#I've picked this hill and I'm dying on it

[milesmolasses]

Don't Blame Me

miles morales x reader

warnings: nothing i can think of

basically, you and Miles are a cute little couple, and you help him dye his hair at midnight (he has waves)

The time was 12.34pm EST, and most of the apartments in Ocean Hill Brooklyn had their lights off and curtains closed. You and Miles were in a 24HR drug store across the street from his apartment, checking out their hair supplies aisle- just when you were about to grab your hair mask treatment, Miles came running to you from halfway down the aisle.

"YEOOOOO, look what I found! We finna bring the demons out tonight," he said in a playful, scratchy tone. You looked at what he had in his hand and saw the platinum blonde hair dye he was holding.

"You wanna be Frank Ocean so damn bad, don't you? You know you're destroying your hair if you do that, right?"

"Nah, I've had virgin hair for forever; my hair can't get ruined after dying it once. That's just stupid," he waved his hand dismissively to my comment on him literally killing his beautiful hair.

"Miles use your head: it's 12 in the morning, and you aren't thinking straight. Trust, you don't want to do this and wake up in the morning regretting shit," I tried to grab the dye out of his hand, but he held onto the box with such a tight grip and a determined look on his cute face, really telling me he wanted to do this.

"No, no no no no, I am thinking straight; believe me, I have thought about this a lot. I can show you my Pinterest hair board right now, and it's full of niggas with blonde waves. Frank Ocean is calling my name Y/N, PLEASE let me do this," he went on and on. He looked at me with a pleading look in his eye, attempting a cute puppy dog face with his chapped pouty lips.

"... A'ight fine, but we getting you some damn chapstick with your cracked ass lips."

"Alright not too much on me, baby. You gon help me dye it though?"

It felt as if he was counting on me to say yes, so I agreed to help him dye his hair. We soon walked up to the register with my hair mask and a new conditioner for his hair, a bag of mini KitKats, the blonde dye, and some Vaseline. I paid for the items, wondering how much I would have to apologize to Rio for destroying her sons hair.

As we walked back to his place, we stopped by the deli to pick up some more snacks- two bags of chips, jolly ranchers, and a sandwich for Miles. We made it back and quietly snuck upstairs to the bathroom, but not without first dropping the food off in Miles's room. We made our way to the bathroom with the dye and the purple conditioner/toner, and I made Miles sit down on the edge of the bath tub while I prepped all the supplies.

"You're a W girlfriend for dying my hair and buying me snacks..." I was having my doubts about this whole "dying my boyfriend's hair thing" because I really didn't want to be the cause of something Miles might regret later on. Also, I kinda liked his regular black hair- I thought it was cute, plus he already had waves, so I didn't get why he wanted to dye his hair on top of that.

"Look, don't be upset with me, ok? I've been actually wanting to do this for the longest time, and I really do appreciate you doing this for me."

"Oh Miles, I'm not upset with you. C'mon, you know I love you but I'm just a little worried about how this will all turn out. I don't want you to regret this later on. Plus keeping up with dyed hair is expensive as fuck, bro," he looked at me again, this time, without the puppy dog looks; more like a sad and disappointed seal. He didn't want to make me worried I could tell.

"Alright look, imma dye it, fix up your hair, and we'll see how it looks unwrapped in the morning, is that ok?" He smiled and took my hand kissing it softly while looking up at me.

"Perfect."

And so I got to work, giving him a towel to drape over his shoulders, bleaching his hair while listening to his moans and groans about how much it burned, putting in the platinum color in his hair, and toning it after. We washed his hair and dried it with a t-shirt, added light amounts of pomade to his hair, finger waved and brushed it, and finally came the durag.

"How did it look? You was the one doin' it, so tell me, how did it look?"

"You gonna have to find out when you wake up tomorrow. Yo, lemme crash here. I'm mad tired right now," I walked out of the bathroom, already knowing his answer to my question. I walked my way back to his room, opening the black deli bag of snacks.

He turned on the ceiling projector which showed what seemed like trillions of little life-like stars on his ceiling. He plopped down onto his bed with me, turning to the bag to grab his sandwich as we stared at the ceiling projector eating our food.

The sunlight crept through Miles's curtains, basking us in the warm indication that a new day had arrived. My eyes blinked slowly and steadily as I shuffled through the bed I was lying in. I looked to my right and saw that the bed was empty and called out "Miles" absentmindedly.

"I'm in here," he yelled out of what I assumed was his bathroom. I rubbed my eyes as I strolled out of his bed and towards his bathroom. I walked in on a sight to behold;

A Miles I had never seen before was staring straight into the mirror, rubbing the neat blonde waves on the top of his head, smiling a smile I had never seen before.

"You are amazing. I can't believe this is what I look like, holy shit.." his smile grew even larger than before when his eyes finally met mine.

"Oh my lord, look at my mannnn," I squealed as I put my hands over my mouth in shock. Of course, I knew what the waves had looked like— I'm the one who did his hair— but seeing him so happy with my finished work made me even happier with myself and Miles.

"Me and Frank Ocean are literally twinning right now."

"He prolly don't even have them blonde waves no more."

"Why can't you just let me be happy?"

I laughed at his straight face when he said that, knowing it was only a joke. I walked closer to him so that we were both seen in the mirror, just looking at each other. He placed his hands on my shoulder as he kissed the top of my head. Something about this kiss screamed "thank you" or "I love you for this," and it made me feel warm inside as I stared into his eyes through the mirror.

Suddenly, as if he had just come to a realization, he whispered, "I gotta show my mom... shit"

AYEEEE this took me so long to write for literally no reason

can u tell how much i love frank ocean? lol

I DO NOT CONDONE SLEEPING IN BED WITH YOUR OUTSIDE CLOTHES! THAT SHIT IS DIRTY!

[13as07]

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.

[perspectivestarters]

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.

[notinthislife50]

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

[owliellder]

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)

[tortoisesshells]

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!

[xoxoemynn]

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 💕

[taylortruther]

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.)

[caleblandrybones]

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

[northwest-cryptid]

I think one of the big reasons I love Outer Wilds so much is that it's one of the few games I've played where you just need to be willing to put your trust into it, genuinely.

What I mean is that about 90% of the time when someone picks up Outer Wilds the first thing they tell me is often a very similar complaint that can be summarized as "how was I supposed to know?!" This is either in response to figuring something out by chance, or by dying in some random way.

Now yes the game has a museum on your home planet that you have to visit before you can set off, and it has plenty of exhibits about what you might encounter. That being said there's a LOT that isn't covered there, and for good reason.

The problem I think people run into is simple, ask yourself honestly; when has a game ever rewarded you for trusting it; when has it ever delivered something meaningful from the confusion and hostility?

There are a few games that can do it, and they do it well; Outer Wilds is a stand out among them. This is because it never warns you, it never asks you to trust it. It simply exists as a game that at first glance might seem extremely hostile, daunting, confusing, or even frightening.

I will say the DLC is a little weaker in this regard but I understand why they had to do it. The DLC will directly tell you that you can turn down the spookiness of the content in the settings menu; but it also tells you that the scares are intended for the experience. Again I stand by the fact that this is a matter of trust, because I understand that yes again when has a game ever really rewarded you for putting up with being scared?

I'm not talking about a horror game, I'm talking about when a game has taken it's fear and dread and turned this into something you as the player have thoughts and emotions towards. I'm not talking about how Silent Hill does more with it's horror as symbolism; I'm asking when your own personal fear and unknowing has turned into a memorable experience as a result of learning from it.

See that's the thing about Outer Wilds, so many people will tell you that it's an extremely memorable, extremely unique, and generally special game. The unfortunate thing is that understanding exactly why, and by proxy explaining exactly why would detract from the entire experience.

Outer Wilds is at it's core an exploration puzzle game in the style of those old point and click adventure games. The overall mystery of what exactly is happening, how everything fits together; and what part you play in it all is what keeps the player engaged.

The realization you may uncover some more information that may allow you to interact with the game from a new perspective is exactly the dopamine hit you get from Outer Wilds. The thing about this is that it makes a really strong connection between you as the player and the game world you're interacting with. It's not your character looking at something and suddenly saying "this all suddenly makes sense to me, we need to go here and do this!" It's you, the player; the one who sat down to unravel the mysteries of the Outer Wilds universe. You are the one who gets to have that a-ha moment and say "hey wait a second this all suddenly makes sense, I need to go to this planet; and do this thing!"

Outer Wilds effectively makes you feel a sort of realistic and organic connection to the game world as a reflection of the real world, and I believe it does this really well by letting you as the player deduce it's mysteries for yourself.

When I say it makes a connection between the real world and the game world or that the game world becomes a sort of reflection; what I'm saying is that most if not all of the philosophy of Outer Wilds as a game, applies to real life. It's all things you may not think about, and it's not always going to be spelled out so simply.

However I've found that more often than not the game isn't just posing a question to you so that it can answer it and give you the next clue. Rather the game is asking you as the player a genuine question, it's not always directly asked in the form of a question but it's always asking something of you.

Whether it's "what would you have done in this situation" as you explore ruins and hear about how the people adapted to survive there or more directly literally asking "do these two things mean the same thing, or are they unique situations of their own merit" as it's written on the wall. You're constantly asking and answering questions in this sort of back and forth with the game.

You ask the game a question regarding the game world, perhaps as simple as "how do I get to this place safely?" The game then answers that question before asking you a question that is still absolutely about the game world, but not exclusively.

To give you an example that doesn't spoil anything, one of my favorite pieces of dialogue in the entire game is the response of a character named Gabbro when asked what they're doing out on the planet you find them on. Their response?

"Well, what are any of us doing here, really? …Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m out here exploring our solar system, same as you."

This always stood out to me because nothing about it is meant to, this is a throwaway line of dialogue; it's almost meant as a joke. Gabbro is this really laid back character and here they're literally giving you a non-answer because as far as I can tell they don't really have one for you. However they go about it in such a way that seems to pose an answer to you.

At first they joke around saying "what are any of us doing here really?" Only to then mention "I'm out here exploring our solar system, same as you." Yet you find them relaxing in a hammock. Why does this all matter to me? Because it's the little details that really add up, the answer Gabbro is giving you here seems straight forward; they're exploring the solar system, same as you. However the reality of that is the answer "exploring the solar system" is a rather passive action. That doesn't tell us what Gabbro is really doing, it tells us that they're just sort of vibing, going through the motions same as anyone else. It doesn't however actually answer the question.

This is the way the game often asks you to think about these sorts of things. You as the player know something is up, and you have a ton of information to work with; you're jumping from planet to planet desperate for whatever next piece of the puzzle you might be able to get your hands on within your 22 minute loop.

Yet Gabbro? Well, they don't mind. They're just relaxing, you find them laying back in their hammock vibing the day away. Yet from how they see it they're "the same as you" which is hardly true, look at how hectic you are, think about how little time you're willing to "waste" look at just how quickly you want to give from point A to point B. Gabbro isn't exploring in the same way you are, far from it; Gabbro is taking their time, enjoying the journey; seeing the sights. You however, are blasting through the solar system at mach 12 trying not to crash and die while solving a mystery that's much bigger than you know.

However, stopping and asking yourself; what exactly is it you're doing? You've not been given direction; the game really did just send you off into space. It just said, go explore; be curious. Yet you likely find yourself suffering from goblin gamer brain, which is when there's a small goblin gamer in your brain that's trying to make sense of everything as a game.

Sometimes things just are, because they are; and it's really that simple. I feel like I am often quick to jump to conclusions and sometimes that includes the idea of saying something is bad game design if it doesn't reward the player immediately. Outer Wilds taught me there is more than one kind of use case for non-rewarding environmental elements however. This is the last I will say of specifics because again I think any information is technically enough to spoil your experience with this game.

But I do enjoy how you can find a poem on one of the planets, written on some signs. At first it seems as though it must be a clue, something connected to the larger story; you likely go over the poem several times trying to make sense of it. It's a lot of "what could this mean?" Or "does this line hint at this thing?!" Before you go back and talk to Gabbro who tells you that yea it was their art, they just sorta made that poem; because they enjoyed it.

The poem itself doesn't mean anything, there's nothing really to be gained from thinking about it, making sense of it; it just is. There's nothing about the poem that matters, nothing about the poem that would help you progress the game, and yet I cannot tell you how well it fleshes out the world. The idea that Gabbro would leave it there just makes sense, it's believable, and in a weird way it's really immersive as to why such a thing exists. Someone creative wanted to make art, nothing more; nothing less.

I'm getting a little side-tracked, my core take away from all of this is that Outer Wilds has so much more to it than mechanics or simply put; an emotional and deep ending. Outer Wilds won't click you with you 100% if you don't experience it yourself, if you don't encounter the confusion and albeit sometimes frustration that comes from having those moments of "how was I supposed to know?!" Because the truth is, you weren't supposed to know; you were supposed to learn, and you have.

You learn how to survive a little more with every death, you learn how to navigate technology and puzzles every time you fumble through getting something to work; you learn from engaging with your curiosity. The game doesn't want to bog you down with tutorials, everything you need to get started is learned in the museum, everything after that is up to you.

Outer Wilds asks you to stay curious, to ask questions, to seek answers; but almost most importantly it asks you to care. Often giving you the answers in the little notes, or in the throwaway dialogue. Outer Wilds isn't afraid to simply tell you some answers sure, but a lot of it's more interesting knowledge is hidden in the most mundane places. It can't deliver that knowledge to you in a way that is meaningful and memorable unless you trust it.

Trust the game to make good on your confusion and frustration; trust the game to make good on your fear and dread of the unknown. If you don't engage with these aspects of the game, the impact they're meant to leave with you won't be there.

[lemortehomme]

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.

[bonesbuckleup]

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.

[incorrect-lu-quotes]

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

[insipid-drivel]

I came across your horse FAQ post, which was really great.

I thought you would enjoy that’s there’s a company out of Scotland called Highlands Unbridled, that does week long hours treks.

They have right on their website, that if you arrive and you can’t ride properly, they will cancel your trip completely. My vet is going on one, and they had to send a resume of their horse experience, and videos of their riding abilities, before even being allowed to book their trip.

I can only imagine the people that try to book with zero knowledge that get turned down quite quickly.

Hnnngh, that sounds like an awesome service for cash-strapped riders! I don't think there's anything wrong with pay-to-ride trail rides, but when you've had enough experience riding to hold your own, they can get stale. Even the horses often seem pent up and bored.

It's been over a decade since a rode seriously, mostly due to health problems caused by a busted gallbladder that made riding extremely painful for me, but I've since had my gallbladder removed so it's no longer a risk to me anymore, I've been getting healthier, and I'm starting to feel the itch to get back in the saddle again o_o

Anyway here's a story about how I almost died because my trail riding horse got overexcited and I only encouraged him:

So, I live up in the Pacific Northwest in the US. If you've never seen it or been there yourself, the landscape is very similar to the landscapes in the British Isles, including Scotland (I lived in the UK for a little while, over in Stratford in Warwickshire, England). I was living in Oregon at the time, and hadn't ridden in a bit, so my mom decided to buy us slots on a trail riding tour. The area the trail took us through was gorgeous - green fields, steep gullies, tall hills, and forests. It was after I'd had to retire from regular riding, and I was depressed because we'd just moved away from the ranch I was working at as a stable hand, so I was going through full horse-withdrawal. It was after the 2008 economic crash, too, so I knew we'd probably never have the money to afford me going back to riding seriously again, and I was too disabled from my gallbladder to work in the stables.

We arrive, and everything is as boilerplate and dry as any other all-skill-ranges-allowed trail rides. The horses were doughy and sleepy and bored. They were already tacked up and lined up waiting for everyone to pick a horse and fumble up into the saddles. I was grumbling under my breath about it, because I really dislike hopping on a horse that was tacked up by someone other than me. If a shitty tacking job is gonna get me killed? Then it's gonna be my shitty tacking job.

The ride starts off painfully boring. We're moving at the slowest walk ever - I've literally warmed up horses on the lead rope at faster paces - and this was before smartphones and good signal, so I couldn't just check out and let the horse carry me through the trails while I took selfies and farted around on social media. The scenery was pretty, but oh my god, I was practically drowning in my own horse's boredom.

We finally arrive in the heavily wooded part of the trail ride, and come upon a steep dip in the trail with a near-vertical wall of scrub and trees to my left, and a ravine so deep on my right so deep that you literally couldn't see the bottom.

My mom gave me a look at this point, because now she's dying of boredom, too. She's like, "I can feel this horse's soul dying under me," and I'm like, "Just the horse's?"

So my mom suggests we give our horses the command to stop walking and hang back. We were the last two in the line of riders, and the path we were taking was too narrow for horses to walk side-by-side, so nobody noticed us not keeping up. We kept our horses waiting at the top of the dip in the ravine, and it wasn't until the last person in the riding group was around a bend and out of sight that we started signalling to our horses, "Hey, we're not noobs, want to cut loose?"

The horses both seemed to answer, "Hell. Yeah."

My mom takes off on a gallop, whooping with glee as her horse bursts forward, down the slope in the path, and back up to the top. It was less than 1/4 mile, so she was well within eyeshot when she turned herself around to see me follow her. Like I said; the trail was too narrow for us to run it together, so she went first.

This is why I hate riding on some other person's tack job. I gave my horse the signal to cut loose and gallop, and as soon as my horse reaches top speed going down a hill with a ravine to one side that promised certain death, that the combination of the summer sunshine sweats + a loose fucking belly cinch that my saddle started sliding down my horse's right side toward the Death Ravine.

I am officially In Trouble, and the world around me literally slowed down like I was suddenly underwater. I stopped hearing normally. Everything went in slow-motion as the "Oh god, if I don't fall correctly, I'm fucking dead," played in my head, combined with my memory shrieking my mom's old SCUBA training at me that she raised me to believe: "Panic and you die."

All of a sudden, my right thigh tenses up on its own, and with more force than I could account for, my leg - seemingly of its own volition - jettisoned me off the slipping right stirrup to the left instead, and I was able to tuck and roll into the scrub and land on the high side of the trail and not tumble to my doom down the ravine. I was bewildered, because I was completely unharmed, and on god, I swear I didn't know anything about how to actually tuck and roll. I'd been told how, but I'd never, ever had to do it before.

It wouldn't be until years later that I'd find out I have Dissociative Identity Disorder (Multiple Personalities) and one of my alter personalities took over and saved my life that day.

Because despite what movies like that bullshit Netflix trash "Splitter" would have you believe, DID can actually be pretty fucking amazing and save lives.

[revvethasmythh]

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!

[mr-stottlemonk]

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.