i have stories left to tell

Dialogue Prompts

1) “It’s okay, I’ll catch you!” 

2) “Did you ever find your mom?” “Yeah.” “That’s good then!” “I found her dead.” 

3) “Open the door!” 

4) “I found out why he left.” 

5) “This will always be your home. Do you understand me? Always.” 

6) “I love you.” “Oh …” “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.” “Wait! You didn’t give me a chance to answer.” 

7) “Why are you late?” “Got lost. Had to battle a dragon.” 

8) “Do think think they’ll come back for us?” 

9) “Tell me the truth. Did you ever really love me?” 

10) “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “You’ve said that before. I don’t know if I can trust your word anymore.” 

11) “I just wanted to go home.” “So why didn’t you?” “My home burnt to the ground. Three days after I left. I didn’t know until yesterday.” 

12) “You promised …” 

13) “Don’t. This is my fault. I never should’ve trusted you.” 

14) “What’s your name?” “My mommy said I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers.” “I’m not a stranger. I’m your brother.” 

15) “Did you see that?” 

16) “I was going to try to surprise you.” “Well … I mean it’s a surprise, alright.” 

17) “What happened to you?” “I’m so sorry. I was just trying to fix everything. I didn’t mean for this to happen …” 

18) “What’s that? Why is the sky like that?” “What? Have you never seen a sunset before?” 

19) “I don’t know what happened. One second I was tightening a screw the next it blew up and threw me across the room!” 

20) “Have you heard the news?” 

author-artist-lame-buds  asked:

Hey, I'm currently writing a book, I'm on my first draft and I definitely have room to improve, one of my main problems is that i have a character who has kindness being a pretty pivotal point in the story. Like people that others avoid or are scared of she doesnt have a problem with. When her mother told her she had a monster under her bed (she didn't actually) she left him food and blankets? So yea how do I explain her kindness without seeming boring or stereotypical

Wow that’s adorable XD Okay, so almost a sense of irrevocable kindness? That’s very sweet! When writing a character like this, it might be more helpful to write in third person, so to tell the reader this directly, but it sounds as if you’ve already started writing!

I have a few ideas of how you might be able to present her kindness, but bare with me:

Keep reading

I see your Poe Dameron admiring the hell out of Cassian Andor headcanons and love them, but raise you this: Poe telling Finn stories during his recovery about Bodhi Rook, a “nobody” Imperial cargo pilot who risked his life and left his probably relatively safe life to deliver a message that would change the tide of the rebellion and war against the Empire, a man who could have kept living his life none the wiser, but opened his eyes to the horror of the Empire and, even though he didn’t think he was brave enough, had a heart so big that he walked out on his own to brave the unknown and shape history. And Finn, who has struggled with his own fear and sense of self, realizes that he isn’t alone - that there was someone like him in the old Rebellion - and there is hope.

If I could tell you one thing, one thing to make you understand life just a little bit better, it would be that everyone leaves.
People are temporary and people say pain is only temporary but pain is not temporary because people leave.
They leave you with nothing.
You have no one and nothing but yourself.
Yourself, who doesn’t know left from right or up from down.
You have to learn to live with yourself.
And life isn’t fair. It never has been, it never will be.
Because people make life unfair.
People are only people. After all, you are a person yourself.
But sometimes, yourself leaves you too. And you have to figure out who you are because you don’t know what’s happening anymore.
People leave.
People change.
People. Are. Only. Temporary.
—  I don’t know who I am anymore.

yes, our story could have been

beautiful if we had just


but we didn’t. 

we won’t be telling this story to our seven

grandchildren sixty years from now.

this is probably not the type of story you’d

tell to children.

this is probably the type of story you’d tell at

an A.A meeting ten years from now when

they ask you how you started.

And you would tell them about me 

and how my hands burned

right through your chest the very first time

i touched you.

and you’d tell them that liquor 

cools the burns i left.

that nothing burns nearly as badly as

my words did the day you

started swallowing them. 

i really meant all of those apologies.

i’m sorry they got caught

on the way down your throat.

i’m sorry about the burns.

i wasn’t always like this.

You’ll know because he won’t mind that your texts are always a little too long and your laugh is always a little too loud and your eyes squint different shapes when you smile. You’ll know because he’ll ask you about your favorite bookstores and if you’re close with your siblings rather than whether or not you’re a virgin. You’ll know because he’ll tell you what he wants to name his kids and how much he wants to be a good dad. You’ll know because he says “I love you” using so many different words; “Are you okay?” “How’s your day going?” “I have a story that I’ve been dying to tell you.” You’ll know because you’ll want him to know every part of you, you’ll want to explore every crevice of your past with him, even the bad parts, because you want him to be able to love you for the scars on your inner thighs as well as the scars on your heart where others left cracks. You’ll know because one day you’ll wake up and realize that loving him has made you love yourself a little bit more.
—  When Did You Realize You Love Him?
Lip x Reader (Requested)

Being married to Lip and having a daughter

“WHERE THE HELL IS LIP” you yelled for the fifth time. The pain was unbereable, you were like that for almost four hours.

“Don’t worry (Y/N). I’m sure he’s almost here” said Fiona trying to calm you, but it wasn’t working to much.

You pushed one, two, three times and it didn’t finish, you felt like you were about to pass out when someone grabbed your left hand. It was Lip.

“Where the hell were you Lip?” you tried to say.

“I’m sorry it’s a long story I’ll tell you later about it” he kissed your forehead giving you the strenght you needed for one last push.




4 months later

The sound of your baby crying woke you up, it was the third time that night and you were to tired to moved.

“Lip” you called him, but he was deepely asleep.”Lip for god’s sake it’s your turn” this time you hit him with the pillow waking him up.

“I’m coming…” he said, but he fell asleep again in one second.

“If I didn’t love you…” as quickly as your body let you, you went to your daughter’s bethroom and tried to calm her down, but nothing seemed to work. “Come here princess. It’s OK come on.” you picked her up and went downstairs to do the only thing that made her stop crying. “Where’s Tinkerbell?” you looked for the movie, but you couldn’t find it.

The baby kept crying and crying making you want to cry.

How is it possible that he’s still able to sleep with all the noise?” you asked yourself thinking about Lip’s lazy ass.

“Here it is!”

The next morning when Lip didn’t find you sleeping in the bed he went to the baby’s room, but you weren’t there either, so he went downstairs and found you both sleeping in the couch with the Tinkerbell movie still on.

For: anon

Here it is! I’m glad you liked the last one and I hope you like this one too.

I have to say that it is a surprise that I get so many Lip requests, I didn’t know he was this popular 

See you! Bye-bye <3

ok, i have to tell this story. so a year or two ago, i decided to tell the story of the Phantom of the Opera to a couple of my younger siblings. (they were maybe, 7 and 9?) we made it a bedtime tradition. they would all get into bed in their shared bedroom and i’d sit on a chair in the corner and pick up where we’d left off the night before. the book itself was a little past their comprehension, so instead of reading it i’d relate it, act it out sometimes, do voices, answer their questions,, made it easy to understand. it was a great time. ghost bedtime stories.

anyway, there came the night when we finally finished the story. christine and raoul had moved away from paris, and the author knew no more of them.  we sat in silence a little while, then my 9yo brother, lying in bed, said slowly, “…reyna… i’m imagining when i’m older.. and i’ve got a job mowing lawns. and i’ll go out and knock on people’s doors and ask them if i can mow their lawn? …and one day i’ll knock on the door of a house, and a lady will open the door.. and i’ll say, ‘wait, are you christine daae?’ and she’ll say, ‘why yes i am, we moved here.’ and then a man that’s shorter than her will come up from behind her and say, ‘and i’m raoul daae’”

…and i was just.. trying not to laugh but these are the things he never questioned once: a) that raoul is shorter than christine, and b) when they get married he takes her last name. yes, little brother. what a perceptive imagination, it does not lie to you. good night. that was the sweetest thing you ever said.

the go-between

the boy, who looks all soft & angel,
doesn’t make it out alive.

the volcano gets him. a sudden
hurricane. he’s swallowed by quicksand
or other untimely acts of god.

i have to tell you that before everything,
before i let you know that his left
hand is larger than his right,

or how he counts among everything
insects as wonderful things with

before i tell you about the music,
his quiet stories about his dad’s
brown guitar, you have to know first
that he dies.

when he dies it’ll be his eyes we
notice, the way they shutter suddenly
like the blinds on a broken window of
an abandoned house.


“I HAVE NO HANDS! I CANT EVEN TAKE A PISS BY MYSELF!” Jimmy screamed at you, Elsa, and Maggie.

Elsa yelled right back. Trying to be motivational with a hint of “shut up, Jimmy and listen” in her voice. She left the tent after trying to justify all Maggie has done by telling the few good things she’s done. Jimmy just glared at her and Elsa not saying a word.

Once a few seconds had passed after Elsa left the tent you snatched the medical box from Maggie’s hands.

“Get out,” you said not even looking at her as you say on the bed next to Jimmy.

“But I want to help,” she quickly said defensively.

“Yeah I think you’ve helped enough,” you retorted sourly.

She just looked at Jimmy, who turned his head away in disgust. She held her mouth open trying to find her words but all that came out were embarrassed sounds and desperate squeaks.

“Get out!” You said sternly.

All she could do was tear up and walk out.

You watched her leave then you turned to Jimmy. He moved his head to meet your eyes and gave you a small pained smile. You opened the medical box in your lap and retrieved the scissors and clean gauze. You placed a cool washcloth you had brought on his forehead to help calm him down. You stroked his cheek gently and gave him a reassuring smile.

“This is going to hurt, Jimmy. I’m sorry,” you say as you begin to cut his dirty bandages. He grunted and cried out as the bloody cloth unstuck from his bloody stitches.

Once you had finished redoing his bandages you wiped away his tears and laid a light kiss on his lips. You pulled back and he looked deep into your eyes.

“We can still leave you know,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You and me. We can leave, still have a normal life. I want that (Y/N).”

“I promise we will. Eventually. But right now I’m taking care of you. Because you’ve spent so long taking care of me.”


anon suggested: “First date”!

That just really left me with a lot of interpretation so I assume it’s just them on their first date? I’m imagining Tweek n Craig just trying a lot of couple stuff on their first real date but it’s just a mess lol

embarrassed craig for life



His voice startled her awake. She yawned quietly as she rolled over and blinked sleepily up at him. When her eyes finally focused she frowned. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, scrubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“You said we should talk,” he murmured, pulling her against his side.

Ryleigh glanced up at the window. The sky was a dusky peach colour; sunrise. “What time is it?”

“Still early,” he quickly glanced at the window himself. “But if we don’t do this now, I might not have to courage to do it later.”

“Courage to do what?” she frowned at him.

“Answer the question you’ve been wanting to ask since we left Windenburg,” he turned from the window to stare at her. “The question that’s been on your mind since Aaliyah told you it wasn’t her story to tell.”

“You overheard that?” Ryleigh grimaced.

Salim chuckled quietly. “I was in the room next door Ryles, not miles away, and the two of you weren’t exactly whispering.”

“I’m sorry,” she ducked her head down and rested her cheek against his chest.

“Don’t be,” he chuckled again. “Considering how I reacted I’m not surprised at all that you had questions and I should tell you—”

“You don’t have to,” she cut him off quickly, raising herself up on her elbow to look down at him. “Really, if you don’t want to tell me I understand.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You told me about your past, it’s only fair. And … I always want to be truthful with you … you deserve to know.”

Ryleigh nodded and lowered herself back down to rest her head on his arm and waited. He was quiet for so long that she’d begun to drift off and he startled her again when he started to speak.

“I guess it all started with her…”

Hi I know we are all in a shitty place right now after this fuckery of a season finale but I still believe in johnlock and tjlc. I know this fandom posts amazing and brilliant meta and that’s why I’m coming to you b/c I don’t know who else to turn to. So I’m hoping you all can shed some light on this w/ anyone who’ll listen b/c I’m not giving up.

I refuse to believe that this is it. I’m still bitter af about how they left us queer baited but I have a theory. You may recognize this as a 5 year old theory but I think we are reliving Reichenbach in real time. “I’m a fake” Mofftiss completely fucked us over w/ loose ends and plot holes which we all believed made this season surreal. “The papers were right all along” they kept insisting johnlock wasn’t the story they wanted to tell but look at everything we came up w/ throughout the past three years it’s all obvious that they’re in love and it’s the way the narrative should go we aren’t making this up! “It’s my note” they leave us in disbelief that this is it. This is what we’re getting and there’s nothing we can do to save johnlock from being explicit. Like John couldn’t save Sherlock from the fall. Don’t you see? We as the fandom are John. We believe in the amazing genius that is Mofftiss (Sherlock). Guys they’re playing w/ our heads “can’t you see what’s going on?!”

We are begging them for one more miracle “don’t be dead” don’t let this ambiguity be the reality. So we relive Reichenbach all over again waiting for Mofftiss to return w/ s5 and show us how it was really done. What really happened. We truly are the fandom that waited and it’ll be painful but we can pull through. We’ve done it once and we’ll do it again.

The game is never over.

me, openly sobbing: It’s just not fair that Jasper’s still corrupted, you know? She’s been through so much and she’s been alone for so long! I think it all started when she fell into that hole, you know, on Mask Island? Maybe if the Gems had held onto her the way they held onto Lapis, they could have taken Jasper to the barn, talked to her, reasoned with her… Steven could have learned Jasper’s side of the story and worked things out! But instead Jasper had to struggle on her own, no support system, no help! She was so alone that she returned to her birthplace and tried to LITERALLY fill in the holes that her sisters left behind. It was all a huge metaphor for how isolated and desperate Jasper has become, and Steven still didn’t reach out to her until the last possible second! Tell me, what am I supposed to take away from that? What grand lesson was the Crewniverse trying to teach?

pizza delivery guy: I don’t know, but… Your total is $19.35…

It all started with a simple nosebleed, my mother said that I’ve just been drinking too much soda. She’s always right, so I shrugged it off. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Something is wrong with me. You never think about death until it’s peeling the inside layers of your skin and you can feel the small flame called life fade into ashes left by a chain smoker who doesn’t know when to quit. I don’t do much, hell. I can barely keep my grades up. I don’t have much friends, maybe no one will miss me anyway. I woke up and looked into the mirror. Who is this person? I’ve lost so much weight. Mama says I haven’t been eating right. The doctor tells me a different story. A blank facial expression turned into a poem you’d only find on tumblr for sad kids who can’t get rid of feelings that stick like old gum under high school desks. Decades in and you’re still a mess. Living your early twenties like an old soul who has had enough of everything– I’ve still got a few sparks left in me. So I asked him for a poem and he answers. Every time, he answers. He says that when the sky is heavy and the rain is light– you can tilt the moon at a certain angle to see a glimpse of sunlight. He calls me reflected moonlight and he still writes me to sleep. I don’t answer anymore and I’m just trying to answer prayers, but does anyone listen anymore? When you’re gone, you’re just gone. The memories you leave behind will be your lasting legacy. I will bear no children. I will have no fame. I will have no flaws. I will die imperfectly perfect. My nose bleeds a little longer than usual and my body is brittle enough to make a teacup sound like titanium. I don’t know how much longer I have and maybe I’ll never be able to tell him thanks. I guess in more ways than one– he knows. Maybe he’ll stop writing about me some day. Maybe he’ll forget about me. Maybe I’ll forget about me some day.

“I never forgot about you.”

So this is a story about a bad coworker and an amazing coworker. One of my closers just quit halfway through her shift. Our main manager walked in, and shitty coworker asked to talk to her. Half an hour later, the manager comes up to me and said “Shitty coworker isn’t coming back. Ever.” So, I was left short one closer and training in a day worker who’d never closed before and was covering for one of my usual closers. I tell my closers so they know we’ll all have more to so, and we go on with our shifts with much bitching about the girl who bailed on us. About 15 minutes after we close I’m about to start counting the register, and one of our more friendly workers stops by to say hi. He asks if he can do anything to help, because when we do things like that we usually help out the closers by stocking the coffee bar. Little things like that. So I jokingly say that if he wants, he can pick up the remainder of the shift that got walked out on. He says “okay, just let me go put on a work shirt and clock in.” He is the reason we got out 20 minutes early and not 20 minutes late, and he taught our day person some of the essential closing jobs.

We are not alone in the universe...I found proof on the dark web.

“It’s said that evil prevails when good men do nothing.” Those were once words that comforted me.

I don’t know how much time I have left, all I know is that in the face of uncertainty, an even greater fear exists in knowing that I alone shoulder the weight of knowing the truth….

I’d like to tell you that these words come from a place of analytical stillness, instead of the harsh reality that scares me beyond words. now, The fear that plagues me is very real, justified by earth-shaking implications that accompany Its looming presence.

Keep reading

Ok, can I share "THE TRUTH" ™ about art dreams and aspirations for POC millennials?

Hello all you lovely brothers, sisters and fun folk <3

I have some brutally honest truth to share with you all about being a POC millennial with a goal in mind for being an artist. Keep in mind, this post leans neither towards the left or right. It just explains the sheer truth. Read at viewer’s discretion~


So, you wanna be an artist? You got a story to tell with a crucial message for society or a specific group of people. You have to get it out there by hook or by crook, it’s your friggin calling! 


Now, lets look on the real side. Yes, the real. Like, reality wise, what is your real world situation like? And lets think about how you are gonna make it happen from your standpoint in life. This includes but certainly is not limited to: your age, your level of education, your daily income or some form of assets you have in the bank, your race/ethnicity/gender, your social/political standing, your neighborhood culture, and your personality. 

Now whether you like it or not, this world is hella subjective and will try to gravitate you towards or pull you astray from things based on all of the elements listed above in bold print. Folks, we cannot ignore this when trying to achieve ANYTHING in our lives. 

I hear and see all these interviews from people telling about their life story and how they went from nothing to something. Let me tell you, IT CAN HAPPEN AND WILL. But what people tend to leave out its the real nit and grit of their story, especially if their interviewer is trying to earn them a wider audience. Make no mistake, y'all. This world is heavily popular-culture washed. You will almost never hear or know the full stories.

You can be about something, any controversial topic that’s all good and well to be bringing up and making it known to those who are misinformed. You should be, and if you wanna just put something out there for worldwide enjoyment thats fine too! But know, it is much easier said than done, and where you are in life plays a HUGE part of this.

For example, lets say you grew up in in project housing or from a poor neighborhood. Lets say you work hard and one day meet someone who is able to give you a big break, and you take that break with open arms and no doubts. Why? Because you know even if it flops, you started with not much so it won’t hurt you that bad to return to that point. Try again, make that money. Get something better than what you have!

Now, lets say you worked your way up into middle class, income wise and living wise. Same thing happens, someone offers you a big break. OH BOY–ahh wait a minute. What if it goes really big and i have to leave my family behind, or WORSE what if it flops when i try and i end up with NOTHING. See, you grew up or earned something, and to fall all the way down to 0 is much much MUCH harder that it is to have started from nothing and go back to nothing. (Don’t you know thats why most people in this category don’t become anything to do with art? That gravity of “what if” is very real, and rarely messed with.) Not to say getting there is impossible now. I’ll explain later. I’m in this category.

And if your born into some kind of wealth, mommy and daddy got you covered, do whatever the heck you want whose stopping you! Unfortunately, not a lot of us are there so, this kind of reality check (if you will) is needed.

Bottom line is, this want, to be an artist of color with a message or what have you, is not IMPOSSIBLE to achieve, but certainly takes some more planning than a more well off citizen would need to do. IM JUST BEING REAL.

You need a game plan, wherever you stand in any class or category. Make sure you have an exceptional work ethic too, because you’re gonna need it. Sometimes, that and patience has to be learned along the way. Don’t get frustrated. Learn to accept change where it seems fit. You can find yourself happier elsewhere, and thats quite alright.

 But if you are like me, and WILL NOT stop until there is a way to get your foot in the door, please acknowledge the dire need for having a well mapped out plan that takes into account the reality of things as well as the possibility of better things. You will have have to make tough choices, ie: “going for it cold turkey, or waiting for it while you work to secure plan B.”

All I’m saying guys, is make these decisions WISELY. I know you can do it. Sometimes i feel like I’m preaching to myself by saying this too so, the struggle is real but can be overcome with critical thinking and determination.


Let it be known that I have one of the last remaining rolls of “turtle tape” in existence.

This stuff is legendary in our family and there are but a handful of rolls left. This stuff would probably stick shit to a shovel if you were inclined to try, as its adhesive properties are almost unrivalled.

Now, what the rolls were for and how we obtained them many years ago is a long story, but as you can tell from the god awful “Hero” replacement in the title, its going to be an old english folklore type of tale if I care to share it.

Bask in these rare pictures because when it’s gone it’s really gone.

icarus looks at you, tired. haven’t i fallen enough for one day? he asks.

you don’t have the heart to tell him that all the best stories are retold until they are bloodied and broken and spilling from gaping wounds; that all the good myths are rewritten until there is no more good left in them.

he takes your silence as an answer and flings himself into the sun once more.

—  golden boy, broken boy | k.t.