched him work, uninterested in being hateful. His mind was too full to bother. Raphael could not keep this information to himself.

“You’re distracted.” He murmured.

“You point out the obvious often?”

“Only when needed.” Lucifer bristled a little.

“What are you saying?” he asked. Raphael pulled out the proper blades, setting them down next to the sheathes, which Lucifer noticed he did not put back. Well. At least he got that right. Raphael looked at him with almost sympathy as Lucifer began taking off his expensive jacket, hanging it temporarily on the back of a chair near the weapons closet.

“I am saying that you are dressing for battle and your mind does not appear to be ready for it. You are not joining us for sparring, so it’s a legitimate fight, isn’t it? Should we be prepared for an invasion?” Now Lucifer felt bad. Raphael, besides being his little brother, was his second in command. His military leader. Of course he’d be concerned to see Lucifer gathering weapons with no explanation. Lucifer took a breath and shook his head, trying to clear it. No more distractions. And no more causing unnecessary distress. At least not today.

“No, no. No need to worry.” He said, sounding much more like himself than he had previously. Raphael seemed to notice that too, and snapped back into a more military stance. “I am merely going to do a bit of….recon, shall we say. And I’m not sure how dangerous the situation may be.”

“So you’re bringing weapons just in case?” Raphael asked. Lucifer nodded, removing his button down shirt now as well, to slide the sheathes on. One at his hip, two more at his wrists. He would put the fourth at his calf on his right leg.

“Exactly.” He answered, struggling a little to put the wrist sheathe on the left side. Curse of being left handed he supposed. He struggled with it for a few minutes before he looked over at Raphael, who had not relaxed his military stance, but could not hide the amusement that danced through his eyes.

“Do you mind?” he snapped. Raphael grinned a little briefly, before composing himself and asking.

“Do you want me to help or give you privacy to struggle on your own?” he asked. Lucifer all but rolled his eyes. Little brothers.

“Just tie the damned thing.” He answered. Raphael murmured a ‘yes, sir’ and came over, tying the sheathe firmly in place. Lucifer didn’t say anything else, but studied his brother’s movements. When the sheathe had been tied into place, he began putting the blades in, testing them in his hands before hiding them on his body.

“Will you need backup?” Raphael asked. Lucifer thought about it. He truthfully didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what awaited him in purgatory. For all he knew he couldn’t enter where Morgana used to be. For all he knew, once he tried, an alarm would sound. Or his twin would be informed, and then he would be confined only to hell. Or worse, one of the beasts that were released to help Him defeat the fallen would be waiting for him. He shook his head, cleared his throat, and then answered Raphael.

“I do not know. I hope I will not, because I don’t intend to take any.” Lucifer got dressed again in silence, not giving his brother a chance to respond. Raphael resumed his stance to the side of the door, standing guard once again as Lucifer recomposed himself, hiding the blades perfectly underneath an expensive shirt and suit jacket. Without another word to his younger brother, he left the armory, heading back up the stairs from which he came. Wordlessly, he focused his energy, thinking of purgatory. With a slightly uncomfortable pull behind his navel, he was off.

Ok that was it, that’s the thing. Does it suck as much as I think it does?

[acmartin]

Compare/Contrast

*I have started my second draft and I just wanted to share the progress that I have already made. I personally think it's a great upgrade so far lol* First Draft:

Everything went to shit roughly around 10 AM. I was following my own personal schedule of zoning out of my Chemistry class. That was, until, I was no longer zoning out but instead passing out. My eyes were closed before my butt even left the stool I was sitting on and the last thing I heard was my teacher calling out my name.

Next thing I know I am in the nurses’ office of the school. I look around the room and find that I am not the only person in here. There are at least seven other people in here, students and teachers, that all seem to be waking up from slumber. Either something extremely rare occurred where seven people passed out simultaneously or a new wave just occurred. Waves are what we call it when people from Uradell are affected by waves of magic and pass out receiving their magic back into their bodies. Eight months ago magic was something of stories and fairytales. That's when the first wave occurred. Hundreds and thousands of people passed out at 12:03 and when they awoke they had magical abilities ranging from control over water, healing abilities, telepathic abilities or camouflage. It was strange and chaotic to say the least.

Second Draft: My morning was going so well up until around 10:00 AM. See I was in my Chemistry Class full of dull-eyed sleepy college students and I was doing my due diligence and staying on schedule. My own schedule, that is, to zoning out and getting lost in my own head rather than getting lost in explanations of thermodynamics. Funny thing about schedules they can be broken easily and I found myself breaking it when my eyes were no longer struggling to stay open but when they very suddenly found themselves closed.

Next thing that I know I am waking up in what would be considered the emergency room on campus, in other words it’s a fancier nurses’ office. Our little community college doesn’t have many people so they don’t need a whole building dedicated the emergencies the way a major school would.

My eyes open and I look around and find that I am not the only person in here. There are, from what I can see, at least five other people here. I recognize some of the people as students and some as professors. It would seem that we are all waking up from our slumber, which is either a huge coincidence or another wave occurred and this time I was a participating member. 

[sunflowerromcom]

My wip: Project Biscuit

🌾 small beach town

☕️ bakery/cafe

🌼 flower shop

⚽️ lil bit of football

🧸 single parents

💐 slow burn

🔥 spice

While I love being fanfic author with my whole heart, there’s something I’ve been working on to maybe publish that’s finally been taking form. I don’t know yet if I’m going indie or traditional. All I know is that I’m going to keep this one close to my chest a little bit and not publish it on AO3.

I will, however, be posting snippets and dropping mood boards here and there.

But I’ll need betas! If you’re interested in reading it send me a message I’d love to share it, because I’d love all the feedback I can get from the fandom.

And don’t worry, I’m still working on all my other stories. 🥹

[shadowrunner8236]

Flashes Of The Past...

Old Memories float by on whisps of bitter, earthy smoke. Elysius, drawing another looong, slow, inhale. eyes rolling back as they reminisced on their travels, their many lives through the minds of so many who came before. a shade within memory, a prisoner of the present. locked within the denial of being so incapable he simply cannot change the past.

"Run, Run and you'll never feel how hard guilt hits."

" R I G hT- ! "

coughing, Elysius returns to the odd feeling that is the present moment...lost in a haze of smoke and faint memory...who was that voice again? desperate to eliminate the question Elysius allowed his body to reawaken from its hours-long siesta, clad in colors of illuminated banisters draping the passageways of Amnoons colorful city. smoke curling off his glittering petals, mirroring the night sky above. Paper lanterns and giddy laughter arose as the Casino blitz was announced.

Elysius began to return home, something settling in his deeply unrooted mind.

Who Was That Voice, Again?

Noncannon funfic

[uncaaj]

Scanlation: PKNA #12 - Second Draft Part 2

PART 1 | part 2 | PART 3

Writer: Alessandro Sisti Aritst: Claudio Sciarrone INDUCKS Code: I PKNA 12-1

DOWNLOAD THE FULL PDF HERE!

[dandelion-jester]

2000 words into this draft and my brain is melting, but it's due tomorrow evening so somehow I gotta hit 9000 by then!

[elumish]

sorry about your flight!

how much of a story do you have in your head before you start writing? how much does it change for you after you write the first draft?

Ooh.

Okay so I have realized that I have a kind of bonkers writing style compared to most writers I know, so this may or may not be a helpful answer to you, as a disclaimer.

Most of my stories tend to start by me having a scene / conversation / vague idea in mind. If I'm in front of a computer / notebook or in an easy place to write, I'll just start writing it. If I'm not, it'll marinate until I get to somewhere I can write, and then I'll either write it or I won't.

Some fraction of those scenes that I write down continue to interest me, and then I'll write more of them. Eventually, I'll finish them, or I won't.

For context, one of the books that I'm taking a break on querying because I need to finish the novel that I am actually under contract for, I wrote the first few thousand words and then picked it up again like a year and half later, wrote a large part of draft one, then went back to near the beginning and wrote a sort of different draft one.

Structure and pacing tend to be my biggest issues in draft one, partly because I basically always write without an outline and sometimes without a sense of what the end actually is, and so to get from draft one to draft two is generally in large part me figuring out what the structure and pacing of the story actually need to be. I will often reverse outline at that point, though I sometimes still find that I need to fit things in as I write them. At that point, I generally I have a good sense of the story, because I've already written a version of it. Some versions have much bigger changes between draft one and draft two, but generally the core of the story doesn't change much at that point.

[filmcourage]

First Steps To Rewriting A Screenplay - Paul Chitlik

Watch the video interview on Youtube here.

[1427]

do any of y'all ever get to the point where like I don't think I know how to read anymore

[theteleterrestrial]

I’m editing the second draft of my contemporary novel and am about halfway through :)

Are there any prospective beta-readers out there who would be interested in reading a novel in the very near future about a college dropout in Japan who embarks on a year-long adventure of homelessness, magic cat kingdoms and trying to make friends as an adult?

I figured I’d tentatively put the call out just in case 😘

[harrydracolover]

I wrote more of my fic is that okay.

"Harry," Draco started, biting his lip. \

"You know he's not going to leave us alone until we give him what he wanton," Draco continued, biting his other lip.

Harry r/gunted as he pummelled the wall with his hands. "No," he grunted! "I can do this"

"HARRY!!!" Draco said calmly. "No."

Draco talked again. "I'm hungry, Harry."

"I'm hungry too...FOR SOME ONION. ONIONNNN!!!" he yelled pounding on the door (but not that way A/N). "LET US OUT RIGHT NOW OR I"M TELLING STEVEMN."

"Stevemn isn't here, AHRRY." Draco admonished. "DOn't you get it? We have to eat EACH OTHER TO SURVIVE."

"I cAN't." Harry sighed.

"I love you."

Then they began to pound on the door together.

~2 hours ago~

Stevemn: Commie! Come on, we’re gonna miss the train!”

“I’m right here, silly Stevemn.” Commie was behind him. She was 17 feet tall, and 5’2” days  old. He hair was like cholocate.

Stevemn jumped.

Inion stood from afar. He was upset. Commie: Onion is upset.

Stevemn

Stevemn looked at my Onion. (A/N) “You are right! Let’s go see what’s wrong.”

And then…

~2 hours later!~

Draco stoopped pounding. His breathing was going like woah. Like air going in out in out.

“Draco, I’m hungry,” Draco said.

~2 hours earlier~

“ONION! Why are you upset.”

Onion looked at Commie. “I’m fine Connie, why do you ask?”

“YOU ARE NOTFINE!” Stevemn wanted to help. “LET ME FIX.”

Onion. I’m hungry.

Onion looked at Commie. “

          Don’t cry to me

          F you loved me

          You would be here with m,e

“

STEVEMN: you stole the bananas! Now we’re missing our train!!!!!!! I HATE YOUU

Onion: ＼（〇_ｏ）／

~ 1 hours later~

Harry and Draco looked at each other. They wanted each other. They were hungry. They were outside.

Onion stole the.m. (A/N Draco is a banana)

(A/N Harry is cholocate. We don’t know this yet.)

“HARRRY HELP.”

“Okay.”

Harry went towards the noise. Onion picked him up, too.

“I’m here.”

“You’re trapped,” Onion chastised.

“Okay.”

~ 1 hour later~

“And that’s how we got here!” said Harry.

“I’m still hungry,” said draco.

“I know,” said

Jarry.

“There’s cholocate on me.”

“That was from my mouth,” Harry winked. “It’s on your yellow shirt.” He cried!

Draco said. “Stop crying. I still love you.”

“Do you love me?” Harry asked.

“I still love you said Draco.”

“Okay.”

“How are we gonna get out,” Draco.

Harry looked at Draco pointedly.

Draco blushed. “Okay.”

Commie looked at them. Her eyes. “I can help.”

Drarry looked at Commie (they fused by accident). “Okay.”

Commie pulled out her sword. She swung it at the door. Stevemn was there too.

The door broke. Now they were trapped.

TO BE CONTINUED

I fixed the spacing is that okay

[adventuresofmelody]

Wow ok. So I got quite a bit of positive feedback. So by popular request, here’s chapter two! If y’all want more, let me know. I’m glad to share what I’ve got if people enjoy it.

The chill of purgatory swirled around his body, but Lucifer didn’t even notice it anymore. He had come and gone from this realm so many times he barely felt the cold, let alone noticed it. If he noticed it at all, the cool air was a nice reprieve from the fiery heat in hell. He smirked to himself at the thought of purgatory being a reprieve of any sort before he started off down the stairwell. He didn’t have time to find amusement in this visit. He was on a mission. The lights flickered as he passed by several floors worth of souls, some old, some very young. Painfully young. Lucifer clenched his fists a little and forced himself to keep walking. He hated it here. He supposed he should be thankful that He didn’t see fit to send Lucifer to this realm for all eternity, but all he could feel was rage. Morgana was kept here. That took away most of his feelings of gratitude for his own fate.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he pressed forward. Surprised when there was no invisible barrier preventing him from moving forward, he stumbled a moment before continuing on. The lights were mostly out here, the few that shined had a dull glow about them as if the bulbs were dirty. The floor was wet in places, and it felt colder down here than in the rest of purgatory. He passed by a multitude of cells, some empty, some doused in darkness with the essence of a soul in them. Lucifer only found 4 cells that had halfway decent lighting in them. The first was empty. The second he found the soul of a young man, mid-twenties at most. He stared at Lucifer with hollowed out eyes while he shivered, sitting on the poor excuse for a bed and just staring at the wall. Lucifer walked quickly by, coming to the third cell with some semblance of light in it. Everything was in disarray. The mattress was turned upside down and against a wall, the bed frame was apparently slammed repeatedly into the bars, he could see the damage done to the frame and the slight damage to the bars at the point of impact. Bloody scratch marks covered the walls, as if someone had scratched at them until their fingernails broke and their fingers bled. The level of destruction indicated that had to be Morgana’s cell. He almost couldn’t look at it. So. This was where she was all this time. No wonder she had changed, had come back to him harsher. Darker. Anyone would have after being subjected to…this. Once again he felt that rage come back. How dare He leave Morgana in here to suffer like this? To exist in this endless dark, cold space with no hope for an out? He slammed his fist into the bars, feeling his skin briefly split before it began to heal itself. Perks of still being an ethereal being, he supposed.

Lucifer took a breath. His rage would not bring Morgana peace. If anything, his rage would only feed her own, no matter how justified she was in feeling that rage. He needed to focus. He needed to find that man. If he was even down here to be found. Lucifer briefly considered the fact that, once Morgana was set free, the secrets that man held would be at risk. He could have moved him. Of course, if He had moved the man, it was because the man held secrets that turned out to be true. He could have just been broken by his time in isolation, down in the depths of purgatory. It seemed so unfair to think about how these souls were trapped in such isolation. No one to truly look out for them. Well, not no one he supposed. There was always the Warden. No one knew which celestial being was stuck with the responsibility of purgatory, but the Warden was in charge of the souls here. He was said to be mysterious, rarely seen. Only coming by when a soul was going to either heaven or hell. He used to be in charge of sending souls to any realm, or so the rumor went. But no one had seen the Warden in ages. No one was sure he had even survived the fall.

Lucifer didn’t want to ponder a fictional man any longer. He wanted to find out if the one in question was there or not. He walked up one way and didn’t see anyone that stuck out. He passed back by the young man with the hollow eyes, and an older woman who was sat almost completely in the dark. She knelt on the ground, murmuring prayers that Lucifer knew for a fact would not be answered. He started to walk the other way, peeking into cells as he went. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until he passed by one that was fully dark, minus a little sliver of light right by the bars. He stopped when he heard a noise, and was unable to hide his surprise when a young girl came walking forward. No more than 6, with blonde curls tangled in knots that brushed her shoulders. Her eyes were a dark brown but they still glittered like diamonds in the slender bit of light. She was still very much aware down there.

“I recognize your footsteps.” She said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. Lucifer cleared his throat, not sure what to say. She continued. “I know you’ve never been down this far before. But you have been above.” Lucifer stiffened, immediately getting defensive.

“And you can tell by the way I walk, can you?” he aggressively asked her. She nodded, unfazed by his ire.

“I recognize everyone’s footsteps. Especially those that come through frequently.” Lucifer once again didn’t know what to say. He looked her over, seeming to study her for a moment. Her deep brown eyes never left his, never showed unease or tension. Or the madness that so many others did. She didn’t even seem fully…human.

“You’re an ethereal being.” Lucifer stated. She nodded, not that she needed to. He wasn’t asking. “How long have you been here? Since the fall?”

“After. Not long after though. Souls of any kind don’t age here, so while my mind is fully developed, my physical appearance stayed the same from the time I was taken from my family.” That was curious. Souls who ended up here were normally here to atone, or to be given a chance to go to a better place. Or a worse one. None were usually placed here without any hope of escape. As far as Lucifer knew, Morgana was the only soul that was placed here indefinitely. Clearly, that was not accurate. How many others? Why were they taken here of all places? How long had they truly been here? One question at a time, he told himself sternly.

“And why were you taken?” he asked. She gave a wry smile.

“Angels are not permitted to have relations with the fallen. When He found out about my mother being with my father, well. He did away with me in the only way He could and still look like a benevolent being.” Lucifer felt ice settle in his veins. So that meant…No.

“How long have you been here?” his voice shook, unsure if he even wanted the answer to this question. The little girl gave him a gentle smile, as though she was trying to soften the blow for his sake, despite her being the one that lived through the horrors of purgatory for millennia.

“I have lost track. I stopped counting after one thousand eight hundred and twenty four years.” Her whisper grew softer, more faded. Lucifer felt his fists clench as that ice that had frozen in his veins turned slowly to liquid fire. His rage spiked, despite his best effort to contain himself. The girl looked him over, then said in the same rasping whisper, “He will not speak to you if you are angry. He doesn’t respond well to anger.”

“Who?” Lucifer all but growled the word. The girl gave him a look.

“Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.” She scolded him. Lucifer felt very foolish, being scolded by a little girl. He gave her what he hoped was a scathing look, but it lacked his usual fire. She smiled at him.

“You are here to visit the man that has seen Zeus.” She said softly. Lucifer tilted his head.

“Has he seen him?” he asked. The girl shrugged.

“We all have. Or at least, what we believe to be him.” Lucifer tired of her riddles. He took a deep breath.

“How many like you are here?” he asked. The girl looked sad, as though the concept of others being here like her made her upset. Her look slowly shifted, however from sadness to calculation as she tried to puzzle out an exact number to give to the devil. Lucifer waited patiently while she worked out her answer.

“I cannot say for sure.” The girl finally answered him, her raspy whisper raising in volume, but only slightly. “My brother I know for sure is here. He is two floors below.”

“What lies below?” Lucifer wondered.

“The dark.” The girl answered, fear coloring her words. Lucifer felt his heart hurt. He didn’t usually allow children into his realm, but…this girl was not actually a little girl after all, was she?

“What is your name?”

“It has been too long since I have heard it. I do not even remember what my mother named me.” The girl answered, sounding disconnected from the answer. Lucifer decided this was something else he would need to take up with Zeus, if that was really who was in charge here.

“I will find out for you.” He promised. The girl gave him another soft smile. “Who am I here to see? Do you know where he is?” The girl pointed.

“At the end of the hallway. Left side. Closest to the stairs that head up to the Warden.” She answered him. Lucifer nodded.

“I will come back for you.” He said softly. The girl's smile turned jaded.

“You are not the first to say so.” She told him. Lucifer wondered who else had been to see her. But she faded back into the dark of her cell, away from the bars. She was apparently finished speaking to him. Lucifer lingered outside of her cell, as if he was reluctant to leave. Already he was planning out where she would stay in his domain. Her and her brother too. She didn’t say her brother’s name, either. Only he was two floors down. Lucifer supposed that didn’t matter. He would get the information from the Warden on them both in the end, and he would take them out of this dreadful place.

Lucifer began walking in the direction the girl had told him, peeking into other cells almost as though he were afraid of what he’d see. The little girl was certainly the most jarring thing he’d found so far. He took breaths as he walked, wanting to maintain a calm, aloof demeanor. He will not speak if you are not calm, the girl had said. Finally Lucifer reached the cell at the end, which was surprisingly well lit. He took a look inside, and was almost relieved by what he saw contained in the cell.

There was a man there, scribbling away at a notebook. He was murmuring to himself, what hair he did have was disheveled and missing chunks where it appeared he ripped them out in frustration. His eyes, from what Lucifer could see, were wild. His fingernails were broken, papers were scattered all across the floor. Where did he keep getting them? And the pencils? Was no one worried about him harming someone with them? Clearly that was a non-issue, as he was still given the tools to let the madness in his eyes onto the pages. The scribblings from what he could see were that of a man half mad, something about an island and an artifact. Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up, unable to contain his disbelief. This was the man that Morgana was convinced knew where Zeus was? He stepped a bit closer, listening to the man’s murmuring.

“He’ll come back. And when he does, I’ll be ready.” He was saying, over and over again. Lucifer was thoroughly confused. Was he planning on attacking Zeus? Or was he waiting on further instruction? Who was he working for? Or rather, who did he think he was working for? Zeus may not have wanted the man in his employ, with how close to the surface his madness clearly sat. He cleared his throat, startling the man. He didn’t know what he was expecting when the man’s head shot straight up, but the grin that he got was certainly not it.

“You’re here!” he cried out, standing so fast that he toppled the chair. He rushed to the bars, causing Lucifer to step back in surprise. What sort of reaction was this?

“I am.” He said, confusion evident in his tone. Was this man expecting him? How did he not know he was expected in purgatory? The man leaned forward and whispered, almost conspiratorially.

“Did Zeus send you?” Lucifer started to deny it, then thought better of it and nodded once, a crisp clean nod. This pleased the man, who thrusted his papers out of the cell with a renewed vigor.

“Please. Take these to him. Tell him to pass them on to my daughter. She’ll know what to do.” Lucifer took the papers and glanced at them. They appeared to be instructions. Not very clear instructions, but perhaps they meant something to someone else. He nodded, then leaned close in a way similar to how the man did.

“Where do I find Zeus? He didn’t tell me how to get back in touch.” He whispered. The man nodded slowly, as if he understood Zeus’ being sneaky. Lucifer almost laughed at how easy this was.

“He does like his secrets. He’s upstairs. All the way at the top.”

“The Warden? Zeus is the Warden?” Lucifer asked, surprised. The man nodded, a wild and excited grin on his face.

“The perfect place to hide, yes?” he said, giggling a little at the end of his sentence. Lucifer nodded. Perfect place to hide indeed. He never would have found him here, and he had been to purgatory hundreds of times since the fall. The thought that Zeus had been here from the start seemed almost too good to be true. Lucifer was familiar with the saying “Never look a gift horse in the mouth” but he couldn’t seem to help himself on this one.

“And you’re absolutely sure Zeus is the one up those stairs?” he asked. The man’s wild eyes narrowed accusingly.

“Of course I’m sure! How can you not be sure? Were you actually sent here by him?” Lucifer immediately back peddled. He would get no further with this man.

“Indeed.” He told the man. When he still stared Lucifer down with harsh, almost angry eyes, he continued, “I’ll head up to see him immediately.” The man’s glare suddenly shifted, and he looked so relieved, Lucifer almost hated deceiving him. Almost.

“Thank you! Tell him, tell him I sent you. I did what he asked, and wrote the letter for my daughter. Tell him. And tell him I kept his secret.” Lucifer nodded. He assumed that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else down here where Zeus was. But since Lucifer ‘was sent’ by Zeus, it was alright to share the information. He didn’t ask, so he didn’t blow his cover. Instead, he took the papers, murmured his thanks, and climbed back up the stairs to the main level.

The little girl and the man both said that the Warden was up the stairs, all the way at the top. Did he trust the ramblings of the madman? No. But he did trust that little girl. And he knew no matter what he needed to speak to the Warden, Zeus or no Zeus. She could not remain here. Neither her nor her brother. He’d take every single ethereal child with him if he could get away with it. But there was only one way he could ever even attempt something like that. He needed to get to the top of the stairs.

Lucifer looked up, at the massive amount of floors above him. He tried to focus himself to the top of the stairs, but he was blocked from doing so. He glared. So. Zeus wanted to make this difficult did he? The Olympians were all the same. They saw themselves as gods, so they behaved as such, bringing nothing to the table unless they had something to gain and making everyone else do the hard work. Lucifer was almost relieved he didn’t have to interact with any of them after the fall. Although, if their fate was anything like that little girl’s fate was, he felt immediate pity for the Olympians, no matter how annoying they were to interact with. He sighed, looking up at the task before him, not thinking any further on the Olympians. He wasn’t certain of their fate. He was certain that he didn’t want to climb all those stairs. But he knew for sure he needed to know if this was where Zeus was hiding, and if he really knew how to get them all back into paradise. And even if that path didn’t pan out, he promised that little girl. He was going to get her and her brother out of this hell hole. Today. So he took one last deep breath, to steel his resolve, and began climbing the stairs.

Tada! Chapter 2. Formatting may be a little odd because, mobile. I’ll try to fix that if I post more in the future.

[novel-nook-blog]

A little update...💖

Don't worry it's a positive update!

I promised my friend that I'd give them the second draft of the project A.N. by the end of summer... well as we all know, that didn't happen because I haven't finished the draft yet. HOWEVER, I did finish the first part of the book (it's devided in three parts, that don't have names yet, but still). And because I finished drafting it last sunday I decided to give it to them.

I won't lie to you, it's kind of stressful because I know that it's still not good and it needs a lot of work to be done, but I could use the feedback.

When it comes to my writing, I'm a perfectionist... And I tend to speak badly about my writing to a point where I start believing my words.

The worst thing about giving my book to anyone is the part where I fear I'm going to disappoint them. I didn't have this problem in the past but now? Well... I just feel very exposed when I know what I've written and it's not in its perfect form.

However, the fact that I've given this book, or the part of that book, to a few of my very close friends helps.

I do have a question for you, fellow writers... how did you handle giving your WIP to anyone? Because I feel like I'm overreacting here a bit 😅.

[readingxwriting]

Update on Character planning

From the last Post "What Should I Write Next?"

Character (Male): Theodore Arthur Kingsley was a Nobel. Son of Sir Louise Arthur Kingsley and Madame Isabella Regina Kingsley. A Nobel should always show perfection. Everyday, Theodore would wake up at sunrise, get dressed in his finest outfit, walk the Evergreen Gardens, sip his morning tea, and do all the Nobel stuff. “You must always act regal and imperial, or you will be considered a low class Poor,” his mother always taunted him. Theodore was taught that Poors are evil, dirty, disorganised, low-lives. Their clothes were tattered and they stink. Their houses are made of dirt and mud. They drink from disgusting rivers and are always fighting like animals. Their lives simply evolve around poverty. He heard stories about the ones who were taught to act like a good Poor and used to serve the Nobels. Theodore could never wrap his mind around the idea. “Humans as slaves?” Theodore asked one of his tudors. “They have no feelings,” his Tudor answered, “you just need to feed and water them, probably find them a place to sleep. Then, they’ll be an obedient servant.” Theodore just nodded, dumbfounded. Deep down inside, he knew that this was wrong. However, being the good boy son of a Nobel he was, Theodore never dared to open his mouth about this topic. Was it really fair that just because he was son of a Nobel, he was considered and valued like a high class person? What makes a Nobel a Nobel and a Poor a Poor anyways? Deep down inside, he wanted to do something. Theodore had heard stories about kingdoms far to the east where everyone was treated fairly. No boundary walls, no slavery, and definitely no “Nobels” and “Poors”. Theodore wanted to see that equality in his city. All this injustice, Theodore couldn’t stand it. Theodore had a plan. But he was a good boy, a perfect example of a good Nobel. Everyone had looked up to him. Everywhere he went, Theodore would see crowds of people coming to see him - like he was some kind of star - they would praise him, admire him, all that stuff. An every time, Theodore wished he could curl into a ball and hide. Most of his city sees him as a future leader, an example to show their kids. Yet, what will happen if they know? What if they found out about the truth behind all the perfection. He wasn’t the future leader they think he is. He was just a teenage boy, who ended up being born in a high class Nobel family. He just wanted to live, to walk the beach with - if possible - a beautiful and charming girl who stole his heart. He just wanted to live a normal life, just like the other boys. But Theodore was a good boy. He couldn’t say all that. He has to raise his chin high and claim, “I am a proud Nobel.” And he has to do it everyday…

Check out my last character update post

This is me thinking I should make Theodore good, but do you think I should make him bad?