#excerpts from the rewrite

[myokk]

Her kisses were all-consuming and he felt his heart surrendering to her with every gentle nip, losing himself in the feeling of her. Her soft body pressing tightly against him, her breathy moans, the soft hair at the nape of her neck, her taste.

When Eloise finally pulled away from him, breathing heavily as their foreheads pressed together and their eyes locked, Sebastian was dazed and content and...happy. Merlin, he was so happy. Her cheeks were bright pink, and her lips were swollen and red and smiling up at him. His breath caught in his throat - he didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful as Eloise in that moment. Sebastian knew that he was grinning like a fool but he didn't care.

Happiness was bubbling up in his body and he was leaning down to kiss her again because it would never be enough and -

She started coughing.

Eloise abruptly pulled away from him, covering her mouth with her sleeve as she doubled over. A terrible, horrible, familiar wracking cough that Sebastian never thought he would hear again.

When she pulled her sleeve away from her mouth, there were little flecks of blood.

They both looked at each other in horror.

"Eloise..." he started, his voice cracking. The balloon of happiness that had filled him burst and he felt himself crashing back to the grim reality that had been his life for too long. Arms hanging limply at his sides. When his voice came out again, it was a whisper. He could barely choke the words out.

"...what did you do?"

their first kiss😇😇😇

[youssefguedira]

happy saturday everyone. had feelings earlier wrote this about it

When Nicolò is five years old, his sister gets married. It is, in Nicolò’s opinion, entirely unfair, because Lucia is his favourite person, and once she gets married she won’t live with him and their parents anymore, and Nicolò won’t get to crawl into her room when he has a nightmare, and she won’t tell him stories before he has to go to bed. They won't get to spend the evenings after she's finished with her chores in the hills, searching for treasure or the dragons that Nicolò's certain are hiding there, just out of sight. She’s promised to visit, but Nicolò wants her to stay.

So, naturally, on the day before the wedding, he is not speaking to her. The house is filled with family members and friends from the village making wedding preparations, anyway, so it is not difficult for him to sneak out of the house unnoticed, for his absence to go largely unremarked on until dinner, a fact which he knows perfectly well and takes full advantage of.

There's a small copse of trees clinging to the hill behind their house, and that's where he hides for most of the day. It's his favourite place in the world, but it's not the same by himself. Still, nobody comes looking for him here, not until Lucia comes up the hill as the sun is beginning to set, calling his name.

"Nico?"

He doesn't respond, dodges behind a tree instead. He doesn't want to go home yet.

"I know you're up here. It's time for dinner." She rounds the corner and spots him. "Let's go, Nico. Time to go home."

He shakes his head stubbornly and stays where he is. His mother always chides him for being stubborn as a mule, learned it from his father, she says.

Lucia sighs. "It's getting dark, Nico," she says, and then, warningly: "The dragons will be out soon, if you stay here too long."

The promise of the dragons – which seem much scarier now that the shadows are starting to lengthen, and he does not want to confront them as he has before – is enough to coax him from his hiding spot. Lucia offers him her hand, but he doesn't take it and walks past her instead.

Still, he is only five, so about a third of the way down the hill he tugs on Lucia's skirt like he always does when he gets tired, and she swings him up into her arms, letting him tuck his face against her shoulder. He doesn't realise until then how late it is, how sleepy he is, and almost drifts off right there, as she carries him back down the hill.

He eats dinner in near silence, which is not entirely unusual: his mother whispers to his father that he must be in one of his moods again. But Nicolò doesn't see how they're not upset – don't they want Lucia to stay?

He goes to bed not long after dinner, even though there are still wedding preparations going on in the house around him. His mother tucks him in, promises him that it's not the end of the world, Nico, you'll be okay.

Not long after his mother leaves, the door to his room creaks open, and he quickly pretends to be asleep, lying on his side with his back to the door and closing his eyes.

"Nicolò?" Lucia asks quietly. "Nico, are you awake?"

He hears her footsteps as she crosses the room, and then the creak of the bed frame as she perches on the edge of it. Her fingertips brush his shoulder. He rolls away, still pretending to be asleep, but not well enough to fool her. "Do you want a story?"

He doesn't answer.

She sighs. "Will you talk to me?"

Nicolò sits up then, pushing his covers aside. "I don't want you to go," he says, kneeling up and flinging his arms around her neck, burying his face in her shoulder. "Please don't go."

"Oh, Nico," she soothes, stroking his hair. "I won't be far away, and I promise to come visit as often as I can. And when you're older, you can come visit me and Giovanni, okay?"

"But it won't be the same," Nicolò sobs, his tears soaking through her dress. "Can I come with you?"

"No, piccolino." She pulls back and wipes at his tears with the sleeves of her dress. "Someone needs to stay here to help defend Mammà and Papà from the dragons in the hills, don't they? I can't think of anyone better."

Nicolò thinks about that for a moment. True, his parents can't stay here by themselves, but surely that's all the more reason for her to stay. When he says as much, she smiles sadly.

"You'll be okay by yourself. As long as you don't stay out after dark. And when I come to visit, you can tell me all about it, okay?" she offers, but Nicolò won't hear it.

"I don't understand why you have to go." It doesn't make any sense, rationally. Why would she ever want to leave?

"You'll understand someday," Lucia says. "I promise."

"Understand what?" Nicolò asks. It's something his parents say a lot – you'll understand when you're older, Nico – but they've been saying it to him ever since he was born, and he is older now, and he still doesn't understand, or even know what it is he's supposed to understand.

Lucia sighs again, brushes his hair back from his face. "I don't know how to explain it, Nico. Do you remember the story with the knight and the princess? How they fell in love?"

Nicolò scrunches up his nose. "Giovanni isn't a knight."

Lucia laughs at that, and he smiles along, even if he's not really sure why she's laughing. "Someday, you're going to find someone who loves you so, so much, Nico. I promise."

Nicolò's not sure about that, really, but he nods. And then he yawns so wide his eyes water, which makes Lucia laugh again and pull back the covers so he can climb back under them. When he tugs on her sleeve, she climbs in with him, lets him curl close to her side. Softly, with her hand carding gently through his hair, she begins to hum an old, familiar lullaby.

He breathes in, out, and falls asleep.

(He remembers her words a long, long time later, when he is much, much older, on a starry night in the garden of the house he and Yusuf built together. Yusuf's head is resting on his shoulder, where it has been for the past half hour or so. It's making Nicolò's shoulder ache just a little, but he doesn't dare move: Yusuf is almost asleep, and Nicolò doesn't want to disturb him. It's been a long, difficult year. Instead, he keeps him held close, running his hand over Yusuf's curls gently.

It feels like an age ago that Lucia got married, and he was very, very young then. But he thinks now, years and years later, that she was right.)

[m00n-pr1sm]

Amy Dunne Character Analysis

Disclaimer

This analysis will be of Amy’s character from both the book and the movie, although the 2014 movie adaption takes greater precedence with only some additional details and quotes included from the book as it does delve deeper into Amy’s psyche and add further characterization. Thus some traits may be accentuated further than they are in the movie, not being completely faithful to either story. It’s an analysis of Amy in her totality across mediums, of course being entirely my opinion. There are of course adaptational differences but I will not include the major ones from the books (ex. her relationship with Hillary Hand). This is an analysis focusing primarily on Amy’s neuroses she demonstrates and the childhood links to them, it doesn’t cover in-depth the events nor themes of Gone Girl.

Amy Elliott Dunne, the ever enigmatic dual protagonist- antagonist of Gone Girl is one of the most iconic female villains in modern memory, and one of the paragons of the “good for her” trope in media, is, frankly, one of my favorite characters of all time. As such I have been dying to write a full analysis examining her neuroses and characterization. Beneath the cultural perception of just another “crazy psycho” for girls to claim “she did no wrong” or “she just like me fr!”, lies a fascinating character who is masterfully written and developed by Gillian Flynn, as well as perfectly portrayed by Rosamund Pike. Amy Dunne is a character with a deep, complex psychology that I will do my best to thoroughly explore in this analysis.

From Amy’s childhood we first see the emergence of a literal high ego ideal, Amazing Amy. Of course this is the children’s book series created by her parents with a fictionalized version of Amy being the eponymous protagonist. This was a version of herself that rectified her own personal failures. Amazing Amy became a prodigy at cello, when Amy quit at 10, Amazing Amy made varsity volleyball, Amy got cut freshman year. Even in the (at time) final book in the series, Amazing Amy got married, a task Amy had not yet done. The entire book series revolved around Amy always making the most virtuous, the most selfless, the most perfect decisions.

>”With me, regular, flawed, real Amy, jealous, as always, of the golden child.”

An interesting detail in the book that is omitted from the movie is Marybeth’s numerous miscarriages and stillbirths (which totaled 7). All of these girls were named Hope, until Amy was born. Amy expresses her jealousy towards them, as they were always seen as perfect without ever living; meanwhile Amy herself has to live life everyday knowing that she will never truly live up to the Hopes. That she has to try everyday to be the best she can be. Her very birth was mired in the expectation of a perfect child; given that she was practically a gift from the heavens to her parents.

This sets up Amy’s perfectionism, as the childhood experience of never living up to a projected ideal led her to want to be perfect (and as we’ll later see, the expectation that everyone else is too), to live life always through the gaze of another. Evidently this leads to a loss of one’s inner essence, one’s individuality and sense of self.

>“-I’d never really felt like a person, because I was always a product” (Book Quote)

Amy’s obsession with personas can be seen as emerging from this, as she adapts a personality depending on who she’s interacting with, as to always be the most appealing she can, she is Amazing Amy after all.

>”I’m not sure, exactly, how to be Dead Amy. I’m trying to figure out what that means for me, what I become for the next few months. Anyone, I suppose, except people I’ve already been: Amazing Amy. Preppy ’80s Girl. Ultimate-Frisbee Granola and Blushing Ingenue and Witty Hepburnian Sophisticate. Brainy Ironic Girl and Boho Babe (the latest version of Frisbee Granola). Cool Girl and Loved Wife and Unloved Wife and Vengeful Scorned Wife. Diary Amy.” (Book Quote)

This general attitude leads to people trying to impress her as she places herself as someone special and especially someone to keep around. She entices both the characters and viewers of the film through her manufactured charisma and enchantment. However, we’ll see this dramatically backfire in her relationship with Nick, just you wait!

For now we can focus on the beginning of their relationship as well as what I believe to be Amy’s view on romance.

I believe that Amy has an impossibly high standard of love, one that stems from her perfectionism and general inability to let down her guise of being amazing. Not to mention how her parents were a perfect match, Amy even referring to them as soul-mates.

>”They have no harsh edges with each other, no spiny conflicts, they ride through life like conjoined jellyfish—expanding and contracting instinctively, filling each other’s spaces liquidly. Making it look easy, the soul-mate thing.” (Book Quote)

In her childhood it’s implied that she was into romance novels, specifically Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which obviously contributes to the idealization of romance, of a literal scripted love.

>”You were an alienated teen and only Elizabeth Bennet understood you”

I think this little quote is incredibly indicative; it establishes a sense of alienation, of Amy never quite fitting in and blending with others.

>”So many lessons and opportunities and advantages, and they never taught me how to be happy. I remember always being baffled by other children. I would be at a birthday party and watch the other kids giggling and making faces, and I would try to do that too, but I wouldn’t understand why. I would sit there with the tight elastic thread of the birthday hat parting the pudge of my underchin, with the grainy frosting of the cake bluing my teeth, and I would try to figure out why it was fun.” (Book Quote)

Back to the topic of romance, through these stories it allowed her to imagine her perfect romance: if Amy could find that one person that truly understood her, beyond the illusion, that then would constitute a perfect union of love. She does deep down (whether consciously or not) want to be loved for who she is; not the idealized, palatable, literal marketed version of herself. Thus she holds trust as a premium, expecting that if she does the Herculean task of unspooling and revealing herself to another, that the other person would love her no matter what.

>”Can you imagine, finally showing your true self to your spouse, your soul mate, and having him not like you?” (Book Quote)

However all of this culminates in an impossibly high standard of a lover, of a practically divine mythical love; where one loves totally and absolutely. Of course where this neurosis is most demonstrated is in Nick and Amy’s relationship.

Amy comments that after meeting Nick she finally felt like a person as he brought out a side of herself that hadn’t been seen, in her own words “a lightness and an ease”, something that Amy enjoyed. In her eyes they had the perfect relationship in the beginning, Nick was her compliment with the witty banter, with their inside jokes, and charm.

However this doesn’t just vanquish her childhood neuroses, through her desire to be seen as perfect, she modifies herself to be a “cool girl” for Nick, complying endlessly to standards to maintain this perception.

>” When I met Nick Dunne, I knew he wanted a cool girl and for him, I’ll admit, I was willing to try.”

Amy essentially became Nick’s image of a perfect girl, witty, fun, and most of all easy-going and forgiving.

Yet one cannot live forever in images and ideas; and as such, the real, true Amy emerged. The Amy that cares too much, that’s hard to get along with, that is a controlling perfectionist. She also tests Nick through the treasure hunts, weaving in little details about their relationship as to challenge Nick and hope that he remembers the things they do together as deeply as she does. Combined with the 2008 recession and declining health of Nick’s mother (the consequences of which will be explored later). As well as Nick’s growing dissatisfaction in the relationship (evidenced by his worsening performances in the treasure hunts, the cheating, using her for sex and ignoring her otherwise, etc). The illusion both Nick and Amy were living in crumbled; they couldn’t possibly sustain their relationship as they were both striving to fulfill reciprocating images for the other.

One of the biggest parts of her character is Amy’s elitism and entitlement, in which she thinks of herself as someone superior, someone that deserves to be loved absolutely for who she is, although only to people she considers worthy.

>”She’s easy to like. I’ve never understood why that’s considered a compliment—that just anyone could like you.” (Book Quote)

Once again this stems from her childhood, in a seemingly contradictory way, she also sees herself as special for being the one that survived from her mother’s attempts, as well as the fact that her birth was so tumultuous that she would be an only child. From this also stems her entitlement for love.

Amy actively looks down upon women she considers “average”, whom she sees as coming from mediocrity and continuously perpetuating that in their lives. She scoffs at them with her wealthy parents and NYC background until her marriage with Nick crumbles. Only then does she realize that she’s become the very woman she would previously disdain. A woman with a failing marriage, the loss of her previous wealth following the recession, and moving to a failed development in Missouri (What the hell’s in Missouri?) for Nick’s mother.

I truly believe this, combined with Nick’s infidelity, and most importantly the loss of her idyllic love culminated in the iconic Gone Girl plan.

>”Nick took and took from me until I no longer existed, that’s murder. Let the punishment fit the crime”.

Nick took Amy’s identity, her sense of self that she so generously revealed to him and rejected her. Implying that she would only be loved if played the role of the “cool girl”; stripping her of who she really was, losing herself in yet another persona. Although Amy admits she doesn’t really have a personality and lives through personas, she still has a semblance of self that she holds dear.

>”-made me realize that there was a Real Amy in there, and she was so much better, more interesting and complicated and challenging, than Cool Amy”. (Book Quote)

Worse yet, Nick had cheated on her with a “newer, younger, bouncer Cool Girl”, leaving Amy in the dust, surely damaging her pride.

But Amy truly fell in love with her idealized version of Nick, believing that she was responsible for shaping that version of Nick. That she deserved that man in his entirety, of course what gets Amy to come back to Nick is the Sharon Scheiber interview, in which he promises to make up with Amy in just the way that makes her think that Nick is the one person who gets her. He makes the little references to their inside jokes (2 fingers on the chin when they’re not bullshitting the other) and a reference to the end of the treasure hunt (always a contentious issue in their relationship). She’s reminded of who he was, that he was once perfect for her, who else could know how to appeal to her heart in just the right way? With the same passion and conviction she reverses the judgment on Nick, clawing her way back to him. She does so in an especially brutal manner, slashing Desi’s throat with a boxcutter right after he climaxes. Putting aside my enormous personal bias against Desi, he was technically an innocent man, taking a great risk in sheltering Amy. However it’s clear that Amy sees him as merely an asset and something to be disposed of once he serves his value, as another prop in her ever evolving masterplan; she did string him along for years through their letter correspondences. He was just another casualty in Amy’s search for idyllic love. She comes back dramatically, literally falling into Nick’s arms while still covered in Desi’s blood like a dress; fabricating an elaborate story about a love obsessed former boyfriend kidnapping and violating her. Despite the glaring holes in her whole story (If Amy’s marriage was as bad as she made it out to be, why did she go back to Nick so easily? How did she get access to a knife and kill him so seamlessly? Why didn’t Amy do anything when she discovered the stuff in Margo’s shed? etc), law enforcement, media, and the public all fully believe it, infatuated with the persona and narrative that Amy’s created for herself. In the end she traps Nick into the marriage and eventually, the family. The last shot of the film is a haunting recall to the beginning shot of the film, as Amy has both revealed and secured herself to be the master of the narrative, finally obtaining her perfect love, no matter what the cost may have been.

Conclusion

Through a constant demand in Amy’s childhood emerges a need for perfection, simultaneously bringing about a sense of superiority and entitlement. The use of personas and façades facilitate this, painting Amy as the most amazing cool girl for whomever she’s performing for, to feed her need to be seen as perfect and desirable. Yet there emerges a psychological detachment from others; as the need to perform inevitably leads to an internal hollowness. However underneath all these layers there also lies the true Amy who has the deep unconscious desire of wanting to be loved absolutely, to have a perfect union of love where she can reveal herself fully and be loved for who she is truly.

>disclaimer for tumblr lol, this is not me trying to claim Amy was innocent I am fully aware that she’s a terribly entitled and narcissistic person but she can still be complex and have relatable desires & be a person even if she’s massively fucked up!!

[diddlesanddoodles]

As a small thank you to everyone who has ever read or suported me or my work, I'd like to present a small snippet from the Dumpling rewrite.

"The Uphill River"

An Excerpt from Chapter 7

She had wondered all day where her shoes had gotten to, but she could not care less of the worn slippers. Though the parchment map was mostly intact, the ink was terribly faded and there was a large rip in the corner that extended through the blackwoods and several of the small town names were completly illegible. Clearly it had been washed with her clothes.

Nenani stared miserbly and could feel all hope of finding her uncle slipping through her fingers. She laid it flat onto the table with trembling hands and pointed to where the Daehil-Nenani river began its winding path southward. “I was going here…to Creekbend. A-and then…I was gonna go and maybe look around… these towns.”

Farris hummed as he leaned over her, looking at the map. He frowned. “I’m afraid yer map’s no good, lil’un.”

“No, it’s fine. I can still read most of it.” It was hard to tell if she was trying to convince Farris or herself.

“Not what I meant,” he said and swept a finger across the tiny map. “Those little towns there at the base of the Blackwood? Those were all raided and destroyed during the war. None of them exist anymore.”

“W-what?” She wheeled on him. “No! Why? What?”

“Nethrin burned every one of those lil' towns to the ground. If there’s anyone there now, ye want nothing to do with them. It’s not a place for a lil’ girl to be wandering around by herself.”

Nenani continued to stare unblinking at the map, feeling her insides pull and push with growing nausea. “But she said that’s where he would be,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “She said…”

“Who said?”

“…the witch.”

“Witch?” Farris asked, eyes narrowing. “What witch?”

“The bone witch. She…she said he went north and he was waiting for me to find him,” Nenani starred at the map as the features blurred behind the gathering tears.

“Bone witch?” he repeated with growing incredulity. “Ye mean to tell me that ye risked yer damn life on nothing but the words of some raging nutter off her head waving pig bones at ye?”

His words hurt more than anything as she came to the slow horrible realization of just how true they were. She had been so desperate for anything that would lead her to Halden, that she would have willfully believed anything. Halden was her last connection to her family and happier times. But he could be anywhere in the world.

“She tricked me,” Nenani said after a long silence. She wiped at her wet cheeks. Her throat ached and the words felt too heavy to push passed her lips. “I was just trying to find him. He promised. He promised me he would come back…but he never did. He promised me.” Her hands clenched and the parchment beneath her fingers crumbled. She had been such a fool. And now she was leagues away from anywhere close to familiar, alone, and at the mercy of a giant from whom she had stolen from. It was the cruelest of jokes and she cursed whichever gods were laughing at her misery. She sucked in a shuddering breath and lifted her head to meet Farris’s hard gaze. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Please believe me.”

Farris pursed his lips as though holding back what he truly wished to say. Instead, he idly swirled the hot tea in his cup and took the human sized one into his palm. With surprising deftness, he tipped some of the steaming liquid into it without spilling a drop. “I believe ye, Dumplin’,” he said gently and held out to her. “Drink. It’ll help.”

She didn’t bother questioning him and simply took the cup, mechanically raising it to her lips and taking the tiniest of sips. She reared back with a grimace. “Ugh! Oh, what is this?”

With a suppressed grin, Farris shrugged and took a drink from his own cup. “Tea.”

She stared at the dark liquid with uncertainty. It was sour and heavily medicinal and though it did not carry the pungent and bitter quality of pure cayne leaf he'd fed her before, it was not very pleasant. And was oddly minty.

“Honey helps,” Farris remarked with a chuckle and went to fetch some. “Have to make it sweet for the brat too just to get him to take it at all. I suppose ye’ll be much the same.”

Honey did help somewhat, but not enough to entice her to try for another sip. Farris did not seem to have any sort of objection to the taste and drank his as easily as if it plain water. With her cup still mostly full, Nenani gazed woefully up at him. “Do…do I have to drink it all?”

She had expected him to growl at her, but he just nudged her shoulder gently with a knuckle. “It helps settle a fidgety mind.”

“I don’t have a fidgety mind.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Dumplin’, everything about ye is fidgety. Drink.” She could not bring herself to drink anymore and just stared down at it glumly, tipping the cup this way and that. Farris frowned and sighed through his nose. “Tell ye what. I know the head of a collection of human villages not too far from here. They get their fair share of wayward wanderers and lost souls. I’ll send him a letter asking if he might know of this uncle of yer’s. If he’s been by this way within the last year or so, Gregis would be the one to know. Might even be able to tell us where he is.”

Nenani nearly dropped the cup as she scrambled to her feet clumsily with wide hopeful eyes. “What? You do? Where? When? Can you send the letter now? Can we go there?”

Nenani’s mind raced and she started to look around for a way down off the table; filled with undirected energy and still clutching the cup of tea in both hands. “I know my letters, I can help write it too!”

Two calloused hands reached out to hold her bodily in place and she began to push against them, but stopped when she caught sight of Farris’s stern expression.

“Fidgety,” he said pointedly.

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: writing writing writing

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Futures | BODY BACK

As Harrison mentally connects the umber flecks of Jeremiah’s eyes like they’re constellations, he imagines a future where he follows him to Maryland.

He could take the first leg of the trip, tune the radio to throwbacks, belt Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer in a Burger King drive-thru just to make Jeremiah laugh. They could rest at a motel similar to Greta—the same stuffy wallpaper, the same berber carpet. Surprise each other the next morning with bagels from the bakery a block away. Go crabbing at Point Lookout on their first weekend in the state. Pose next to each other with their catch for a photo snapped by a stranger.

Jeremiah might even invite him to his grandmother’s birthday party, introduce him to an aunt as his boyfriend. They’d link arms the entire night, feed each other spoons of sherry trifle. Harrison could bond with a cousin over their shared interests in bushcraft forts and Neo-Dada art. Jeremiah’s mother would invite them berry picking the next weekend, serve blueberry buckle after Sunday mass, everyone still suited and skirted around the kitchen table. Harrison could cameo in their Christmas card photo. Spend the next year’s labour day weekend at a lakeside cottage. Grill chicken thighs with Jeremiah’s father. Play Marco Polo with his younger brother. It’d all feel like an airy vacation.

today's excerpt. specifically to hurt the jeremiah boys. <3

[rai-knightshade-art]

"I think I've seen this film before--(and I didn't like the ending)..."

There's heartbreak, on her face, in her eyes that are already watering. (Your mind, unbidden, juxtaposes a memory over this moment; a different girl, a different apartment in a different city, long brown waves instead of short golden curls, thin, graceful limbs instead of sturdier, softer ones, a strong, proud nose over a small, delicately upturned one; but the expression is the same, a fate you can't seem to escape--) And suddenly, you already know what she's going to say.

...

Instinctively, you try to fight her again, insist that you'd be fine, you'd have her-- (But you've been here before; you know how this goes.)

>excerpt from Chapter 1 of these hands had to let it go free and-- (This Love came back to me)

Drawtober (Taylor's Version) Catch-Up Post: Day 16 (Exile)

@taylortober

(Close-ups below the cut, Image ID in Alt Text)

[bikananjarrus]

kinda want to post an excerpt from the elzar grief fic though......

[aparticularbandit]

Current WIP Wednesday prompts count:

immortal witch riding hood: 8

dr1 end rewrite: 6

[altfire-archive]

i havent written anything since insult and injury (save for some pkmn drabbles that r just for me) and ugh i miss writing. but i have No inspiration

[aparticularbandit]

WOO WIP WEDNESDAY!

....

You get two files this week because, despite the fact that I definitely have other projects I should be writing on, I really want to maintain progress on one and the other (a new one this time!) is...basically the sole thing I've been writing the past, uh, week or so. And I really don't want to add anything else right now!

So!

File Names:

immortal witch riding hood

junko stays dr1 end rewrite

Snippet from the dr1 end rewrite below the cut!

Notably, there is a brief – very brief – period of time where Junko seems to disappear, and when Kyoko calls her out for it, the only reply she gets is, “Kyokyo wants to see me change?  Oh, what a perverted mind Kyokyo has!  Puhuhuhuhu!~” at which point, Kyoko can no longer suppress the groan she feels like she’s been holding all day.  (This is met with another Puhuhuhu!~ which. is equally uncomforting.  But she tries not to focus on that.)

Eventually, though, the announcements are off (to the best of Kyoko’s ability) and Junko has changed into—

“The Ultimate Fashionista wears sweats?”

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, let me know!

Friends @fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin | Requests @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes @1attheedge

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

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You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace. 

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully. 

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed. 

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house. 

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being. 

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service. 

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.” 

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him. 

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

 Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” 

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” 

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours. 

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” 

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in. 

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing. 

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?” 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked. 

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it. 

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff. 

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him. 

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam. 

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house. 

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested. 

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor. 

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you. 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook. 

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?” 

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?” 

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.” 

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him. 

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly. 

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully. 

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile. 

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it. 

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones. 

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted. 

“Um, weird question,” you started. 

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk. 

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun. 

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats. 

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.  

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.” 

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?” 

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said. 

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him. 

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled. 

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room. 

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said. 

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver. 

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition. 

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.  

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing. 

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up. 

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car. 

“We could stay,” Dean suggested. 

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

[sirensplayhouse]

REVISION 101

now as we’re all aware revision has become quite the popular topic in the loass community as of late. for why ? I have no idea, but just like everything else y’all are confusing the everlasting hell out of it and each other. so sit back and relax because class is back in session with your favorite sirengodmother 🤝🏾

re·vi·sion (/rəˈviZH(ə)n/)

noun

the act of revising; the act of changing or correcting something, or the thing that has been changed or corrected

y’all know how if you bombed a test or assignment you’d be given the chance to revise it after school or sumn ? yea 🤝🏾

“Changing your life means changing the past. The causes of any present evil are the unrevised scenes of the past.” - Neville Goddard excerpt from ‘The Law and the Promise’

y’all seem to have this deep rooted belief that revision is anything but natural when in fact it is completely 100% natural. when you revise your going back into your imagination and rewriting how you want things to be.

y’all also seem to believe that manifesting presently and revising are on two different levels, and I’m here to tell you it’s not✋🏾

ok so siren since you’re saying all of this and it’s going in one ear and out the other , how do I revise ?

well glad you asked🤭revising is no different than manifesting in the present. (nie reread that until it’s engraved 🙂) the same way you’d affirm/visualize or do whatever that helps you manifest you can do it to revise. remember it all starts within you, in your wonderful human imagination

the past is never and will never be set in stone you can literally revise whatever you see fit.

success stories you might not think have anything to do with revision but they do

• diploma

• revision success stories

• revised parents

• revised never having an infection

• revised exams

• eye color change

•job

• appearance

• body change

• revised the date

• revised a death / another one

• parents

• another razzle dazzle

now there are some success stories missing I know someone asked me to tag revising a birthday and that’s somewhere on my page deep in the archives🧍🏾‍♀️

ok so you wanna revise/manifest your dream life ? lol what’s stopping you then ? revising that you’ve always lived your dream life is nothing hard. however you choose to manifest whether it’s through affirming, visualizing, scripting, etc, doesn’t matter.

if you’re using affs affirm in the past tense “ I have been living my dream life (for however long)”, “I manifested my dream life (so and so long ago)” , “ I have always had my db/df (or whatever your manifesting / revising”

if you’re visualizing then visualize a scene in where the past has been rewritten to what you want it to be. Neville in ‘The Law and the Promise’ spoke of a woman who revised a life long back injury that she had endured, simply by visualizing herself back in the past and revising the events that caused her injury.

“To revise the past is to re-construct it with new content. Man should daily relive the day as he wished he had lived it, revising the scenes to make them conform to his ideals. For instance, suppose today's mail brought disappointing news. Revise the letter. Mentally rewrite it and make it conform to the news you wish you had received. Then, in imagination, read the revised letter over and over again and this will arouse the feeling of naturalness; and imaginal acts become facts as soon as we feel natural in the act. This is the essence of revision and revision results in repeal.” - Neville Goddard

when you’re revising something you’ll have all the memories of it and the experience. for example I revised always having my back dimples pierced, and when I woke up the next morning I saw them. I had all the memories of going to get them done and I remembered how it felt to get them done.

some anon knowledge for y’all

also for the girlies that want to manifest always living (ie; revising😑) their dream life and manifest never manifesting it ? pleaseeeee 😭yes it’s possible but like I said that’s literally revision

now that we got all of that cleared😮‍💨I sincerely hope (and I’m manifesting strongly) that everyone who was confused about revision or had reserves about it completely understood /understands everything I’ve written here. because idk how many more revision questions I can take🫠

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: hoping to have all the fic revisions up by saturday (long shot tbh) or wednesday!

[signed-sapphire]

Doing this as well bc I’m bored lol

Original line:

I didn’t dare to hope. Even if he was some ancient Emperor returned, who was to say he was a hero?

Line in my voice:

I was beaten and stepped on by nobles so much that I was just waiting to be pushed down into hell one day. Yesterday, a young man on a horse rode in breathless, proclaiming the arrival of ancient emperor, the chosen heir who would bring freedom to his people.

Yeah. Right. I’ve heard it before. Gotten my spark rekindled in hopes that this mighty savior would take it. That they would use it to burn down the society that treats people like pigs.

Each time it’s stomped out, it’s harder to make it come back. I wasn’t going to waste my last will to live on some preachy man with empty promises who thought he was special. Who even knew if he would be on our side?

Now, your turn!

I flinched at my own reflection. Dark, cold eyes stared back at me. “You look beautiful,” she smiled. She smiled at me like I was something proud, something triumphant, like there was something in me worth looking for.

I told her to knock it off.

Ahhhh I need to work on shortening my writing… welp.

@annymation specifically for you bc you’re an amazing author and don’t get a chance to do writing exchanges too much! Anyone else is welcome to join as well!

Last Line Rewrite

Thanks to @modernwritercraft for starting this tag up! This is basically a "draw it in your style" but for writers, where you reweite the last line in your style!

I got the line:

She's currently busy arranging a bouquet, deliberately picking each flower she wants in the new arrangement.

And wrote it as:

She rearranges a bouquet like it's the only bouquet in the world. Daffodils. Lillies. And springs of dried cardomum, even though it's out of season. A twine of baby's breath too. Each flower is bespoke -- no other arrangement in the shop matches.

Now, for YOU, try rewriting:

I didn’t dare to hope. Even if he was some ancient Emperor returned, who was to say he was a hero?

...in YOUR writerly voice!

Gently tagging @cee-grice, @winterandwords, @zebee-nyx, @moondust-bard, @moonfeatherblue, and @maiemorrae AND back-tagging @modernwritercraft to participate, since it's been a bit since your first post! But open tag to anyone else who wants to take a crack at it or add their own lines to the pool!

[albatris]

today's natnowrimo word count is 15,431!

finished my rewrite of ch. 22 and I'm officially Sick Of It. but that's fine because it's DONE

I'm back in melb today and very very tired, I hope you're all doing good

today's mood is one of the tastiest burritos I've ever had and today's jam is "rowena" by minimall

today's excerpt is,

His relationship with Ripley wasn't based on need, only want. Sure, they were both apparently friendless losers aside from each other, and it could be argued they needed each other in that way, but he needed needed Quinn. Properly. Quinn was indispensable to him.

Nat thought about switching the heat lamps on and curling up under a blanket, then stubbornly decided he didn't deserve it. Instead he bunched the lamps up in the corner of his living room and sat down on the floor to dangle some ribbons for Grub.

His survival depended on this: he had to make it up to Quinn. He needed them to like him, to want to keep him around.

Nat paused. No, want was too weak of a word.

He needed them, and on God, he'd make them need him, too.