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13as07 · 3 months

Text

It Hurts

(Itachi Uchahi)

[Art work is not mine! Credit to Hikaru Meo]

Requested by: Myself

[Idea inspired by I'm Yours sung by Isabel LaRosa]

Word Count: 3,304

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I'll fight to my grave that Uchihas go through withdrawals if they're away from the people/person they love for too long

Also, angst. Sorry, not sorry. Suffer and cry like I did while writing it :)

———————————————————————

"Hey," a voice calls softly before a finger is tapped against my forehead.

"Hey," I call back, tearing my eyes out of my textbook to look at the poker. Standing in front of me is Itachi, who's not looking too hot. He's pale, paler than normal, and decorated in sweat droplets. "You don't look too good."

"I'm fine," he mumbles, eyes glancing around the school grounds.

"Your suspension over?" He hums a yes, eyes flickering to me before he goes back to the scenery. "Are you still grounded?" Another hummed yes. "For how long?"

"I don't know," he mutters, shifting his weight around.

His face flashes with pain, visible for only a second, before he's stone-faced again. "You seem sick, maybe you should go home and rest."

"I'm fine," Itachi repeats, eyes landing on me again, but this time they stay put.

"No, you're not. You look like you're dying."

"I'm not dying, Little Crow." My face scrunches at the nickname. I don't like when Itachi uses it, it makes me feel like he's degrading me or has an inside joke that I'm not in on. "I'm just in a bit of pain. It'll subside."

"Why are you in pain?" I yelp, my words soaked in worry. Because of my worry, I'm on my feet, sliding my hands over my best friend in search of any injuries. "I thought you didn't start duty for another two weeks?" Panic soon fills my words as well, another unwanted emotion filling me because of my unwanted best friend.

Throughout our school years, Itachi has been attached to my hip and unwilling to be unattached. Over the three years, I've accepted it. There's no point in fighting an uphill battle, even if the hill is an unemotional, stone-faced, Uchiha protege.

"I don't."

"You don't what?" I hiss, patting him down again.

"I don't start for another two weeks," Itachi explains, his hands catching my wrists.

"Then why are you in pain? Did you pick another fight?" I question, anger quickly replacing my worry. The last thing Itachi needs is to be picking more fights, especially with the start of his Shinobi career just fourteen days away.

"No, can't you just drop it?" Itachi huffs, his hands sliding down to cup my elbows.

"Headstrong, ego-driven shinobis are usually the firsts to die in battle," I respond, mimicking his huffiness. "Why are you hurting?"

Itachi's eyes fall closed, soft breaths being inhaled and held before exhaling, his attempt to stay patient with me. "You."

"Me?!" I screech, about ready to throw down with Mr 'Amazing'.

"Yes. Well, no, but also yes. Just drop it," his face heats up, pink dusting his sheet-white skin as his nose scrunches up. Mr. 'Amazing' is experiencing some big-boy emotions, ones he doesn't know how to deal with. "It's complicated," Itachi tries again after another round of calming breaths.

"Then explain it to me, or are you too high and mighty for me now?"

His face scrunches up at my question, but I'm not sure if it's from anger or sadness. "You are incredibly naive."

"And you're too big for your britches."

Itachi's face relaxes again at my insult. He all of a sudden seems better, some of the sweat subsiding and his skin getting just a hint of color back sometime during our discussion. "You're so pretty it hurts."

"I knew that-" I cut myself off once Itachi's answer fills my mind. The words tumble around, not being able to process correctly. "I don't... what did you say?"

"I said," Itachi starts, shifting closer to me. His eyes almost glow as he stares into mine, his hands tight but soft to keep me in place, and his nose barely touching mine. "You're so pretty it hurts."

"How... how does that..." A rare smile cracks across his face, hiding his stress lines the slightest.

"I don't know. My mother said that... well... if someone from my clan cares about... if we're away from someone... it's kind of like getting withdrawals." My chest warms from Itachi's stuttering, his words sticking in his throat as he tries to explain.

"So what you're saying is that you're an addict and I'm your drug," I tease, pulling away from my emotionally stunted friend. "What a little addict."

"That is not what I'm saying. I'm not an addict - Little Crow," Itachi races out, huffing and puffing as he walks after me.

"How do you plan to survive once you're an active-duty Shinobi? What are you going to do? Make yourself little fixes to take with you, little addict?" I continue to tease, walking down the familiar path towards my home.

"I don't know. It'll be fine. Can you stop wording it like that? What if someone eavesdrops? They're going to think I'm a drug addict." It's entertaining seeing how upset Itachi is about this. It's a nice reminder that he's not as old as he acts.

"It's quite the ego boost to know I'm your addiction, Tachi."

"Little Crow!" He hisses again, eyes jumping around to the people filling the busy streets of the village.

"Hey, maybe now that you'll be too busy for me, I'll become the addiction of a different Uchahi."

"No," he yells, his hand shooting forward to grab ahold of my shirt collar. "Absolutely not," he repeats softer this time, tugging me backward, my back colliding with his chest.

Itachi feels hot, his body heat sizzling through his shirt. "I was just kidding," I tell him, leaning my head back to look at the angry future chief. "I'm yours." Once the words are out, his body heat noticeably drops, shifting him back to the normal cold-to-the-touch temperature I'm used to.

———————————

The knocking on my window echoes through my ears, temporarily silencing my heartbeat that's been pounding there. Another knock rings out before two glowing circles appear on the other side of the glass. The familiar red I've grown accustomed to suddenly scares me.

Silently, Itachi slides my window open, climbing through it for the millionth time of our lives. The sight of him makes me panic, all the whispers about tonight booming in my head.

"Did you-"

"Ya," the answer is short, but so loud at the same time. So many emotions push through with it, most noticeably sadness.

My heart pings, but only for a second. The need to comfort Itachi washes away when my eyes catch sight of the blood smeared on his cheek. Panic quickly rises again as I look over him. More blood smears cover his Anbu uniform.

"I think you should-"

"Just let me hold you. Just... please." His request tugs at my heart again, chasing away any sane response I can come up with.

When I don't say no, Itachi slowly moves towards me, very obviously leaving his katana against the wall. His arms fall into place, wrapping around my sides and knotting themselves behind my back. I'm gently pressed into his chest, my face buried into the material of his uniform. It reeks of blood and misery, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

"It hurts," he whispers, voice creaking and chest jumping with a silent sob.

"What hurts?" I ask gently, clinging to his sides as much as he's clinging to mine.

"You." The word hangs in the air as Itachi buries his face into my hair, soft sobs being whispered into it. "You're so pretty it hurts," he tells me for the hundredth time. The words fill me with love, the same way they have since we were eight. It's a bittersweet moment, Itachi's undying love poking through all the distraction and murder he's caused tonight.

"Why does it hurt, Tachi? You just saw me this morning."

His fingers ghost through my hair, his head shifting to my neck and gently pressing his nose against my skin. "We won't... Little Crow... you... can't be mine anymore... it'll eat you alive."

My hands gently rub his sides, my tears threatening to spill out with the truth. The truth I've been avoiding all night long. "Stop worrying yourself. I'm yours," I whisper, trying my best to keep my voice even and my tears from flowing. "I'll always be yours."

A gentle kiss is pressed to my forehead. When Itachi's lips leave my skin, he's gone completely. No sign of him anywhere to be seen.

A knock fills the room again, this time coming from the door. "Anbu Black Ops. Open up."

———————————

"Welcome home." The greeting comes once my front door is opened, startling me.

"Who's there?" I call trying to keep the fear out of my voice as I glance around the dark space.

The red glowing eyes of my dreams soon fill the darkness, bringing a drop of peace to the wave of panic. "It's just me, Little Crow. There's no need to panic." Tears prickle my eyes at the nickname. The past year of emotions wash over me; anger, sadness, fear, longing, and love, all hit me at once.

Itachi moves slowly through my home, making his way toward the front door and in turn, me. He stops in front of me, feverish heat rolling off of him and colliding with me. "I've missed you," he whispers, dipping his head down. Our noses brush, the skin of his feeling like flames of a fire.

"I missed you too," I murmur, my eyes locked on his even though I know that's the last thing I should do. "What, um... what are you doing here?"

He shifts again, lips brushing against mine as he speaks. "I wanted to remind the council I'm still around. I don't need them messing with Sasuke... or you."

"Oh."

A soft kiss is pressed to my lips, both mending the last year and breaking my heart even more. I reach out, my hands clinging to his clothing as our lips dance together.

When we pull apart, Itachi's eyes scan over me, taking in the minor and major changes from the past fifteen months. My hands slide against his chest. Sweat has soaked through his shirt, leaving him drenched.

"You're so pretty it hurt," he mutters, head falling to be pressed into my neck as his hands grip my waist. Despite the time apart, Itachi's love still seeps through his words. His longing for me is evident in his voice. "Make me stop hurting. Please."

"How do I do that, Tach? Stop being so pretty?" I can feel the smile being pressed into my skin, a silent curse falling from me because of the darkness coating the room.

"You're mine." He mumbles, lips brushing against my neck, working their way down.

"I'm yours," I echo, letting the lava of Itachi's skin burn into my hands as I slide them up to cup his face.

"Let me make you mine, please," he asks, head shifting so I can hold it better. His sharingans glow so beautifully in the pitch black, the sight quickly burning away any fear I have of them.

"Itachi."

His hands slide from my sides as he falls to his knees. They land behind my thighs, clinging to me as his head nestles into my stomach. I let my hands drop down too, burring them into his crow-colored hair. "Please?" Itachi continues to beg, pressing careful kisses into my torso.

"Be gentle."

"I will."

———————————

Itachi clings to my legs, gentle praises and pleads fall from him. "Just this once," he tries again, his lips trailing up my thighs. "Please?"

"I don't like going on your... outings with you."

"I know."

His kisses waiver as his eyes crawl up to my face. "It hurts when you're not with me."

"I know."

His hands shift, balling up the fabric of my dress. "You'll have a nice time. I promise. Please." The words are coated in desperation, just as much desperation as his hands that are going white from him clinging to me. "It'll be like a vacation."

"Normal people don't murder someone on their vacation."

A sharp breath is sucked in by Itachi, the oxygen stifling his whine. Tears start forming in his eyes as he looks up at me, the dark shading of his eye color slowly shifting to the bleeding red of his sharingans. "You're so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much when I'm away. I can't survive four weeks without you. Please my Little Crow."

"You survived a year without me. A month will be like nothing."

Tears streak down his cheeks, hands shifting to grip my hips instead of the fabric of my clothes. "Please? You're mine, aren't you? Pretty please?" The words are broken up by sobs, tugging my heart into reluctantly giving in.

"Yes, I'm yours," I mumble, sliding my hands through his hair to flatten out the loose strands.

Itachi knows what he's doing, he knows I'm still uneasy from the last time he was gone for an extended amount of time. I swore he was going to die from longing. His fever was high, higher than it had ever been, and took longer than normal to level back out.

The longing for his brother is finally starting to catch up to him. Why should I put him through more longing just for my comfort?

———————————

“I’m dying.”

“I know.”

The words stab my heart, even though I knew they were coming soon. I know Itachi has been coughing up blood. I know Sasuke’s life mission is to kill his brother. I know our time is limited, has been limited from the beginning. It doesn’t make it any easier.

The familiar trail of kisses is pressed against my skin. Starting at my knee, trialing up my thigh, crossing my hip, and curving over my stomach before trialing back down my other leg.

The familiar feeling of his fingers clinging to me promises to leave small bruises on the back of my legs.

The newest familiar feeling of blood trickling from Itachi leaves the sticky and warm sensation of fresh blood against my skin. All the familiar feelings that’ll never happen again.

“Don’t hate Sasuke,” he whispers against my skin, starting his second lap of kisses.

“I won’t,” my promise is followed by tears prickling my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“You’re so pretty it hurts. It hurts so much,” Itachi says, spilling out his version of ‘I love you’.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his warm breath coating my skin, making it tingle with need. Need to make Sasuke forgive his brother, need to make time slow down, need to fix the illness that’ll take Itachi away from me even if his brother doesn’t.

“For what?” I ask, tingling my fingers in his hair for the last time. The last time I’ll see Itachi on his knees yearning for me. The last time he’ll kiss me. The last time I’ll see his chest pumping with life.

“All of it. For making you mine, for forcing you into a life of regret.”

“I don’t regret my life with you,” my honesty makes tears fall from both of us. Mine coats my cheeks as Itachi’s mixes with the smears of blood on my thighs, making it smear even more.

“My Little Crow?” I hum a yes, not believing I can speak without sobbing. “Promise me you’ll move on. That you’ll find someone else to spend your life with.”

“I can’t do that, Tach. I’m yours. Only yours. Always have been, always will be.” My answer tears my heart apart even more, partly because it’s true and partly because I know I’ll never get to say it to him again.

“I love you,” he mumbles, another kiss being pressed into my stomach.

“I love you too.”

———————————

“Hello,” a voice rings out, making more sadness soak into my heart.

“Hello,” I answer back, keeping my eyes locked forward. They trial over Itachi’s clan symbol painted into the wall above his memorial. Once I’m done doing that for the tenth time today, I let them drop down to his death platter.

Sasuke shifts behind me, moving to stand next to me instead. “I was wondering who kept leaving flowers.”

“Is that why you set the trap?” I ask, shrugging towards the now dismembered trapped that awaited me for my visit today.

“Ya.” Sasuke sinks to the soil, sitting next to me.

I spare him a glance, a mistake on my end. Even as a boy, he looked so much like his brother. It would be almost impossible to tell the brothers apart if it wasn’t for Itachi’s stress lines. Now… now all I see is Itachi when I look at him.

Before I can stop it, tears spill over, coating my cheeks like they have for the past handful of years.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, eyes landing on me. Sasuke sucks in a breath and holds it, calming himself down the same way his brother used to. “I remember you… a lot,” he mutters, his own eyes bouncing around the grave site.

“Ya?” I tease, my voice still shaky. “I’m not surprised. Ita… I was with you as much as he was,” I continue, shrugging towards the grave. “Before everything, at least.”

“I assumed you were dead.”

“I’m sure most people do.”

Silence falls between us, a heavy sad but mutually understanding silence. Though, it doesn’t last long. “I remember what my brother would say to you, every time he saw you. Every time.”

“‘You’re so pretty it hurts’,” I quote, fresh tears coating my eyes.

“I thought he was crazy saying it. How could someone be pretty enough that it hurt to be away? I thought he was dumb.”

I chuckle at Sasuke’s confusion, a piece of my heart falling back into place.

“Well, I get what he’s saying now. There’s this girl and… I understand what he meant now.”

I look at Sasuke again, shoving down the heartache that comes with it. His face is scrunched up, his nose curling the same way Itachi’s would when he was struggling with emotional situations.

“We’re getting married… Sakura and me and… um… she asked what family I wanted to invite.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back to me. His sharingans glow with the familiar red I’m used to. They’re so different from his brother’s. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Sakura doesn’t always use her head before she talks.” Sasuke smiles softly to himself, causing me to smile too.

Another piece of my heart clicks into place.

“I don’t have any family… obviously,” the sad word is followed by his eyes widening, another trait the brothers both inherited from their father. “But I have you.”

“Me?”

Sasuke shrugs again, eyes jumping away from me. “It’s safe to say you’re my sister-in-law. That makes you my last family member. You are, right?”

“Ya, I’m yours,” I answer, my eyes falling on Itachi’s grave when the last two words stumble out of me. “Your family,” I correct, bittersweet emotions filling my chest.

Sasuke sighs, his body language relaxing a bit. “Apparently there’s this ‘mother-son’ dance thing. It’s the same as a ‘father-daughter’ dance I guess. I don’t… ya.”

“Ya,” I echo, the weight of Itachi’s actions hanging over us.

“I would like you to be there and… maybe dance with me,” the awkward words are followed by a cough. “I would like you to come back to the village too. So we can… so that I’m… so you aren’t… ya.”

“As you wish,” I whisper, burning Itachi’s memorial into memory. Sasuke doesn’t have to say it. I know what he means, what he wants. He wants to have and be reminded of good memories of his brother, for me - the last good piece of Itachi - to not wither away.

“Thank you.”

The soft words, the gentle conversation has started threading my heart back together.

#naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden oneshot #naruto shippuden x reader #itachi uchiha #itachi oneshot #itachi uchiha oneshot #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader

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perspectivestarters · 7 days

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Perspective's Sentence Starters; The Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift (Part I)

FORTNIGHT

I was supposed to be sent away.

They forgot to come and get me.

I was a functioning alcoholic.

Nobody noticed my new aesthetic.

All of this to say, I hope you're okay.

No one here's to blame.

What about your quiet treason?

For a fortnight there we were forever running.

You're in my backyard turned into good neighbors.

I want to kill her.

All my mornings are Monday stuck in an endless February.

The effects were temporary.

I love you, it's ruining my life.

I touched you for only a fortnight.

My husband is cheating.

I want to kill him.

I call you up but you won't pick up.

Another fortnight lost in America.

Buy the car you want.

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT

You left your typewriter at my apartment.

Who uses typewriters anyway?

You're in self-sabotage mode.

Who else decodes you?

Who's gonna hold you like me?

Who's gonna know you if not me?

We'rе modern idiots.

You smokеd then ate seven bars of chocolate.

I chose this cyclone with you.

Sometimes I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be.

Because we're crazy.

That's the closest I've come to my heart exploding.

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS

Here we go again.

You should've seen him when he first got me.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys.

I should've known it was a matter of time.

There was a litany of reasons why we could've playеd for keeps this time.

I know I'm just repeating mysеlf.

He runs because he loves me.

'Cause you should've seen him when he first saw me

I knew too much.

There was danger in the heat of my touch.

He saw forever so he smashed it up.

Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me

He was my best friend.

I felt more when we played pretend.

He took me out of my box, stole my tortured heart

Told me I'm better off, but I'm not.

DOWN BAD

Did you really beam me up?

Tell me I was the chosen one.

For a moment I knew cosmic love.

Now I'm down bad, crying at the gym.

Everything comes out teenage petulance.

Fuck it if I can't have him

I might just die, it would make no difference.

Come back and pick me up.

Fuck it if I can't have us.

I might just not get up.

I might stay down bad.

Did you take all my old clothes?

They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about the existence of you.

For a moment, I was heavenstruck.

I loved your hostile take-overs.

I'll build you a fort on some planet where they can all understand it.

How dare you think it's romantic leaving me safe and stranded?

Cause fuck it, I was in love.

Fuck you if I can't have us.

SO LONG, LONDON

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

My spine split from carrying us up the hill.

I stopped trying to make him laugh.

How much sad did you think I had?

Did you think I had in me?

You'll find someone.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out..

I founded the club she's heard great things about.

I left all I knew.

I stopped CPR.

Thе spirit was gone.

We would never come to.

I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

Two graves, one gun.

I'll find someone.

You say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it.

My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.

My friends said it isn't right to be scared.

Every breath feels like rarest air.

Just how low did you think I'd go before I'd self implode?

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof.

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

I'm just getting color back into my face.

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place for.

But I'm not the one

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM

I forget how the west was won.

I forget if this was ever fun.

I just learned these people only raise you to cage you.

What a mess.

I just learned these people try and save you 'cause they hate you.

Too high a horse for a simple girl to rise above it.

They slammed the door on my whole world.

But, daddy, I love him.

I'm having his baby.

No, I'm not, but you should see your faces

No, I'm not coming to my senses.

I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want.

Growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

You're this chaos, he was revelry.

Stay away from her.

Lord knows the words we never heard.

I'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'.

I'll tell you something 'bout my good name, it's mine along with all the disgrace.

God save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

Sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see.

You ain't gotta pray for me.

It's just my choice.

There's a lot of people in town that I bestow upon my fakest smiles.

Scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer.

We came back when the heat died down.

Went to my parents and they came around.

All the wine moms are still holding out.

Fuck 'em, it's over.

Even my daddy just loves him.

I'm his lady.

Oh my god, you should see your faces.

I know it's crazy but he's the one I love.

FRESH OUT OF THE SLAMMER

I'm running back home to you.

I know who my first call will be to.

He don't understand me.

Handcuffed to the spell I was under.

But it's gonna be alright.

I did my time.

Toss the ashes off the ledge.

I will never lose my baby again.

My friends tried, but I wouldn't hear it.

Watched me daily disappearing for just one glimpse of his smile.

All those nights you kept me goin'.

Swirled you into all of my poems.

Now we're at the starting line.

No matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up, now that I know what's at stake here.

FLORIDA!!!

You can beat the heat if you beat the charges too.

They said I was a cheat, I guess it must be true.

My friends all smell like weed or little babies.

The city reeks of driving myself crazy.

Your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

Can I use you up?

I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.

Well, mе and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

Yеs, I'm haunted, but I'm feeling just fine.

Well, no one asks any questions here.

So I did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.

Is that a bad thing to say in a song?

I need to forget.

I've got some regrets.

Tell me I'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

At least the dolls are beautiful, fuck me up, Florida

I need to forget, so take me to Florida

What a crash, what a rush.

It's one hell of a drug

Love left me like this.

I don't want to exist.

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notinthislife50 · 3 months

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Chapter 50

Previous Chapter

Upon entering the field and witnessing the sea of tents and everyone dressed in their attire, you couldn't contain your excitement and lightly jumped up and down on the spot. Grabbing Dean's arm, you squeaked, "I love it! It looks amazing!"

Dean looked down at you, puzzled. "Okay, we need to have a chat because I never knew you were into this."

"Yeah, well, hunting the weird and terrible kind of takes over your life, but I've always been into this," you confirmed, eyes wide as you took everything in.

"I'm dating a nerd," Dean laughed.

"You have no idea," you laughed back. "Come on," you squealed as you ran off, leaving Dean and Sam looking at each other in disbelief.

"My Shadow Orc brethren will descend from the Black Hills," but the Orc abruptly stopped when its teeth fell out.

"Thanks, Gerry. Sorry," the Orc apologised to the man as he placed the teeth back into the Orc's mouth.

"No problem, Monty," the knight smiled.

As Gerry placed Monty's teeth back in his mouth, he announced, "Resume."

"And the tents of Moondoor will be bathed in blood as we unseat the queen of the Moons from the throne she stole from the rightful heir, the Shadow King. And you," the Orc continued, only to be interrupted by Gerry throwing a red bean bag at its forehead.

"Silentium! Serve your time with honor, heathen. And if you need to use the chamber pot, stomp your feet thrice," Gerry confirmed, walking away.

You stood and clapped, but Sam grabbed your hands, making you stop. "What? It was good," you exclaimed.

"Just show us where the queen lives," Sam sighed in frustration.

"Lighten up, Sammy. I promise by the end of all this, you will love it," you smiled at him.

Stopping the passing knight, you bowed, "Dear sir, we are here to pledge our oath to the queen and have heard she is looking for squires. It would honor us if we could serve her."

"What was that?" Dean whispered, looking embarrassed, but you ignored him.

"Well, the queen's calendar is booked up months in advance. But if you wish to witness what's in store for you in her army, her highness is overseeing new squires on the pitch as we speak," Gerry announced.

You watched the fight from the sideline as two fellows battled it out. When one of the knights was brought to his knees, he yielded, revealing the queen. As she gave a speech to her subjects, her eyes landed on the three of you, and you excitedly waved, while Sam and Dean stood stoically.

"Oh, blerg," she sighed out loud. When she finally recovered from the shock, she addressed the crowd, "The queen needs some royal 'we' time. Talk amongst yourselves," and she walked off towards her tent.

You started to follow her when Dean stopped and picked up the sword. "Nice balance," he nodded, impressed.

"Told you you would love it," you smiled.

Your conversation was cut short by Sam, who raised his hands in frustration. "Will you two come on?"

When you entered the tent, Sam shouted Charlie's name.

"Charlie Bradbury is dead. She died a year ago. You killed her. My name is Carrie Heinlein. Oh, and guess what. Now you killed her, too," she stated, packing her bag.

"No, I buried myself. After our last hunt, I thought to myself, 'Hey, it's all good,' and I was fine. I got my life back. Now you're here, and if you guys are here, monsters are here. Why do I have such bad luck? What am I, some kind of monster magnet? Is there such a thing as a monster magnet? You know what? Don't answer that. I don't care. What I care about is not getting my other arm broken or dying. You promised me I was okay." She angrily turned to you, but when you didn't answer, she put her crown on Dean's head and walked off.

"Charlie," you shouted after her, finally finding your voice. As she stopped, you walked over to her and rubbed her shoulder. "Greyfox and Thargrim, Ed and Lance, they're not missing. They're dead, Charlie. You know me. We wouldn't be here if we didn't think we could help."

Charlie stopped and sat down. You explained to her what had happened to her friends.

"Drawn and quartered and bleeding out? Please stop talking again. So what do you think did this?" she asked.

"Well, aside from the mark and them both being LARPers, there's really not much else to go on," you continued.

"Wait, I've seen this before." Charlie exclaimed, looking at the photo on the table. "It's a Celtic magic symbol. At least it was in my favorite video game. How did you not pick that up?" She asked you. "Does that help? Can I go now?"

"It's a start, but no. Listen. What can you tell us about Ed and Lance?" Sam said.

"Good guys. Two of the best members of the queen's ever-shrinking army." Charlie shrugged.

"Ever-shrinking?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"My kingdom has had a lot of bad luck lately, probably 'cause of me, but maybe it's tied to this. A month ago, one of my guys had both her ankles broken before battle. Before that, I had three people have hospital-worthy accidents while at home. You think there's any connection there?" Charlie seemed sad, hoping you would give her some comfort.

"Did they have any enemies in common?" Sam asked.

"In real life? No. Everyone gets along famously. In the game, though, they had tons of enemies. Red represents the followers of the Moon, my peeps. Green's for Elves, blue's for Warriors of Yesteryear, and black's for Shadow Orcs, total d-bags. This weekend is the Battle of the Kingdoms to see who wears the Forever Crown. This weekend, each faction is an enemy of me and mine." Charlie stopped short while still pointing at the map she was showing you.

"You know if you," Dean began, gesturing to some of the red figurines on the map, "if you move your archers back and your broadswords men to the west."

"Huh. Fight the warriors," Charlie nodded in agreement.

"Yep," Dean confirmed.

"Hey, good call," Charlie sounded impressed.

"Thanks," Dean smiled proudly.

"What about the southern wall?" She asked.

"Well, if we move," you began but were cut off by Sam.

"Guys?" He pleaded, his arms raised.

"Yeah?" you and Dean asked together, and when you saw the look on Sam's face, Dean replied with a sorry.

As Sam continued on what he thought may have happened with the two victims, you and Dean moved different figurines around the map, signaling to Charlie what would work.

"But why not just come after me? And why the escalation?" Charlie asked, the only one listening to Sam.

After a moment of silence, you spoke up “All right, we will canvass the kingdoms. You should get out of here. We don’t want you to get hurt”.

“Whoa, wait. Charlie knows Moondoor a lot better than we do. We need her.” Sam exclaimed

“Sam, I think we can take care of a bunch of accountants with foam swords,” Dean argued

“We need all the help we can get, Dean. People are dying.”Sam pointed out

“My point, which is usually yours, is that she should get somewhere safe and get back to a normal life.” Dean bit back

“Hey, I am right here, and I want to leave.” Charlie reminded everyone “What do you think Y/N” She looked at you for comfort

You cleared your throat “ Charlie, I love you, we have gotten to know each other a lot over the past few months and I would never ask you to put your life in danger, But whatever is going on, has to do with whatever is happening here, these people see you as the queen. Sam is right. People are dying. That can’t happen on the queen's watch.”

You waited for Charlie to yell at you, slap you even, but you were surprised when you heard,

“you know what? I am tired of running. I like my life here. I’m gonna stay and fight for it.” Charlie confirmed.

“And I will fight beside you,” you smiled hugging her tightly, causing Dean to to glare at you, making you smile and wink at him

@linzerrr @suckitands33 @deans-baby-momma @dragony937 @deansgirl79 @deans-spinster-witch @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @my-obsession-spn @mikaylalala13 @jackles010378 @spnbaby-67

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owliellder · 7 months

Text

Music Recs (for writing)

I thought it would be fun to make a post of the type of music I listen to when I'm writing while also providing music recommendations cause i love finding new music myself. obviously I'll add more as I go along

I use music to help with feelings (like angst, love, fluff, etc) since I struggle conveying those naturally and I only really use apple music because spotify has always evaded me, so I'm literally just going to write each song and then link it on youtube 😭

also heads up, my music taste is EVERYWHERE so there is no rhyme or reason to any of this

Fluff/Happy Mix:

Fall On Me by R.E.M.

Fresh by Daft Punk

Keep Feeling Fascination by The Human League

Around and Around by John Denver

Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits

Feel It All Around by Washed Out (don't mind me, just adding Washed Out's entire discography here)

You'll See It by Washed Out

Angst:

Veridis Quo by Daft Punk

Face to Face by Daft Punk

Wicked Game by Chris Isaak

It's Raining Again by Supertramp

Take The Long Way Home by Supertramp

Eyes Without a Face by Billy Idol

Goodbye Again by John Denver

Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve (this is a very specific type of angst I feel)

Belong by Washed Out

Phone Call by Washed Out (this version of the song can only be found on youtube)

You and I by Washed out (again, this specific version is only on youtube)

Clap Intro by Washed Out

What Once Was by Hers

Just Wait Til Next Year by John Maus

Sprawling Idiot Effigy by Nero's Day at Disneyland (I do not suggest you listen to this one unless experimental music is your thing cause I tend to listen to Nero's Day at Disneyland when I am too under-stimulated to write)

(In) Love:

Love Story (Instrumental) by Lana Del Ray (I put this on loop for hours it's such a beautiful instrumental)

Digital Love by Daft Punk

Cheri Cheri Lady by Modern Talking

There Is a Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths

Linger by The Cranberries

Annie's Song by John Denver

The ENTIRE Paracosm album by Washed Out (trust me on this one it all flows as one song)

Eyes Be Closed by Washed Out

Amor Fati by Washed Out

Everything in You by Adventure Time (ft Half Shy) (the Fionna and Cake series ruined me)

Nights in White Satin by The Moody Blues, London Festival Orchestra

Baby I'm Yours by Cass Elliot

Stay by Oingo Boingo

Spice 😈:

not a lot of this yet since i tend to listen to my BG music when writing smut

Lose Yourself to Dance by Daft Punk

Make Love by Daft Punk

Hurt/Comfort:

Something About Us by Daft Punk

Instant Crush by Daft Punk (ft. Julian Casablancas) (I really like Daft Punk)

Why (12" Version) by Carly Simon

Gypsy by Fleetwood Mac

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac

Back Home Again by John Denver

Poems, Prayers, and Promises by John Denver (I also really like John Denver)

Kids by MGMT

The Ghost Inside by Broken Bells

Andromeda by Weyes Blood

Luck by Washed Out

Far Away by Washed Out

Fly Away by John Denver

General Scene Building/BG:

now this is my favorite part since these are what I use most often when writing. you can pick out obvious tone indicators here in the titles 😭

a way i've learned to tap into certain feelings for when i'm writing is by using my own feelings on personal experiences, so a lot of these playlists i'm linking I have a lot of personal connection to (also because they're all so damn specific)

you're inside the last memories of a dying person (playlist) by nobody

you're an astronaut lost in space (playlist) by nobody

i feel like i've been here before (playlist) by nobody

|| nobody here || Silent Hill fog core playlist by Armand Tormo

February 22, 2001 - A liminal playlist by Dan

recalling moments of a christmas that never happened (playlist) by nobody

you're visiting the grave of an old friend while remembering the moments you spent together (playlist) by nobody

you found a place where spring is eternal (playlist) by nobody

you're staring at the ceiling while creating romanticized stories in your head (playlist) by nobody

you're walking under the golden trees watching the melancholic leaves dancing in the air (playlist) by nobody

Lost in the Poolrooms (a visual vaporwave mix) by K1K1n

Music for Vibin' on Jupiter's Hydrogen Sea (vaporwave mix) by olimar124

Unknown Songs (Lost Media Comp.) by Christopher Cherigo (one of my hyperfixations is unknown songs lololol)

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tortoisesshells · 26 days

Note

Writing ask: 4, 7, 11, 16 & 18

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

I've yet to find a character whose dialogue I've enjoyed writing quite as much as Jed Foster's. From the Mercy Street (but with vampires!) extended universe/pastiche/whatever -

“Are you this surprised when the rains arrive in April, Nurse Mary? Or, if I may dabble in plain Yankee with you, when the sap begins to run in March? We are in an army hospital. They send us, among other things, their dying.” “These men were not dying,” Mary insisted. “The difference between ailing and dying is a very thin one, then.”

7. ... that I nursed in a daydream before finally writing:

Ch. 21 of Customs and Duties was a weird one - I had it in mind for over two years before I got to it, but because it was, at heart, a chapter about imperfectly understood illness and quarantine I ... sort of lost heart for it, by the summer of 2022. Still, it's a turning point for Customs, and I had been looking forward to writing it.

Would she pick a fight with him, next? He supposed she might, though he was not inclined to give it to her. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Norrington took a risk and held out his hand for the pry-bar, and Elinor Treat reluctantly handed it to him. Without the tool she had been half-brandishing as a weapon, she seemed – exanimate. A puppet with its strings cut. The pry-bar felt damp in his hand, and he was unpleasantly surprised to find it had left red marks where he had taken hold of it: blood. Not his. “Mrs. Treat,” he said, very quietly and slowly, “Mrs. Treat, are you hurt?” “What? – oh. That.” Elinor Treat seized a kerchief from her pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. “I thought it had stopped bleeding days ago.”

11. ... with characters I want to write more in the future:

I miss Them (the cast of characters of potc). Here's from the last non-drabble I wrote for them.

Here, Elizabeth began to sift through her assets. It was a quick endeavor: a few dozen palm trees, a few dozen casks of rum, the damned pistol that Jack was guarding as though it were a token of a lover, the fire which was too small to even be seen clearly from the other end of her new home. In her great-grandmother’s time, when London burned nearly to the ground, the smoke could be seen from the surrounding counties as though it were a tower to the heavens – but she had not London to burn. That made lumber precious, didn’t it? Elizabeth had a brief, frustrated sense that she might have a better idea of how long she could keep the island ablaze if she had paid more attention to the consumption of fire-wood in her father’s household, but of late she’d shied away from the house’s accounts as though she could keep her future away likewise. She sized up the palm trees she did have, and, careful to be quiet, padded through the darkness to get a sense of how great around the trunks were – how long they might burn. If she were to set the island alight –

16. ... from a recent piece I want to brag about:

This is clever only to me, but, from nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace

"Her fingers were numb – centuries had changed many things about Collinsport, but the wind at Widows’ Hill was ever the same – bone-cracking, blood-chilling, cold. She struggled with the knot at her neck."

I cannot resist some foreshadowing - Vicki, the narrator, eventually is hanged (she gets better. mostly.) - hence the attention paid to the struggle with the knot at her neck. No one said anything about it when I posted, so I'm being annoying about it now. (there's also a point where Jeremiah quotes one of the first things his doppelganger in the 1960s said to Vicki, which clearly a man in the 1790s couldn't know anything about. surely.)

18. ... from that one WIP everyone has that has no plot, just vibes:

From my "Will Turner finds promotion to authority vastly overrated" post-AWE fic:

“The only deal I am prepared to offer you, Mister Beckett,” said Captain Turner, wearily, feeling as impatient as he ever had alive, “Is that which is available to all deceased souls. If that is of interest to you – see Mister Maccus, there. If not, get out my way.” Will didn’t look to see what choice Beckett made, and either his half-hour’s practice of the posture of authority or the dreadfully carved doors dissuaded any further complaints. The pipe-organ of the cabin seemed to be laughing at him.

send me a number and I'll send you an excerpt of my writing!

#thank you for the ask kind friend!#ask meme #polkaknox talks

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xoxoemynn · 2 months

Text

15 Questions for 15 (lol) Friends

Tagged by @blakbonnet, @spirker, @ofmd-ann, @edsbacktattoo, @darkinerry, and @bizarrelittlemew to share 15 facts about myself! 💕 ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?: Yes, both my grandmothers. One was Mary, one was Anne. Mom smooshed the names together and decided she liked the aesthetic of an i better than a y in the middle.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?: Wednesday night at that video of a humpback whale. I just REALLY love whales. If you ever want to remind yourself of just how very small you are in this great magnificent universe... whales.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?: Negative.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED?: I did eight years of marching band. Sports were never my thing.

DO YOU USE SARCASM?: Noooooo, never!

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?: eyes/smile

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOR?: Hazel

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?: Happy endings in general, but The Haunting of Hill House is one of my ultimate comfort shows so... it depends.

ANY TALENTS?: I'm really good at tying balloons. Also I've been delighting my colleagues the past two weeks with detailed reviews of the Replica perfume sample set and honestly I think I may have found my calling. One colleague is offering to send me another sample set so we can continue the bit so this might make me an influencer now?

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?: USA

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?: Catering to Daphne's every whim, writing, thinking about writing, looking at the stacks of books on my nightstand I'm dying to read and then not reading them, picking out paint samples to hang on my walls for months without committing, spreading anti-banana propaganda

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?: Have I mentioned Daphne? Here she is as she remembers we still have to fight for our favorite show.

HOW TALL ARE YOU?: 5'6"

FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?: I was a band kid. Close runner up would be English.

DREAM JOB?: Mostly I dream about not needing to have a job. But if I absolutely had to, I'd have a secret financier who'd anonymously direct deposit a significant amount of money into my bank account for reading/writing fic and the only criteria is I have to open AO3 and Scrivener for at least five minutes a month. And then if I want a bonus I have to go travel somewhere and take a few pictures and they'll say "good job, you're our star employee, have another $100K" and I'd say thank you, I agree, now please go away before you accidentally become un-anonymous, I do not wish to be perceived.

No pressure tags to definitely not 15 people because I can't count that high (also I've lost track of who I've seen do this so apologies if it's a duplicate!): @snake-snack-stede @areyoudoingthis @saltpepperbeard @agaywithcoffee @as-a-creww @gentlebeard @zstraps 💕

#tag games #silly sorta responses for a silly sorta day #it's a Friday and I've got zero meetings for once and I'm just vibing #daphne

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taylortruther · 5 months

Note

with this recent round of relationship discussion, i've been mulling over something and i think you're the right person to send this to.

people are like "stop reading into taylor's life her music can exist separately" and that's true. her songs aren't all diaristic and when we all jump on "oh this must be about so and so in this particular month" we limit her artwork. like we should all take the songs and make our own meaning from them, and not use them to make huge assumptions about her life. as she's said, she doesn't want to feel like a doll. and I wonder how similar online fan speculation feels compared to like the paparazzi constantly commenting on her dating life at times. and I think about how women's artwork is always put under this kind of analysis in some way.

at the same time, taylor herself sometimes encourages that analysis or knows that it's going to happen and says fuck it, i'll lean in. i think jack's story and her liking that tweet is a perfect example of this. she's decided she's comfortable with us running with this at this moment in time, so jack posts and she likes a year-old tweet. but then it leads to this kinda parasocial cycle where we all start classifying her work and changing the meaning of songs, which can actually be a rich way to analyze the songs even if it's limited in other ways.

i don't really know where i'm going with this, but it feels significant to me in some way. how can we as swifties online do both, you know?

truthfully, i feel like analyzing art with the info you have at the time, and then updating your analysis based on new information, is essential... if your goal is to analyze art. and sometimes, if the artist is a big famous celebrity, that also overlaps with celeb gossip. that is just the way of the world right now, especially with confessional writers who choose to be famous celebs. imo, the fact that taylor likes attention and wants to give people insight into her life actually really bothers some ~high and mighty~ fans.

the problem is, there is an exploitative money-grubbing aspect to it that i think taylor tries to control how she can (creating the narrative she wants) - it's the parts she can't control (the wild speculation, the slut-shaming, overall unfairness, etc) that has led to hurt.

i won't suggest i know how taylor feels about fan speculation. i would think sometimes it feels invasive, other times it feels like fans understand her and pick up what she's putting down, while critics will find fault with everything. we know taylor hates to be misunderstood, and i believe she tries to tell her side of the story as clearly as possible. but she also, i think, has learned when the hill is worth dying on.

so yeah, she leans in sometimes, she has fun with us or feels seen by us often (not all the time), she limits with the media gets or how accessible it is to the gp...

you can definitely be very cynical about her behavior (and say she's a cold narrative-churning machine) or cynical about fan behavior (saying she never wants us to speculate, it's sexist to speculate, we're just as bad as the tabloids). i won't comment on the former because whatever, believe what you want. the latter, on the other hand, feels kind of laughably off the mark when she does stuff like this (liking the tweet, giving jack the ok to post that instagram story, releasing ylm in a way that only hardcore fans will listen to it for months.)

#writing paragraphs about taylor swift

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caleblandrybones · 1 year

Text

tv tag game

— list 8 shows for your followers to get to know you better. tagged by @abliafina-18782 älskling ❤️

1. Dark

the most mind blowing show i've ever seen probably. time travel and family trees and fate. im dying to rewatch it but i need to brace myself before. it's that insane

2. Yellowjackets

the newest addition to the brainrot!!! you may have seen me post about it and it's just. cannibalistic lesbians stranded in the woods, hedonistic rituals and the female rage. ok

3. The Haunting of Hill House

my comfort show strangely ❤️ probably my favorite. it's horror but it's grief but it's trauma but it's familial devotion. i just adore it please understand 4. Barry

yes i picked this gif on purpose. i've just gotten back into after a few years of absence and it's just excellent. bill hader i'm in your walls

5. Bojack Horseman

an all-time classic, owned my life circa 2018, rewired my brain, made me fall in love, helped me cope with depression, etc etc

6. Orange Is the New Black

do we talk about this one still? it was big for me in high school, definitely helped a lot with figuring out my sexuality (also ripped my heart out countless times)

7. Better Call Saul

cough. moving on

8. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

an absolute gem, all the songs are bangers, all the characters are loveable and fucked up, just a happy little show that also deals with abuse and mental health :)

tagging @stupidusernamepolicy @karlavhh @presidentconnoroy @tomgregmpreg @slainmanca @thebusylilbee @hwalter-hwite @p0et-anders0n no pressure babies as always

#tag game

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lemortehomme · 1 year

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New Story Coming Soon!

I've been quiet for a bit but I haven't been idle! I've been working on my next longfic. You can find a preview of some of the first chapter below the cut!

Also, I have been balls-to-the-wall with this dang story and have absolutely no outside perspective on it 🙃 so if anyone would be interested in beta-ing, hit me up. I'm not looking for line-by-line editing, more so pacing and "why the fuck is this plot thread here when you never pick it back up" kind of beta-ing. It is already a long story (so far, 27 chapters and over 100k with more to come), so I would be happy to offer betaing in return, or illustrate your story, or attempt binding one of your fics into a book (I'm still learning how to do this though lol).

Revenant

Beth wakes up screaming in the back of an ambulance, dying not from a gunshot to the head, but from a suicide attempt. Walkers are nothing but a distant memory she can't forget and no one remembers. Three lonely years later, Beth is almost ready to accept the memories are delusions, until Daryl Dixon crosses her path for the first time.

And he knows her name.

A loose thread dangles from her sleeve. Beth captures it between her fingers, rolling it back and forth until it twists itself into a sharp point. She lets go and the thread curls, but the point remains. There is a muted squeak from the office chair across from her as Dr. Blake shifts in her seat.

Beth looks at her from beneath wheat straw hair, dried to a crisp by the industrial-strength shampoo she must use. Dr. Blake is pretty in the way older women are; the lines on her face are comforting and the crows feet punctuating the corners of her eyes hold a lifetime's worth of experience. Beth knows she is married because of the ring, but there are no photos of her family on her desk. There is, however, a framed photo of a sunset, film-grained and amateur in a way that speaks to it being a shot Dr. Blake or her husband took, rather than a photographer's work. Beth has always wanted to ask where it was taken.

Dr. Blake shifts again and says, "Are you sure you don't have anything else you'd like to share with me today, Beth? Not even your opinion about our kitchen's take on chicken parmesan?"

"No, I've been feelin' alright," Beth says with a little shake of her head, straw hair rustling like dead grass.

Grass baked by the sun crepitated as worn soles broke the stems; the enduring sun brought beads of sweat popping up across her forehead as she watched Rick make his way down the hill. On the other side of the fence waited—

"Can you tell me what you see right now?"

The thread is caught again between her fingers and Beth lowers her eyes to her laceless shoes. "I see you. In your chair. Your desk. I see my shoes. The carpet."

"Good. Will you tell me what it was?"

"My hair. It sounded like grass."

Dr. Blake blinks patiently, waiting, as she always does, for Beth to volunteer more information of her own free will. But the more Beth talks about these delusions—delusions, she must use the right word or she will slip up; they are not memories—the longer she will be here, so she doesn't. It is her second longest stint, three months so far. She's been shuffled between the centers, units, and wards of half the state. Maggie promises there's a place waiting for her at home every time they talk, but Beth knows the bed waiting for her is conditional. She will lose herself again and return to the bland embrace of locked wards.

She doesn't get a say in these decisions. Each one is made for her and will be long after she returns home. One of the decisions made for her happened right after she was locked away the first time and the courts said she was not in a place to make decisions for herself. The problem with being crazy is once people know you're crazy, you can never convince them otherwise

"Okay. Our time's almost up. I'm really proud of the progress you've made here," Dr. Blake says, turning her clipboard over to reveal the smooth, brown back. "I think you have a solid foundation for success."

And with those words, Beth knows she is getting out soon, because she has not made any progress, she only knows how to lie in the way they want.

#bethyl #bethyl fanfiction

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bonesbuckleup · 2 years

Note

Do you have any advice on how to learn from writers you love? I've read a few books recently that are absolutely spell binding but not in a way I'm currently capable of mimicking. Do you think there's a way to pick out what it is we love and then practice it in our own stories?

Oh, bud. Oh, bud. OH, BUD. The way this ask has been making me positively rabid all day with wanting to answer it. Fun fact--this is a hill I have died on, am currently dying on, and will continue to die on for my entire existence.

Short answer: Yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. What you're describing is the oldest model on earth for learning how to do any artistic undertaking: you look at what the masters are doing; you think that you would like to do that thing; you learn the rules; you replicate, replicate, replicate, replicate; once you've mastered the rules, you break those rules to create your own style. Painting, writing, musical instruments, woodworking...this is the most classic of classic ways to learn a craft.

Long answer: Number one, anyone doing anything remotely creative should listen to what Ira Glass has to say about the creative gap. I kept trying to type up an answer to this ask, and he says in 2 minutes what I was taking thousands of words to try and describe.

Under a cut! And I'm sorry, it's very rambley, but I really think I could teach an entire semester class based on this concept.

The thing is, the way you go about picking out what you love and figuring out how to do it yourself will vary widely depending on what you want to replicate in your work. Dialogue, general plotting, vibes, mood, setting, character...all of these have slightly different ways you can go about them. I could probably write a book on this topic. I tried to boil it down to a few ideas:

Identify what it is EXACTLY that is drawing you to that particular book, short story, writer, etc. There is no room here for "I don't know, I just love it!" It might be the overall mood of the story. It might be the way characters are depicted. It might be the way the writer puts a sentence together. It might be how they use really plain language and then just SMACK YOU IN THE FACE with a sudden lyrical sentence. It can be anything. It might be small, like a specific 3 lines of dialogue. It might be big, like the way the plot is put together. I had a professor who called this the "gravitational pull," which is a part of the story you are drawn to the most. There can be multiple of these in a single work, of course, but the important part is to be explicit and direct in pinpointing what they are.

Rip apart the thing you love. Violent? Yes. Necessary? Also yes. Once you've identified what it is that's your gravitational pull in a story (and it's okay if there's more than one, just work through them one at a time), it's time to figure out how they work. I tend to be fascinated by how plots fit together, the if-then of storytelling, so I end up spending a lot of time making outlines of other people's books. (Fun fact: using a classic three act structure, Twilight is an almost mathematically perfect plot). Figuring out how things work can take a while, depending on what aspect you're looking at. If it's a character arc, you might plot out the main scenes and shifts that character goes through, then identifying the specific moves the writer made to take them from Point A to B to C to D. If it's something like style, such as the way a sentence is phrased or the way the language works, write down your favorite bits and figure out what, exactly, it is that you like about them. What's the draw? How is it functioning as one piece in a whole?

(One warning for ripping apart the thing you love--once you start reading like this, it's really hard to turn it off. You'll be perpetually diagnosing and dissecting everything you read. It takes a really good book to make me not do this, but even then, once I realize my analytical brain was quiet for a while? It gets kicked into overdrive, because a book that makes Analytic Brain shut up is a really fucking good book, and I want to know what makes it tick. ANYWAY. Be warned.)

Read a metric fuckton. Read the kind of thing you would like to write. Read the opposite of the thing you would like to write. Read fiction and non-fiction and fanfiction, and figure out how they're similar or different and what the rules are for each. My favorite books all combine bits and bobs from different genres (Legendborn by Tracy Deonn is such a banger of a book, and it's basically if Arthurian Legend met Beloved by Toni Morrison and took place on a college campus which is a bizarre premise but it WORKS SO WELL).

Write "In the Style Of" Pieces. Another professor of mine had us read several stories by the same writer all in a row. We identified the things that made them That Writer's style. So, for instance, JD Salinger: he has short sentences, very plain language, tends to have a page break/vibe shift approximately halfway through his short fiction, and often has some kind of shift at the ending. I think. It's been 10+ years since I read one of his. THE POINT IS: we identified the things that made a JD Salinger short story a JD Salinger Short Story. We looked at them and figured out how they worked. Then our assignment was to write a JD Salinger Short Story using the themes and style ticks that he used. We also did this with Denis Johnson (lyrical prose about very un-lyrical situations), Flannery O'Connor (Catholicism and people being shady), Raymond Carver (a rant for another time lmao), and a few others who are escaping me.

Were my pieces anything like the greats? NOPE. Not at all. I definitely fell short. But! There were a few things I learned from each of them, including things I didn't want to do. I think knowing what you don't want to do in writing is almost more valuable than what you do want to do, but I'm getting off topic. By forcing myself to write in a style completely alien from my own, whether or not it was good writing, I started to figure out what my aesthetics are, what I want my voice/writing/style to look like, how I wanted to structure stories, and I learned that from taking bits and pieces from some of the masters. This is an exercise I still sometimes do: what would this story look like if Neil Gaiman wrote it? Leigh Bardugo? Karen Russell? Tamora Pierce? How is a story by CL Polk different than one by Kazuo Ishiguro or Douglas Adams or Cornelia Funke?

Steal Widely and Mercilessly. Fiction is stealing. Anyone who tells you differently is lying. I got into grad school with a story that boiled down to "what if Leonard McCoy was drafted into the Vietnam War and had to decide to dodge or not?" My grandma had a saying about babies--hope for a girl and love what you get--which is more or less the basis of a major character in the novel I'm finishing up. We all steal. We're all thieves. There's a difference between stealing and plagiarism, obviously, but like...I love the way Rory Power balances dialogue and action, and sometimes I read and use her stuff as a structure model. I used the plot breakdown of Hunger Games for that same novel I'm finishing up--it is nothing like HG, but the pacing was relevant, which is learning while running. Whenever I'm about to write a garden scene, I reread bits of Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman. Like. Steal. Do it. We all do. Fiction's a grab bag and we're all out here grasping at straws. We're not stealing things verbatim, because again, plagiarism, but like...you like Zuko from atla a lot? Cool, grab his general character and put him on a space ship. You think the concept of Bruce Wayne is fun? Neat, what's he look like on spring break and broke and named Carl? You heard someone say something truly unhinged on the bus? That happened to a friend of mine, and her book came out from Simon and Schuster a couple years ago and the unhinged thing is still in it.

Make writer friends. I don't necessarily mean accomplished writer friends, though that's fine too! But the most valuable writer relationships and critique partnerships are with people and who are on an even-ish level to your current writing status, whatever that is. Because sometimes it's really, really hard to articulate what you love about a thing that's working well, especially if you're new to this practice. However, it can be much easier to recognize what isn't working well. That's the true secret of writing critique: it's not always to make your writing better, but to teach you how to talk about what you like, don't like, is working, or isn't working in any particular piece of writing. Plus, then you have a buddy to commiserate with, and that's always a necessary component of writing.

Write a metric fuck ton. Once again, I reference Ira Glass on the creative gap. You churn through enough words, and eventually you look up and realize your words have gotten better. I know a bunch of writers, and you want to know the difference between the truly talented and "gifted" ones and the ones who hustle and grind? Over the years, the ones who work really fucking hard and put a bunch of words out (versus being precious and going after perfection) have published more widely and are producing more interesting, compelling work than the "talented" ones. Almost every time.

One final thing: the moments I hate my writing the most are almost always just before a level up occurs. It's like a boiling point. So those times you really, really hate everything you do? You might be close to a break through, so do not give up. Keep going.

And, actually, I lied. I'm going to end this with a few of my favorite books about writing. None of them I love 100% all the way through, but the all had bits and bobs that I've found useful in how to dissect stories and diagnose what you like or don't like about them:

Story Genius by Lisa Cron

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert (very woo woo but honestly a feel-good favorite)

Story by Robert McKee (A BRICK. Technically about screenwriting, but it's useful for classic structures like the 3 act, a hero's journey, etc)

Steering the Craft by Ursula K LeGuin (when I say that I would die for any word UKLG says about writing...ugh...love her.)

I hope something somewhere in this answered your question, and honestly, thank you for giving me an opening to scream about this specific thing, because it's one of my favorite rants to have.

#politicalbloodtea #ask #writing #god this is so rambley #I hope something in here is useful for you #please feel free to come poke me for clarifications because my brain also happens to be made of beans today

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incorrect-lu-quotes · 2 years

Text

LU group as things I've said while driving:

Twilight: Oh! Puppy! *almost hits a curb*

Legend: It's a hill dude, fucking accelerate already!! - I hate people, how do half of you even have licenses!?

Time: Have fun dying dumbass

Wind: If this guy doesnt get off my bumper I'm going to commit a crime against him and his entire family -IM GOING 15 OVER, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!?!

Hyrule: You can try and pass me on the right but im petty as hell and will keep pace with the car next to me just so you cant

Warriors: Of all the colors for a sports car you picked that?

Sky: Im sorry i cant navigate to save my life but at least im not as unless as the google maps navigator: 'in 300 feet, take the second left' like what does that even mean?!

Four: Holy shit ive never seen a police pickup (truck) before... kinda wanna flip around and speed, i wouldnt even be mad if i got pulled over by that

Wild: I dont know if youve noticed the several trailers hauling construction equipment and shit, but buddy if you fuck up we are all going to die

----

this is literally me while driving 😭😭 i felt the "oh! puppy" one in my soul lmfao

#submission #ty for the submission!!#i have no idea how long this has been sitting in my inbox im so sorry--#linked universe #lu incorrect quotes #linked universe incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes

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revvethasmythh · 10 months

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Veeeethany

beloved Revvetha. Babygirl. Loml

First impression

An early favorite! Tbh I knew she was just my type right from the start of the campaign, but I will cop that at various times she was eclipsed by either Beau (in the early days) or Fjord (in the later days) as my second favorite m9 character. Literally thought she was fantastic from the start, no notes, hilarious, heartfelt, unhinged, and fully lovable babygirl

Impression now

Currently my favorite of the m9! Which I'm sure is very obvious. Beyond what makes her a fun and funny character, over time I've just come to appreciate her depth so much, and all of her internal conflicts. I find her conflicts so relatable, particularly in the end game of the campaign, where she's caught between her home life and adventure, stuck trying to be two people at once and make everyone happy. Her arc can be quiet, but so impactful, and I love to pick it apart and sit with it.

Favorite moment

It's cruel and unusual punishment to make me pick a favorite Veth moment. There are so many I could choose. I'll say my number on pick is her swimming in the pond and the Blooming Grove. What a HUGE character moment that was for her, facing her biggest fear in the dark of night, alone, and comfortable for one of the first times ever. Stunning choice, absolutely hits me in the gut

Also have to shout out her ep 121 one-on-one watch conversation with Caleb, because that might be one of my favorite one-on-ones in the whole campaign.

In terms of funny moment, her bit of trying to interfere with Beau and Yasha's date and her conversation with Beau telling her about the date she's going to have with Yasha is a fucking highlight of my life. I've watched that clip so many times and I'm never not dying by the end of it

Idea for a story

WELL ANON, let me just unpack my fucking BIBLE of things I'd like to write for Veth. We've kind of returned to the "too many to pick" territory here.

I want to (and am actually working on currently) something about Veth talking to a grown-up Luc about the adventuring life. Really anything with Veth and grown-up Luc, I am interested in writing because I'd love to explore what that dynamic would look like, especially since I'd imagine Luc would be very keen on the adventuring life, where Veth had a lot of mixed feeling initially (the fear and anxiety of trying to look after people and be brave that drove her to drink vs the life-changing love and confidence she learned in the process). I just think their contrasting perspectives on the adventuring life would be so interesting to explore!

I am also SUPER interested in doing Veth x Yasha piece at some point. What will the plot be? no idea. but know that I am always thinking about this

Unpopular opinion

She is the most shippable character in the M9. *slaps top of Veth* you can fit so many ships in this halfling, and they're ALL baller

Oh, also I think Revvetha is a hilarious and perfect legal name for her. I am never not laughing abut Revvetha. Additionally, it makes her even more Jewish coded, no I will not elaborate

Favorite relationship

The low-hanging fruit choice here is Caleb because. obviously. I don't feel that I need to explain myself here. Widobrave is my bio. you know.

Secondarily, I love her friendship with Beau! I think they play off each other so well, and I love the way they egg each other to reveal secrets to each other. There's a lot of honestly between them, and they can be very secure that the other is not going to judge them. Also, beau's "you bitch. I know you're fucking down here, you bitch" moment lives in my head rent free always.

Favorite headcanon

Veth learns Sending so that she can talk to Yasha telepathically. I die on the hill that Veth does this one day.

Send me a character!

#character ask meme #veth brenatto #thanks for the ask!#ask games #asks #anon

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mr-stottlemonk · 2 months

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MCanon back again,

Molly meets Stottlemeyer and immediately clocks that this guy is into Adrian, and is just like "aw I'm glad you two have each other" leaving him so confused and a little nervous cause he's realizing he's a lot less subtle than he assumes and also is into Monk. Adrian just hasn't picked up on anything cause it's how Leland has always been. (also speaking of those last two episodes, we see Monk as a regular fucking dude 12 years back. a normal fun loving guy, smiling. and then Leland gets the call and his face drops cause everything is about to go down hill and then thinking back to Monk meets the Candidate and he's doing so bad and we know this isn't even the worst he's been)

HI MC ANON <3.

so sorry for the late reply i had to refresh my memory with this ep (ive been avoiding rewatching it LOL. so i only remember sparse details from when i watched it years ago...)

but my god, thank you for that image T-T i love Molly making a comment about that!! her (step)dad might be miserable but at least he has someone who cares and loves him... woah. makes me wanna cry (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

i love the idea that Stottlemeyer thinks he's so subtle. cause like, he's not. it's so, so, so obvious everyone and their MOTHER KNOWS, LOL. like sir, captain, you look monk whipped 24/7, you're not hiding it as well as you think you are...

omgfgg xD Monk thinking "yeah Leland is always like this" IM DYING. MR. MONK HE LOVES YOU!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN. THIS man would do EVERYTHING for you... "the captain's a great guy" -> yeah, to YOU, with YOU.

mc anon, your last point makes me wanna rewatch those last eps so bad lolol. i'm afraid i've been avoiding them like the plague 😔✊️. i also have SO MANY feelings about pre-series monk and how it affected their friendship/relationship. gosh, the hurt... the pain... i love it and want it but also *coughs*.

thank you for the ask!!! gonna be thinking about this daily now :"D.

#mc anon youre giving me things to add to this one fic im working on #tysm i lub you #but also im loosing my mind #why cant i write faster #anon asks #we need more pre-series content!!#molly is their no. 1 shipper #leland obvious stottlemeyer #monk 2002 #stottlemonk #gosh we really need that monk angst dont we

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babeyvenus · 2 years

Text

My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 19: Forgiveness

"You know when you're drowning, you don't actually inhale until right before you black out?", Sam told Ms. Morrell, the guidance counselor, as she picked at her lacrosse stick.

"It's called voluntary apnea. It's like no matter how much you're freaking out, the instinct of not letting any water in is so strong that you won't open your mouth until you feel like your head's exploding. But then when you finally do let it in, that's when it stops hurting. It's not scary anymore. It's actually kind of peaceful.", Sam says, staring off into space.

"Are you saying you hope Matt felt some peace in his last moments?", Ms. Morrell asked. Sam's eyes glanced over at her. "I don't feel sorry for him."

"Can you feel sorry for the nine-year-old Matt who drowned?"

Sam's jaw clenched. "Just because a bunch of dumbasses dragged him into a pool when he couldn't swim doesn't really give him the right to go off killing them one by one. Not only that, Stiles' dad told me they found a bunch of pictures of Allison on Matt's computer. And not just of her.", she scoffed at the memory. "I mean, he photoshopped himself into these pictures. Stuff like them holding hands and kissing. He was building himself a fake relationship with these pictures. Him drowning isn't an excuse to be delusional."

"One positive thing came out of this though, right?", she asked.

"I guess, but I still feel like there's something wrong between us. I don't know."

"Can you explain?"

"There's this one night, I had a nightmare. My brother and my mom were arguing over what he wanted to do with his life, and he turned around and blamed my dad's death on my mom. He saw me and said the same thing. Said I'd never see him again. Said he wished I was never born.", Sam swallowed. "All I can ask myself is, was it really my fault? Since then, I haven't seen my brother."

"Is your father dead?", she asked. Sam shrugged. "I can't really say. He and my mom got into this really big argument, and he walked out on us. I was 8 at the time so I can't really remember. I don't really know if he died, but my brother was convinced that he did after we moved here."

"Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he's still alive.", she reassured.

"Maybe. But it's different in the house now. Mom's always working, I barely see her. I thank every lucky star I have that she doesn't see me coming home the way I do or that she doesn't know half of the things I've been through.", Sam says, rubbing her face.

"Have you talked to her about it since that night?"

"No, not really. I mean, I'm more focused on everything else so everything that's happened has been a distraction from being at home. Scott's got his own problems to deal with. I don't think he's talked to Allison yet either. But as I told her, that's her own choice. Her mom dying hit her pretty hard. But I guess it brought her and her dad closer.", Sam says as she shakes her head.

"Stiles and I are still pretty close… At least, I hope we still are. We were supposed to be talking about he felt, but we never did. Him and his dad are pretty on and off with each other. Jackson, though? Jackson hasn't really been himself lately. " Sam chuckled humorlessly. "Actually, the funny thing is, as of right now, Lydia is the only one who seems the most normal."

She frowned once more. "And then, there's this guy..." She shook her head. "Sometimes, I don't understand him. I can't get in his head. I can't tell what he's thinking or what his next moves are gonna be. He's...cold and distant one minute and then caring and softer the next. I don't know what to make of him."

"Boy troubles, hm? Maybe talk to him about how he feels. If he doesn't open up right away, that's okay, but he might if he sees how much you care.", the older woman suggests. Sam shrugged.

"And what about the championship game tomorrow night? Feeling nervous?", Ms. Morrell asked.

Sam shook her head. "Not really… Scott always has my back in the games."

"But you said you haven't talked to him recently."

"Me and Scott always get on each other's nerves as well as me and Stiles. But we've stuck together through it.", Sam says, letting a small smile play on her lips before dropping. "Though… tension is rising in my team too. I mean, one of my teammates is dead and one of them is missing."

"You mean, Isaac. One of the three runaways. You haven't heard from any of them, have you?", she asked her. Sam looked at her desk, noticing she wasn't even writing anything.

"How come you're not taking any notes about this?"

"I do my notes after the session."

"Your memory's that good?"

"How about we get back to you?", the woman insisted, and Sam looked back into her lap, shaking her head. "Sam?" The girl looked back up at Ms. Morrell.

"I'm fine. Yeah, aside from not sleeping, jumping at every loud, sudden noise, and feeling this heavy dread something terrible is about to happen."

"It's called hyper vigilance, the persistent feeling of being under threat.", she informed.

"But it's not just a feeling, though. It's like," Sam shook her head, thinking. "It's like a panic attack. You know, like I can't breathe."

"Like you're drowning?"

"Yeah.", Sam nodded.

"So if you're drowning and you're trying to keep your mouth closed until that very last moment, what if you choose to not open your mouth? To not let the water in?"

"But you do that anyway? It's a reflex.", Sam says, confused.

"But if you hold off until that reflex kicks in, you have more time, right?"

"Not much time.", Sam responded.

"But more time to fight your way to the surface?"

"I guess."

"More time to be rescued?"

"More time to be in agonizing pain. And did you forget the part where you feel like your head's exploding?"

"If it's about survival, isn't a little agony worth it?"

"And what if it gets worse? What if it's agony now and then. . . and it's just hell later on?"

"Then think about something Winston Churchill once said, "If you're going through hell, keep going."

Sam sat on the bench with Stiles and Scott as Coach came up behind Stiles.

"What the hell are you talking about?", Coach questioned Stiles. "The game hasn't even started. Now put on your helmet and get out there."

"You're letting Stiles play?", Sam asked, smiling.

"You're in for Greenburg.", Coach told Stiles.

"What?", Stiles asked. "What happened to Greenburg?"

"What happened to Greenburg? He sucks. You suck slightly less."

"I'm playing? On the field? With the team?"

"Yes, unless you rather play with yourself."

"I already did that today. Twice.", Stiles replied.

Sam looked at him, unamused. "Stiles."

"Get the hell out there!", Coach yelled and Stiles grabbed his stuff, running out on the field. Sam put her helmet on as they took their spots.

"Ok, Stiles, whatever you do, try to stay close to me so I can save your ass whenever I can.", Sam said as the game started.

She winced as Stiles constantly got brutally tackled. Isaac came out onto the field and ran to her.

"We got to get Scott out on the field.", Isaac said.

"How?", Sam asked. "He's failing, like, three classes."

"Got to make it seem like Coach doesn't have a choice."

Sam smirked. "I can definitely do that." The whistle and Sam charged forward and curled up into a ball and rolled Gotez over.

"Ramirez! You're in!" Isaac tackled Ramirez and Sam got Murphy. "Lahey! Wilson! Seriously, what the hell is your problem?", Coach shouted.

"Sorry, coach!", Sam yelled, grinning. She was about to charge at the last player, but someone slammed into her. Sam tumbled to the ground and groaned in pain. Scott came to her side.

Sam felt her ribs being sore. Not broken at least.

She didn't move as the Paramedics came and loaded her onto the stretcher. Sam quickly went into the locker room to change. As she began changing, she stopped as she heard a shing of metal. The fuck…?

Sam turned around and saw Gerard and his hunters coming toward her.

Shit.

She kept forgetting he's the principal. Him being the principal has given him too many conveniences.

Sam's eyes widened as she saw Scott behind Gerard. Scott slammed the two hunters into the wall and turned around to her, eyes yellow, to see Gerard gone.

"Where is he?", Scott asked. Not bothering to ask any more questions, Scott and Sam ran outside to the field to see ten seconds on the clock.

The buzzer sounded and the lights went out leaving the field pitch black. Screams sounded and Scott and Sam looked around to place the scream.

"What the hell is going on?", Sam asked Scott as they looked around.

The lights of the field came back on. They ran to the middle of the field to see Jackson, lying still on the ground.

"Jackson!", they heard Lydia yell, running to Jackson. She pushed past the teens to Jackson. "Jackson, what's happening?"

"Can we get a medic over here?", Coach yelled. "We're gonna need a medic!"

Melissa came and knelt beside Jackson.

"He's not breathing.", Melissa said. "No pulse." Melissa lifted up Jackson's shirt to see blood.

"Look," Sam whispered to Scott and Isaac, pointing to Jackson's hands which were covered in blood.

"He did it to himself?", Isaac asked them. Stiles' dad came off the bleachers to the middle of the field.

"Stiles?", he called out, looking around. "Where's Stiles? Where...where is my son? Where's Stiles? Where the hell is my son?"

Her eyes widened as she frantically looked around. Where the hell was her best friend?

She ran through the hallways looking for Stiles and ran in the locker room, only to see Scott and Isaac rummaging through Stiles' locker.

"How come you get his shirt and I get his shoe?", Isaac asked, looking at the sneaker in his hands.

"You guys haven't found anything?", Sam asked. They shook their heads and Scott suddenly pulled her towards him.

Sam turned around and saw Derek. "We need to talk.", Derek said. "All of us.", Peter came out from behind his nephew.

Sam took Stiles' shoe out of Isaac's hand and threw it at Peter. He hid behind Derek again before popping out with a smile.

Scott frowned. "What the hell is this?"

"You know, I thought the same thing when I saw you talking to Gerard at the Sheriff's station.", Derek confessed.

"Okay, hold on. He threatened to kill my mom. And I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?", Scott defended.

"I'm going to go with Scott on this one. Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous.", Peter chimed.

"Shut up!" Scott, Derek, and Sam yelled at Peter simultaneously. He rolled his eyes.

"Who is he?", Isaac quietly asked Sam.

"That's Peter, Derek's uncle. A little while back he threatened to kill us all, he bit me, and then they set him on fire and Derek slashed his throat.", she explained, crossing her arms.

"Hi.", Peter waved his fingers. Isaac nervously and half-heartedly smiled. "Good to know."

"How is he alive?", Scott asked.

"He's alive because of me and Lydia.", Sam says. Scott gaped at her. "You? How?"

"He was controlling us.", Sam confessed, glaring at the older man.

"He's controlling you?"

"Look, the short version is, he's back and he knows how to stop Jackson. Maybe how to save him.", Derek said, as they all looked at him in shock.

"Well that's pretty helpful except, Jackson's dead.", Isaac confessed bluntly.

"What?", Derek asked, shocked himself.

"It literally just happened on the field. He's dead.", Sam says. Derek and Peter looked at each other concerned. "Okay why is no one taking this as good news?", Isaac wondered.

"Because if Jackson is dead it didn't just happen, Gerard wanted it to happen.", Peter said.

"But why?", Derek asked his uncle.

"Well that's exactly what we need to figure out and something tells me the window of opportunity is closing. Quickly.", Peter sighed, taking a step forward.

"Are you seriously asking us to trust you?", Sam asked, incredulously.

"Yes. On this one subject involving Jackson, I'm asking you, Samantha, to trust me."

Sam stepped up to him, uncrossing her arms. "I'm only nice once, Peter. You killed your niece, bit my best friend, tried to kill me and my friends, you bit me and tried to turn me, took over my body, literally almost killed your nephew," She pointed at Derek.

"Could've killed his mom," she pointed at Scott. "Used me and Lydia to bring you back to life, and now you're asking me to trust you. That's not happening. You've got ways to go before I start trusting you."

"Well, that'll work fine for me.", he says. "Piss off. Seriously.", Sam retorted.

The door creaked as Scott, Isaac, Peter, Derek, and Sam walked into the Hale house.

Her phone buzzed as she got a text from Stiles, instantly sighing in relief. "Stiles is okay.", Sam announced.

"Look, I told you I looked everywhere.", Derek told Peter, who crouched over the bottom stairs.

"You didn't look here." Peter took out a wooden plank from the stairs. He reached inside and grabbed a large suitcase, carefully pulling it out and brushing the dust off the top.

"What is that, a book?", Derek asked. Peter looked at him, offended.

"No, it's a laptop.", Peter sassed. "What century are you living in?" Derek rolled his eyes.

"I'm shocked you know what that is.", Sam says, crossing her arms.

"A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had. Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones that keep records." He got up and paced into another room. All of them followed, minus Scott who left to go to his mom with Isaac.

Sam kept Scott on the line as he went to the hospital.

"He's in some type of transparent casing made from the venom coming out of his claws.", she told Derek as we watched Peter, who sat at an old desk searching through his MacBook.

"That sounds sufficiently terrifying.", Peter mumbled.

"They also say he's starting to move.", Sam said, taking the phone from her ear.

"Look, I think I found something." Peter types quickly. "Looks like what you're seeing from Jackson is just the kanima's beta shape."

"It has a beta shape??", Sam asked in disbelief.

"What, meaning it can turn into something bigger?", Derek asked, leaning in closer to the screen. Peter's eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair. "Bigger and better."

On the screen was an indescribable looking monster that looked way more powerful than Jackson looked now. It was bigger, at least twice the size. Its claws looked way sharper and longer, even the tail looked more deadly.

Derek's eyes also widened. "He's turning into that? That has wings."

"I can see that.", Peter quietly replied. Sam sighed. "Scott, bring him to us please.", Sam says into the phone.

"I don't think that'll be possible, Sam.", Scott replies.

"Look, someone actually made an animation of it.", Peter clicked on the YouTube link to it. Derek and Sam leaned forward to look. "Maybe it's less frightening if we—" a terrifying reptilian screech came crying through the computer and the most horrifying picture of the alpha kanima moving showed up, making Derek and Sam flinch and stand up straight. Peter immediately shut the computer.

"Nope, not at all.", Peter turned his head to look at Derek. "You should probably meet him half way."

"Scott, get him out of there now. Go now!", Derek took her phone and ordered before hanging up and they started to rush out of the house.

"Derek, we need Lydia.", Peter said before they left the house.

"Look, there's no tim—" Peter cut Derek off by putting his finger in the air to quiet his nephew. "That's the problem. We're rushing, we're moving too fast. Everybody knows that a moving target is harder to hit and here we are, racing right into Gerard's crosshairs."

"If I get the chance to kill Jackson, I'm taking it.", Derek said, walking off. Peter looked at Sam, cocking his head.

"Don't look at me. That's your nephew.", Sam said, shaking her head in dismissal.

"We need her, Samantha."

Sam sighed harshly.

"You said it yourself originally that there had to be another way, Jackson couldn't die. For that to not happen, we need Lydia.", Peter said. Sam shook her head, raising her arms to slap against her thighs in defeat. "Fine. We'll get her."

Sam whipped out her phone to text Stiles to find Lydia and bring her to the warehouse district.

Peter and Sam arrived at the Beacon Hills Warehouse District, sighing as they saw headlights from another car. They could see a SUV in front of them, so Sam cut the engine to the Camaro and got out of the car.

She sighed. "Fuck.", she whispered, realizing who the SUV belonged to. An Argent. She turned around and saw that Peter was nowhere to be found. The Hale boys and their disappearances, typical.

"Where's Derek?", Chris Argent asked, walking up to her. Before she could answer, Derek came running down the foggy street on all fours. He leaped into the air and crouched down onto the pavement.

"Oh boy.", Sam muttered, shaking her head. "What the hell are you doing here?", Sam asked Chris. Derek stared at Chris with hatred and spite.

"I'm here for Jackson, not you.", Chris directed at Derek.

"Somehow that doesn't feel very comforting."

Chris and Derek nodded at each other. "Get him inside.", Derek demanded. They all ordered. Once they were all inside, Scott was the first to speak up.

"Where are they?", he asked Derek and Sam. Derek looked from side to side, confused. "Who?"

"Peter and Lydia.", Scott answered and looked around.

"Sam, where the hell is Peter?", Scott yelled. Sam pointed at him. "Don't start with me, Scott. I don't know."

She knew he was here; he was just hiding in the shadows. She could sense him.

Derek ignored Scott and crouched over the body bag, unzipping it to reveal a dead Jackson.

"Hold on a second, you said you knew how to save him!", Scott cried.

"We're passed that.", Derek told him. "What—what about—" Scott began to yell, but Derek yelled at him. "Think about it, Scott! Gerard controls him now! He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog! He set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful."

"No…", Chris spoke up, Derek and Sam turned to face him. "No, he wouldn't do that. If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid, and my father would never let a rabid dog live.", the older man said.

"Of course not," they turned around to see Gerard emerging from the darkness, revealing himself.

Shit.

"Anything that dangerous, that out of control, is better off dead.", Gerard said evilly. Derek growled, looked down to Jackson, and drew back his arm to thrust his claws into Jackson's chest.

Before he could, Jackson stabbed his own claws into Derek's chest. Effortlessly, he lifted Derek off his feet as he began standing up and hurled him into the next room.

"No!", Sam yelled, ready to run to him. Chris Argent, with a gun in his hand, held her back. They all looked at Gerard in fear.

"Well done to the last, Scott.", Gerard congratulated. "Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me."

An arrow whizzed right for Scott, but he managed to dodge it, so it hit Isaac in the shoulder. He groaned in pain and fell to the ground.

Sam glared at the Argent daughter who glared at her.

"Allison?", Scott gaped, realizing she was trying to kill him. Scott and Sam rushed to Isaac, helping him up and pulling the arrow out of his shoulder. Chris began shooting off bullets, triggering Jackson's screeching.

"Can you move?", Sam asked Isaac.

"It hurts.", he whimpered. "It's healing, I'll be okay."

"Sam, get out of here." Scott demanded.

"You get Gerard and Jackson. I've got Allison.", Sam says.

"Don't hurt her.", he growled at her. She looked at him like he had grown another head. "Uh, first off, she tried to kill us, okay? All of us at this point. I'm not promising that.", Sam says, and ducked as Derek came flipping over wooden crates and crouching down, all wolfed out.

Both Isaac and Scott had phased too. Sam snuck over to the broken trunk of the Argents' SUV and grabbed a gun. When she turned around, she came face to face with Gerard. He shoved her into the car. Gerard began fighting her. She felt a couple blows to the stomach and a couple to the side of her face. She kicked him in the stomach, and he stumbled out of the car.

She fought back against the old man, but Gerard pushed her to the ground. The gun flew out of her hands, clattering a few feet from her. Sam scurried up, grabbing it and running towards where she could see Jackson. The three werewolves could barely take him, they were all getting thrown down every time they attacked. Sam watched as Isaac was choked by the kanima and thrown into a pile of wood, Derek jumped down from a machine and began fighting with him.

Sam lifted the gun. "Derek, move!", she shouted. Derek looked at Sam with wide eyes and dodged as Sam aimed the gun right at Jackson and shot it off. A bullet went straight through Jackson, and he screeched, glaring at her with hate. He pushed Derek to the floor and went after Sam.

"Come on.", Sam called. Behind him, Scott appeared and caught him off guard, but he reacted quickly and threw him into a wall. Derek went right back up again but managed to get his side slashed. He started stumbling, until he finally fell over.

Shit, not again.

Sam looked around and saw Allison attacking Isaac and she watched as Allison turned to Derek. Sam rushed in front of him and pointed her gun at her. She couldn't let her kill Derek.

"Back off, Allison.", Sam threatened.

"You wouldn't.", she hissed. Sam lips quickly quirked in a challenging smile, immediately remembering her words from the night before. She raised her eyebrows and aimed the gun a few inches away from Allison's direction, and shot the gun, nearly grazing her ear.

Allison looked at her in horror and frowned as her face turned hateful. She raised her knife and started to rush at Sam.

"Allison!", Scott yelled. In one swift motion, the knife was taken from Allison's hands and dropped to the floor. She was now dangling above ground, the kanima's scaly hands wrapped around her neck.

"Not yet, sweetheart.", Gerard said, smiling.

"What are you doing?", Allison choked in panic.

"He's doing what he came here to do.", Scott said.

"Then you know." Gerard didn't seem surprised.

"What is he talking about?", Allison asked.

"It was that night outside the hospital, wasn't it? When I threatened your mother. I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn't you?", Gerard asked.

"He's dying.", Issac said, looking at Gerard.

"I am. I have been for a while now.", Gerard practically shrugged. "Unfortunately, science doesn't have a cure for cancer yet. But, the supernatural does."

He looked at Derek who was in his wolf form. He was still paralyzed and the only thing defending him was Sam. Allison started gasping and Gerard flashed Jackson a look, making his grip harder on his granddaughter.

"You monster.", Chris Argent growled at his father.

"Not yet.", Gerard smirked.

"What are you doing?", Allison cried.

"You'll kill her too!", Chris cried.

"When it comes to survival, I'd kill my own son!" Gerard's jaw clenched tightly and then he focused on Scott.

"Scott.", he smiled at the boy. Scott phased back to himself and looked from Chris Argent, to Derek, to Sam and back again.

"Scott, no.", Sam exclaimed. He seemed sorry for a moment before walking over to her, shoving Sam with force and plunged his claws into Derek's neck. Derek let out a weakened roar.

"Scott, he's going to kill him after!", Sam yelled at him, trying to stop him, but before she could run after him, Jackson's tail quickly wrapped around Sam's throat.

Derek looked up at Sam with furrowed eyebrows. "He's going to be an Alpha.", Derek mumbled to Scott.

"That's true. But I think he already knows that. Don't you, Scott? He knows that the ultimate prize is Allison. Do this small task for me and they can be together. You're the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek. And in case you haven't learned yet, there's just no competing with young love." Gerard began to take his jacket off, preparing for the bite.

"Scott, don't.", Derek looked at him.

"Don't, Scott!", Sam pleaded to her friend as she choked. "All of this would've been for nothing if you just give him what he wants."

"I'm sorry!", Scott apologized in a yell, then he quieted down. "But I have to."

Gerard rolled up his sleeve and walked over to Derek. Gerard put his forearm into Derek's mouth and clamped down his jaw. A loud cry of pain echoed in the room. It stopped when Gerard snatched his arm out of Derek's mouth, and Derek stumbled to the ground.

Sam kicked the back of Jackson's head and wiggled out of the Kanima's tail, catching her breath as she ran over, crouching to the ground to help Derek sit up. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes as Sam glared at Scott and Gerard. Gerard gave a victory laugh while they all stared at his bitten arm as it began to bleed black. Streams of black blood were trickling down his arm and they all watched in horror.

"What?", He asked. He looked down to his arm and saw the black blood. "What is this?" Sam's eyes widened as she looked at Scott. He planned this. Holy shit.

She let out a chuckle. "Your plan just backfired.", she told Gerard.

"What did you do?", Gerard glared at Scott.

Derek and Sam looked up at Scott, who looked down at them.

"Everyone said Gerard always had a plan," Scott faced Gerard, "I had a plan too." Gerard, stunned, quickly shoved his hand into his pocket and took out his silver pill container.

"No.", Gerard growled. He spilled the pills into his hand. "Mountain Ash!", he screamed, crushing the pills in his hand making a black powder flying out of his fist.

Gerard fell to his knees, black blood was coming out of his eyes and nose. It even spewed out of his mouth. Then he fell to the floor, exhausted.

"Why didn't you tell me?", Derek asked Scott, hurt evident in his voice. "Because you might be an Alpha, but you're not mine.", Scott declared. Derek's eyes fell down to the ground and Sam helped him stand.

"Kill them! Kill. Them. All!", Gerard screamed at the top of his lungs.

Shit.

A loud crash echoed through the warehouse. They all watched as Stiles' jeep came ramming into the building and hit the Kanima.

"Stiles!", Sam exclaimed, happy to see him.

"Did I hit him?", Stiles' eyes were squeezed shut. Scott and Sam chuckled. Jackson jumped on the roof of the car, making Lydia and Stiles scream. They both stumbled out of the car as fast as possible.

Stiles ran over to Scott but Lydia stood right in front of Jackson, yelling his name. Jackson held back his hand and was about to slash Lydia's throat.

"Lydia!", Stiles and Sam screamed. Sam was about to go help her until Derek held her back by wrapping his hand around her arm. She looked at him, as he gave her a look to stop.

Sam watched as Lydia held up a small object in front of her face. It made Jackson stop and look at it for a second. He just stared at the object as if he was remembering something and from then on, his scales disappeared from his face.

Jackson backed away from Lydia. Sam noticed Peter had jumped from wherever he was hiding, signaling Derek.

Quickly, Derek's claws were piercing in Jackson's abdomen while Peter's were in his back. They lifted him off the ground and their claws sliced through his skin. Jackson was coughing and choking on his blood and spit, and they finally let him go.

Lydia went to catch him and Derek came back to me. Lydia and Jackson sank to the ground, the redhead was crying.

Sam felt bad. Lydia really did love him. Despite his shitty attitude towards her, she still loved him. Sam felt a hand placed itself on her shoulder as she backed away from the scene.

Sam turned around and saw Derek looking at her with sad eyes. Her own filled with tears as she looked back at the scene before her. She backed up and stayed by his side, Isaac soon came over on his other side.

"Do you—do you still—", Jackson stuttered out.

"I do.", Lydia immediately replied. She slowly nodded while tears were streaming down her face. "I do still love you." She let out a sob. "I do, I do still love you. I do.", she whispered. Jackson seemed satisfied and his head drooped on her shoulder before his body went limp.

Sam looked away, clenching her fists. He was an ass. He was always an ass...but she grew up with him. She never hated him as much as she pretended. She tolerated him and vise versa.

He didn't deserve to die. Saving him should've been the better option.

The object dropped from Jackson's hands and clanked loudly onto the concrete floor. It was a key—a house key. It must've held memories.

Lydia rocked back and forth, quietly repeating that she still loved him. Finally, she laid him on the ground as the last bit of his scales disappeared.

"Where's Gerard?", Allison asked. Sam rolled her eyes and looked over to where Gerard once laid, but he was gone. A pool of black blood was left in his place. What the hell.

"He can't be far.", Chris assured. This old creep was crawling away and no one was concerned??

Lydia slowly stood up, sobbing and barely keeping it together. Stiles went to go comfort her but stopped when they all heard a noise echo through the warehouse.

It sounded something scratching against the floor…something like claws. They all focused behind Lydia to see Jackson. His wounds were healed, but he was still dead.

Suddenly Jackson's eyes opened, revealing his irises shining an unnatural icy blue. They all watched silently as he carefully got up and shifted into a werewolf right before them.

He stared up at the ceiling for half a second before letting out a ground-shaking howl. Jackson looked just as confused as they did after he shifted back to normal.

"Holy hell…", Sam muttered and looked at Derek as he looked at the boy in shock. This wasn't the plan. Lydia hurried and ran into his arms. They both tightly embraced and wrapped each other's arms around one another.

Everything was fine…for now.

"Let's go home." Sam looked at Derek who looked back down at her with a small smile. She returned the smile, and they did, only headed back to her place to get him cleaned after he had changed.

Derek sat on Sam's bed as she wrung out a towel before walking over to him. His face was still dirty from dried blood and dust.

He didn't meet her eyes as she cleaned his face. "You shouldn't be doing this.", he says. Sam smiled. "You're not the first person I cleaned up after a hard day."

"I'm sorry.", he suddenly said. Sam stopped. "You're apologizing."

He nodded. "For what?", Sam asked, resuming her cleaning. "Everything. I shouldn't have said what I said to you. I shouldn't have blamed you for Peter's doing. You're not an inconvenience. I never meant that.", he said.

Sam stopped, looking at him with a frown. "Derek."

"I'm serious. It wasn't right. I wasn't protecting you. I was protecting myself. I wasn't supposed to care what anyone thought of me. I...I haven't had anyone care about me after Laura... so it was difficult when you came around.", he confessed, looking down.

"For so long, I wanted to feel like I was somebody. Someone that others could rely on. Someone powerful. Someone who knew what they were doing. Scott made me realize that I'm really untrustworthy.", he expressed. "Before we left for Jackson…Erica and Boyd left."

Sam sighed.

Setting the damp towel down on her desk, she turned to him. "I knew you didn't mean what you said. Despite being hurt by your words, I know you didn't mean it. I just… I wish you'd have a little more faith in me. That's all. I do rely on you and sometimes I feel like I shouldn't because you already have so much to deal with."

She walked back over to him. "Your personality is a little questionable and your methods of caring are a little strange in its own way, but you still have a heart. That's what I like about you. That's why I trust you. You can be an amazing alpha. You know when to make the tough calls, despite not liking them.", Sam says and sit down next to him.

She looked down. "I know what it's like to feel alone. Abandoned. But if you have people that care about you, they'll stick around. They'll be there for you when you need them.", she says, smiling wistfully and looks up at him.

"When people leave you without a good reason, you gotta let them go sometimes. It's for your own good. All you can do is move on. If Erica and Boyd thought it was a good idea to leave, that's on them. But guess who you have. Me and Isaac and the others, and for some strange reason, your psychotic uncle. You're not alone, Derek.", she says, making him look at her. "You're not as bad as you make yourself seem."

His eyes blinked as if he were blinking away tears and suddenly hugged her. She hugged him back. "Thank you.", she hears him rasp. She rubbed his back as they sat in her dimmed moonlit room.

Early the next morning, before Derek was about to drop her at Stiles' house, they had made a quick stop into the woods with Isaac and Peter. As they approached the house, there was a weird symbol painted on the door. It was similar to Derek's weird tattoo, but it was different.

"This kinda looks like a swastika.", Sam muttered, and Isaac's eyes widened at her assumption.

"You haven't told them everything yet, have you?", Peter asked, looking over at Derek. Derek glared over at Peter, who grinned and leaned against a tree. Isaac and Sam looked at each other, shrugging and confused.

"What do you mean?", Isaac asked the older man.

"Why do you think Derek was in such a hurry to build his pack? So eager to strengthen his power and his number?"

"To be stronger. Strength in numbers.", Sam said, shrugging.

"When there's a new Alpha, people take notice.", Peter said.

"People like who?", Sam asked, looking at Derek.

Isaac walked up the steps of the house and pointed to the door. "What even is this?" Derek walked next to Sam. "What does this mean?", Sam asked.

"It's their symbol.", Derek said, gruffed. "And it means they're coming."

"Who?", Sam asked, concerned. They already had another threat…?

"Alphas.", Derek answered. Sam looked at him in bewilderment. "Alphas? As in plural?"

"A pack of them.", Derek said.

"A pack–?", Sam sighed, running a hand through her coils.

"An Alpha pack. And they're not coming…they're already here.", Peter said. Sam looked from Derek to Peter to Derek again.

Despite the issue, Derek dropped her off at the school and Stiles pulled his jeep onto the empty field; the trio piled out and went straight to the goal.

"So you really think she'll come back to you?", Sam asked Scott, who seemed better.

"Yeah, I know she will.", Scott said optimistically. Sam smiled and turned to Stiles. "What about you and Lydia?", Sam asked.

"Well, my ten-year plan for Lydia to fall in love with me may have to stretch to fifteen, but the plan is definitely still in motion.", he smiled.

"Good.", Sam grinned. The boys followed her to the goal.

"Why don't you just ask her out?", Scott asked. Stiles and Sam laughed.

"Yeah, okay. Why don't you just get in the goal and help me make team captain like you promised, big guy.", Stiles suggested.

"You're reaching for the stars, huh?", Sam asked, smiling.

Stiles dropped his lacrosse gear to the ground and Sam stood next to him; Scott ventured into the goal with a lacrosse stick.

"Hey, you know what I just realized? I'm right back where I started.", Scott said.

"What do you mean?" Stiles wondered.

"I mean no lacrosse, no popularity, no girlfriend, nothing."

"Dude, you still got me.", Stiles said, offended.

"I guess I'm just chopped liver.", Sam laughed.

"And you still got us. So life fulfilled, okay?", Stiles reassured.

"Yeah, well I had you guys before.", Scott said.

"You're gonna have to work to get rid of us.", Sam grinned.

"Alright.", Scott smiled.

"Alright, remember no wolf powers.", Stiles reminded, readying his stick.

"Got it.", Scott nodded.

"No, I mean it! No super fast reflexes, no super eyesight, no hearing, none of that crap. Okay?"

"Okay.", Scott agreed. "Come on!", he urged with a laugh. Stiles got in position hesitantly.

"You promise?" He called.

"Stiles!", Sam laughed.

"Will you just take the shot already?", Scott rushed. Sam saw Scott's eyes turn gold and a smirk appeared on his lips. Stiles threw the ball into the net and Scott caught it fast.

"I said no wolf powers!", Stiles whined.

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