i think it's my favorite so far

For real tho, I can’t believe It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia just did a MUSICAL (calling Trump “the orange president”) regarding how stupid the “All lives matters” movement is, about police brutality, racism and racial profiling… WOW. This is one of the BEST episodes I’ve seen so far, they really outdone themselves this time.

You know… I’ve been thinking. About James and Sharna of course.

I’ve been feeling like they are my favorite DWTS couple ever in 23 seasons. But then I thought maybe I’m just thinking that because they’re so recent and fresh in my mind and perfect and in love

So then I thought back to my other favorite couples and considered why I loved them so much. 

Erin and Maks have always been my favorites. They were my first favorites and I loved them more than life itself. What I loved so much about them was what he did for her. The way he made her feel safe. The way he took care of her. The way he made her life whole again when she needed it most. (This was also all similar for Kelly and Val. I loved them just as much for basically the same reasons.)

Meryl and Maks were of course my other favorites. And what I loved about them was what she did for him. The opposite of Erin and Maks. She let him be himself and she brought out a new side of him and she understood him. She changed the essence of who he was and it was beautiful to watch. 

And then there’s James and Sharna. And I think, Are they really more special than these other two? Do I really love them more? Have the others finally been dethroned? And you know what? Yes. There’s something special and there’s something more. Because it’s not what she did for him and it’s not what he did for her. It’s what they did for each other. 

So now I’m trying to cope by trying to think of my favorite Robert moments, and one of the best by far is when he forgets to put his phone on silent during this epic MFU reunion interview with him and David, and all of a sudden, you hear his Magnificent Seven ringtone go off–

(gif by @ksturf)

anonymous asked:

So, I just wanted to let you know that when I first started getting into the ML fandom, the first fanfic I read about ML was your "Rainy Days". I fell in love with the rest of your stories ever since then (my favorite so far being "The Weight of Jade"). I just want to say that you are so talented and thank you for such a lovely introduction into the ML fandom.

!! That is so sweet of you!! seriously, thank you! It means a lot to me that people so often take the time out to tell me what they think and encourage me and its absolutely amazing. Thank you so much, it means the world to me. 

anonymous asked:

What's the favorite scene you've written in The Albatross or is it yet to come? Can't tell you how excited I am for the new chapters. Its one of a kind.

My favorite scene is actually yet to come, anon. It’s going to be an amazing scene, if I can write it like it’s in my head. I’m so excited too!

From what I’ve written so far, god I can’t really pick, but I think that last scene in the first chapter was the most moving for me.  

He was not ready to let her walk away, never to see her again. And he knew he never would, not if he let her go.

He could not let her go.  

His arm shot out before he could command it not to and he tugged her back, the surprise vivid on her face. He stood, gazing down upon that face, that face that one moon ago had seemed quietly beautiful to him. He had been wrong. Her face had been so radiant, glowing, so bright that it had blinded him to her real beauty. He memorized that face-from the pink in her cheeks to the arch of her brows over bright, intelligent blue eyes to the soft, lush mouth and the pert nose to the dark waves of hair she had tied back with a leather cord, the line of her neck visible to his eyes. His eyes brushed over her features, feeling a kind of desperation he did not understand, had never wanted to.

His other hand coming up of its own accord, his rough fingers brushing over her cheek, feeling the warm, soft skin on the way to her lobe, taking a hold of her ear for the last time, feeling the texture under his rough fingers as he rubbed the flesh.

Her gaze softened on his and her hand came up to hold his wrist, rubbing his pulse with her thumb for the last time and he knew he could not let go. He was not strong enough. In such a short span of time, she had become an inevitability.

Moisture pooled in her luminous, blue eyes and he looked down into her face, the thought of not seeing her again making him ache so acutely as though a limb had been severed off his body. And that ache made him do what no gentleman would have done. He was no gentleman by any stretch of the imagination.

He slowly, softly, took a hold of her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp of surprise, and kissed her like he had wanted to for so long, like his blood had demanded for so long.

“Don’t go,” he muttered softly and she blinked up at him.

“And what will you do if I don’t?” she asked equally softly.

He did not have an answer. He did not know what he would do. They could not continue like they had and he could not marry her. But the thought of letting her walk back into her world, never to hear her laugh again, never to hear her curse at him, was not something he could live with either. That was what he should have done. He should have let her go to her house and live her life, marry a man she deserved and become a mother to many children. His gut knotted and a sour taste filled his mouth.

She smiled softly at him, like she always did, squeezing his wrist. “Thank you for everything.”

No. No. No. No.

He had to keep her. He had to keep her just a little longer. Till he was ready.

He kissed her soft lips again and she let him, tentatively kissing him back before the fever in their bloods dictated their mouths, making them devour each other, meshing together like they were meant to. Kissing her was his sip of elixir. He tasted the little sounds she made, and he knew, right there, that she would not be going. He would do whatever he had to to keep her.

Just as he was about to delve in again, he heard a loud shout coming from his front.

“How dare you!”

Pulling back, he quickly shoved her behind him, his hand coming up swiftly to the hilt of his sword when he felt an odd, cold sensation throughout his body. Confused, he tried to take the sword out and felt his blood run cold when he could not move. He could not move. Not a little. Nothing. He was frozen, his muscles locking in place completely, that cold sensation still in his body, his heart thumping with the need to fight, to protect her.

Looking at the group of five people coming towards them with their dark robes flapping with each step, his eyes settled upon the old man in the center, carrying a long, detailed gold stick, as long as his arm, which was pointed at the two of them. The old man had so much hatred in his eyes that it was almost tangible.

He tried to shift and get the sword out again but his body refused to cooperate, not budging even slightly. Frustration, and something akin to fear, filled him.

“Father…” he heard her speak softly from behind him and realization dawned upon him like a bucket of water. The old man was her father, the father she had never spoken of, the father who was somehow responsible for rendering him immovable, wielding that gold stick.

“Quiet!” the old man roared, coming to a stop in front of them, the other four men, dressed in similar robes stopping behind him.

Her father’s eyes cut to him, the disgust in them acute and he looked back, unable to do anything, and getting frustrated at his inability to move.

“Albatross,” her father began, addressing him and he heard her sharp intake of breath at his common name. His gut clenched knowing the way her mind must be wandering, remembering all the horrific stories about him, having heard all the monstrous tales. He did not want her to think him a monster, even if he were so. Not her.

“You have ruined my daughter,” the old man spit out, enraged.

He opened his mouth but his tongue was stuck, frozen like the rest of his body, and he could not speak. Defending himself was less important than defending her.

He felt her step out from behind him, her fingers gripping his wrist for strength as she faced the older man.

“That is untrue, father,” she began and the man roared again, livid, his hand striking the side of her face loudly, the gold stick swinging away.

The moment the stick moved, he felt movement rush back to his limbs and he stepped in front of her again, pulling her close to his side, furious at the man for laying a hand on her.

“She has not been touched,” he stated firmly to his audience, feeling the slight tremble in her body and her cheek swelling where her father had struck her. His anger swelled as he looked at the mark.

Before he could do anything though, the old man pointed the gold stick at him again, making him completely immobile and stepped forward. The sun shone on his back, the heat intensifying as he looked straight at the old man, hatred filling him.

“You really think me a fool?” he started, keeping the stick pointed at him. “A man like you, of you reputation, keeps my daughter on his ship for days and you wish me to believe she is untouched?”

“Father,” she began again.

“You disgrace!” he grit out at her. “Do not call me your father!”

“He rescued me. He did not touch me. Please let him go,” she begged and he felt his teeth grind, wanting to stop her and take her back to his ship, away from the people who loathed her so, who rendered her to grovel for him. She deserved better.

The old man did not reply but instead gazed back at her in sudden silence. The quiet between the two only made him look closely at them, mainly at her.

He saw understanding dawn upon her face and her eyes widen at whatever she read in her father’s face and she started to shake her head frantically at him, paling.

“No, father!” she shouted, rushing forward a step. “Please. Do not. I beg of you. Please.”

He did not understand as he stood rooted to the spot but the palpable fear in her voice made chills run over his body, her grip on his wrist almost painful now.

Turning his gaze back to the old man, he saw his wrinkled, leathery face blank of all expression before he raised his cold, dark eyes to her. He saw the old man’s eyes move to the place where she was gripping him, then at his face, the chill in his blood intensifying at the look in his eyes.

“You have disgraced me, daughter,” her father spoke in a firm, stoic voice. “Now bear the consequences of your actions.”

He saw the old man raise his other hand, palm out, towards her and suddenly, he felt her grip on his wrist go lax. He swung his gaze to her, his heart beating faster and faster, as he saw her knees give away, her body collapsing on the rocky ground, immovable like him, in a mass of limbs with no movement but just blinking up at him.

His pulse was pounding and blood rushing to his ears as he stood looking down, his gaze locked on hers, everything inside him trying to reach for her but unable to even twitch.

The old man turned to him then, his eyes hard and lips pursed, his wrinkled skin tanned and impenetrable.

“I will let her go painlessly for she was coerced, but you,” her father spoke, pointing his gold stick at the wrist she had been holding. “You vile monster, you are going to suffer for your deeds. You are going to suffer endlessly and feel this pain for as long as you will live, every time that you will live.”

His heart pounding, he saw through his eyes as the gold stick inched forward, getting closer and closer to his skin, the man chanting something in a different language, his eyes closed and head thrown back, his voice getting louder and louder. He saw that gold come closer and closer and he could feel it in his bones that the moment it touched, it would reign destruction.

His jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly and inevitably, the gold touched his wrist, exactly where her thumb had been, and the breath left his body in a rush, his knees crumpling, making him fall to the rocky ground hard on his side. He still could not move.

After a moment of chanting, the old man touched the stick to his heart as he lay then turned away. He heard them leave, their footsteps fading away as his eyes went to her.

She blinked at him, her face slowly paling as the sun beat on their backs and the only sounds those of waves crashing against the rocks, hitting them then retreating.

Swallowing down his parched throat, he just started to speak, at least tried to, to alleviate the fear he saw in her gaze, the fear that was more a punch in the gut to him than anything else that had happened, when the spot on his wrist slowly started to grow uncomfortable, the skin on the spot getting mottled, turning hotter, before it began to burn from the inside out. Searing pain consumed him as the inside out burn assaulted his body, inflaming his entire body, the sun that had been warm a moment ago becoming a furnace that blazed his blood. He was burning alive, the scream from the pain trapped in his throat, feeling his skin slowly char under the sun.

His pained eyes found hers just in time to see a tear trickle down into her hair. He saw her inhale deeply and push herself to a crawl, reaching for him.

His skin was completely burnt now, and he knew whatever was happening to him would not be hasty. He would not die quickly.

The fire burned him from the inside, and he felt a sharp pain shoot up both his sides, his legs already feeling severed. Everything was pain. And burn. Raw flesh. Agony.

He saw through his agonized eyes as she managed to move forward slightly and extended her hand, trying to reach for his, her entire body straining and he just lay there on his side, his arm out, burning alive.

The tears never left her eyes. The mouth he had kissed moments ago trembling as she strained, her whole body shaking. That mouth had been his one slice of heaven. Only one.

He did not dare blink lest he miss one movement from her, his own mouth starting to shake as the inevitability of what was happening thrust upon him.

Her fingers passed his, and he watched, every muscle cringing in silent agony as she slowly touched her fingers to his wrist. His wrist.

A tear escaped his own eyes as she watched him, keeping a hold of that burning flesh, giving him another glimpse of heaven in the fires of his hell.

He should never have brought her here. He should have taken her with him and made her his. He should have kissed her every moment and every chance he had gotten and let go of. He should have told her so many things.

But now he could not. Now he could only watch as she struggled for breaths, gasping silently and watch as her eyes shut close. Her eyes closed and brute desperation kicked inside him. No. No. No. He could not accept it. This was never supposed to be her end. She was supposed to live a happy life. She was supposed to read books and laugh and soothe. Her eyes were not supposed to close.

The desperation in him managed to make his wrist just twitch slightly, but enough that she opened her eyes. She blinked once, softly, like she did when she just woke up in the morning and kept her gaze on him. And he watched, his jaw trembling and tears threatening to burst, slowly, as the life seeped out of her face, the light finally leaving her eyes with one last tear.

His insides tore open and he opened his mouth on a silent scream that wouldn’t come, his chest howling in pain that was not from the burns, tears leaving him as he just looked at her open eyes, dead eyes. She did not deserve this. She had never deserved this.

He howled in the hollow of his heart, everything inside him cracking and shattering to pieces.

And he lay there on his side, slowly burning to his death, the scent of burning flesh permeating the air around him, his own body his inferno.

He lay there on his side, fading away in torment, unable to writhe or scream or groan in pain.

He lay there on his side as the sun sank away in the sky and darkness descended but the burn did not leave his flesh, charring it to the rock.

He lay on his side, going through that agony, anchoring himself to her eyes that stared blankly at him, the tears dried on her face.  

He lay there on his side, feeling the pain become white noise, the pain become tolerable, his flesh growing numb as he felt the life seep out of him too, his eyes finally letting go of hers, nothing left for him anymore.

And till his last breath, he felt her fingers, still wrapped around his wrist.

Read The Albatross

0asissss  asked:

Do you have any resources for writing about war? Alternate history, oppressive government, dystopian society. MC is the leader of a rebel group that starts a revolution and expands into one of two sides fighting a war. Fighting is nationwide but MC and his small group fight at home. I have a ton of worldbuilding to do but I know I need help writing about war. Everything about it, from fighting to ranks/chain of command to staying realistic to its effects on people. Anything you have will help!!

@0asissss

Oh boy, did you come to the right place!

Personally, when it comes to writing, my favorite thing in the world to do is research. Good resources for the actually writing about war are few and far between, so I think your best bet would be to research some big wars and war heroes. Maybe pick up some historical fiction from authors like Tim O’Brien. If you’re really into history, check out some news articles from the World Wars from both sides, or the Vietnam War. When writing about a topic such as war, it is essential that you do your research. 

Most of the resources I give you will be America-centric because that’s what I grew up learning about, and that’s also what I know best. These types of articles will be different for different countries.

I have bolded what I think is most helpful.

Writing About War

Write A War Story
How to Write a War or Battle Scene in Your Novel

War Itself

What causes war?
Rules of warfare [1]
Types of combat
Modern technology in combat
Revolution

Effects of War

Mental illness
How it affects the folks at home [WWII][Vietnam]

War Protests

Vietnam war protests

War and the Media

Propaganda
The television and war

Rebel Groups

Sans Culottes
[Fiction] Les Amis de L’ABC
Guatemalan National Revolutionary Unity (URNG) 
26th of July Movement
Irish Republican Army (IRA)

Military

Ranking in the United States
Ranks vs. Rates
Fitness requirements [Army][Navy][Air Force][Marine Corps][SEAL]
Army vs. Navy vs. Air Force 

Doing research on the Guatemalan Civil War as a whole I think will really help you. It is fairly recent (ended in 1996), so you will be able to find a lot of online sources and articles. 

TL;DR Research Tim O’Brien’s writing as well as the Guatemalan Civil War

xx Sarah

Yu Yu Hakusho is so far my favorite anime of all time. I have watched a lot of anime and there are still a lot of big ones I haven’t watched… But so far nothing has taken this from my #1 spot. I don’t necessarily think it’s the best, it has its problems but it’s just my personal favorite. If you haven’t watched it yet you should definitely give it a shot :)
P.S. I’m pretty sure I have watched this 9 or 10 times all the way through. Just as good every time

effef  asked:

honestly like, these are probably my favorite pages of AGS so far, Max switching into "unholy terror" mode is fantastic. i like to think this is what her grandmother was like a lot of the time, hence how her fame precedes her.

ahah yes!!! im for really happy that people like them. its been a real struggle lately to get things done let alone done well so im pretty relieved that people are like “nah its fine”

6

Drake’s Deception // A Thief’s End

GTKM Meme - [5/?] favorite relationships - Nathan Drake & Elena Fisher Drake

Elena: Doing the dishes? We take turns. Don’t even think about not coming back.

Nate: I love you.

Elena: Same to you, cowboy.

holly: oh, thank the goddess!! another person. can you please help me, my f-

me: wwhoa your grass is soft

holly: excuse me?

me: the grass you have here. it looks really soft

holly: my entire family is missing

I think one of my favorite things about Florence so far is that just yesterday I was walking the streets and I passed by a small art studio while you could see the artist inside was peacefully painting, the walls were covered by more paintings that I’m assuming were for sale

and honestly? life goals right there man. and like this wasn’t the only art studio like that (they’re dotted all around the city)