lord help us if this happens

Avon Calling!

Context: Our party had come across a partially destroyed town. After looting the town, attempting to steal a skull in a mausoleum (and then attempting to seduce the ghost of the skull’s owner. Bards, man, idek), and artistically shaving our dwarf fighter’s eyebrows as he slept, we made our way to the keep. After having a stealthy look about, we discovered 4 guards residing in the building. It was determined that our rouge and bard, being the characters with the highest charisma, would go knock on the door and attempt to talk to the guards while the druid and the fighter would hide around the corner as opposed to entering into combat. 

Bard: *knocks on door*

Guard 1: Who are you and what do you want?

Bard: I am a missionary of The Lady Avon, goddess of makeup, fragrances, and all things beauty product related. 

Rogue, who has not been informed that this was to be the direction of conversation: Uh…yeah, we both are. We’ve come to assist you in your time of need. We saw the destroyed town when we arrived and came to find survivors. Can we help in any way? Do you need prayers to the Lady Avon?

DM: Roll a persuasion check.

Bard: *passes persuasion check*

So, the guards believe us and we start getting the story of what happened to the town. One of the guards mentions that the Lord of the keep died a few years back and had we noticed the lovely mausoleum in the town cemetery where he’s kept?

Bard: Yes, actually, we had.

Fighter (from around the corner where he’s been listening in): THAT WAS THE GHOST YOU TRIED TO SEDUCE!!!

Guards: *immediately stand up and run around the corner to find the hiding fighter. The druid had since run away.*

Guards: Who the hell are YOU?

Fighter: *stands up straight* I…am The Lady Avon…come to answer your prayers. 

Rogue: I hear you can tell it’s her by her oddly shaved eyebrows. 

Bard: Indeed!

DM: I had dreams and aspirations for this campaign, you know. And not one of them involved THIS. Roll deception.

Palm Sunday in Egypt: 31 killed in blasts in, near Coptic churches
By Joe Sterling, Faith Karimi and Mohammed Tawfeeq, CNN

”Bombs targeted two Coptic churches in Egypt as the Christian faithful observed Palm Sunday, one of the most important day on the religion’s calendar.

A powerful blast rippled through a Palm Sunday service at a Coptic Christian church in the northern Egyptian city of Tanta, killing 25 people and wounding 60 others, state TV reported. The explosive device at St. George Coptic church in Tanta was planted under a seat in the church, where it detonated in the main prayer hall, it said.At least six have been killed and 33 others wounded in a suicide bomb attack outside the Saint Mark Coptic Orthodox Cathedral in Alexandria according to two state-news outlets. Egyptian state media also reports that the head of Egypt’s Coptic Church Pope Tawadros II was inside the Church when the blast happened.”

gegmeetsworld  asked:

hi cassy! thank you so much for writing about LGBT characters. for me, it was reading about mark and kieran that made me really come to terms with my sexuality. i love both of their characters so much! i was wondering if you can give us any excerpts or small hints regarding what is to come for the two of them? thank you again, your writing helped me in such a big way and it means so much to me! <3

Thank you so much for your kind words. What’s coming for Mark and Kieran is super complicated. In Lord of Shadows, they struggle to come to terms with the way their relationship has changed following the events of Lady Midnight. In light of something that happens to Kieran that I can’t divulge, Mark is reexamining his feelings about their breakup. But he also has other feelings… What can I say, it wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t a complicated relationship. 

A snippet for you:

Kieran’s gaze seemed dazzled by moonlight. He reached for Mark and laid his hands on Mark’s shoulders. There was a moment where Mark could have drawn away, but he didn’t.


“Hello?” At first you could hear only static and a slight rustling on the other end of the line. “Cas? …Cas?” You could hear the worry in your own voice.

“H–hello?” You sighed in relief as his deep voice finally rolled out of the speaker.

“Cas,” you said. “I was starting to worry when you weren’t responding. WHat’s up?”

There was a long beat of silence. “Uhh… just, uhh, working–you know, working… around…” The angel shut his eyes and grimaced at what he had just managed to get out.

You raised your eyebrows at his response. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, everything is A-okay.” Another grimace. Cas put a hand up to his brow. “I was just calling to see–” He paced anxiously. “I was just calling to ask if–uhh…”

The silence droned for another moment before you heard Cas heave a heavy sigh. “Actually, I–My phone accidentally dialed your number while it was in my pocket…” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t help but smile and laugh. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place? There’s no reason to be sorry. It happens to the best of us.”

“I don’t know. I felt… awkward about it.”

You smiled at his bashfulness and bit your bottom lip. “It’s okay.”

“I will admit though,” he said, his voice suddenly a little quiet, “that it is nice to hear your voice.”

Now you were the one feeling bashful…


T y ‘ s   l e t t e r   t o   A n n a b e l

you might not know me, but we are related. My name is Tiberius Blackthorn.
My family and I are looking for the Black Volume of the Dead. We know you have it, because my brother Julian saw you take it from Malcolm Fade.
I’m not blaming you. Malcolm Fade is not our friend. He tried to hurt our family, to destroy us if he could. He’s a monster. But the thing is, we need the book now. We need it so that we can save our family.

We’re a good family. You would like us if you knew us.

There’s me- I’m going to be a detective.  

There is Livvy, my twin, who can fence.

And Drusilla, who loves everything scary.

And Tavvy, who like stories read to him.  

There is Mark, who is part faerie. He’s an excellent cook.

There is Helen, who was exiled to guard the wards, but not because she did anything wrong.

And Emma, who isn’t a Blackthorn but is like our extra sister anyway. 

And there is Jules. You might know him the best. He is the one who takes care of us all. He is the reason we’re all okay and still together. I don’t think he knows we know that, but we do. Sometimes he might tell us what to do or not listen, but he would do anything for any of us.

People say we’re unlucky because we don’t have parents. But I think they’re unlucky because they don’t have a brother like mine.
Don’t think I’m asking you to do us a favor for nothing in return. Julian can help you. He can help anyone.

You can’t want to be running and hiding. I know what happened to you, what the Clave and Council did. Things are different now.

Let us explain. Let us show you how you don’t have to be exiled or alone. You don’t have to give us the book. We just want to help.
We’re at the London Institute. Whenever you want to come, you’d be welcome.



                                                                             Tiberius Nero Blackthorn

ts6 theory thread

so as 99.9% of you know, taylor has blacked out all of her social media accounts, as well as her website. it just so happens that the solar eclipse is monday, and it is going to be a ‘blackout.’ an eclipse can symbolize ‘the end of time’ for some (this could be totally unrelated but i think her comments have to do with a new song). taylor tends to think very in depth with how to be sneaky/extra when announcing new music. my thoughts are that she is going to announce something tomorrow, with a single coming out friday, with the album or single being related to time/space. in her post to haim her caption was:

and haim replied:

a end of time could also symbolize the end of the 1989 era/eras before. maybe she wants to start fresh with the new era/‘time’. on her post to lorde, she said “bop for the ages” which sounds like it has to do with the new era/time theory.

speaking of the eclipse/space/end of time:

last december, taylor sent this to Erik Finman sending 1989 to space. and it just so happened that a day before all of these blackouts occurred, Erik tweeted this article, titling the tweet “We are going to space with some help from Taylor Swift!”:


to add onto this theory, taylor has been using the star emoji quite frequently lately and she has been wearing clothing with stars on them.

shoes with stars on them^

her coachella outfit^

and then for the met gala (which she co-chaired) the theme was Fashion in the Age of Technology, and this was her outfit:

her outfit was very “galactic” and reminded me of something of the future or space…a new time. her outfits from her bleachella phase were very different from anything she had ever worn before. many of them were dark, edgy, and sparkly and many of her outfits worn during this time looked very futuristic or space-like. we saw a “darker” side of her, you could say. like now her accounts are all dark/gone.

Super Saturday Night was very star themed according to what I have seen. (This could be totally unrelated but it ties into the space theme in a way)

(stars on guitar – I don’t know if that guitar has always been that way but I just noticed it).

sorry for how long this was but if anyone has anything to add – add to this! this post may be a total reach and 100% wrong but i just listed my observations/thoughts. GIVE US TS6!!! @taylorswift 

also im not saying that its going to be called space or stars or something like that. i just think a theme of it could be that and that she’s planning on announcing something monday.

chemistry, part 1

Originally posted by stilesstilinski37

pairings: teacher!dylan o'brien x student!reader.

warnings: just some cursing.

a/n: I am really really excited about this new series, so I hope y'all like chemistry teacher O'Brien just as much as I do.

word count: 2k+

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Based on my reading, fight scenes tend to be best written with shorter sentences and use sluglines to help avoid it from becoming a wall of text. The writer should add details of what happens, but focus more on giving the desired feel of the scene than an list of every strike.

Sure, that’s one way to go about it but I’d hazard though that it is possible to have a fascinating fight sequence which is a wall of text. (And, actually, I’m sure there are in The Lord of the Rings and probably War and Peace or the more downright confusing translations of Father’s and Son’s, I’m just too lazy to go digging.) A scene is defined by how successfully it manages to keep the reader’s attention so they remain invested in the action occurring on the page.

The issue with writing advice of any kind is that any ground rules laid down will be broken in fairly short order by a hundred other books. The other problem is that the vast of advice majority depends on the styles of the times rather than the writing itself. A fight scene can be anywhere from a single sentence to five or even ten pages long, or longer. There’s no clear metrics for creativity.

The only rule is there aren’t any rules. Not even when it comes to grammar. The only metric for success is based on what you can get away with, and how well you hold the attention of your audience. Many of the best writers we remember were people with enough confidence to look at the rulebook and throw it out the window. Writing is mostly trial and error, and figuring out what works best for us as individual creatives. The best thing to do is throw out the shoulds and learn to trust yourself. Take the Barbossa line from Pirates of the Caribbean to heart, “the Code is more what you call guidelines than actual rules.”

The great secret of every creative you admire is that we’re all mostly making it up as we go along. The only quality you truly need is the willingness and courage to leap off the platform without looking back, and see if maybe you’ll fly. 99% of writing is learning how to nor give a crap about what other people think. Or, what we think other people think. The voices that whisper we’ll never do it right and that we’re not good enough.

Don’t listen to the voices. Go with your gut.

Besides, talking sentence is almost pointless because everyone’s writing style is different and their narrative structure is also different. The best fight scenes are like dessert or a topping, they serve as a means to enhance your narrative and build it up rather act as a full course meal. Each scene and sequence are a dish to go with that meal or just an ingredient. Sometimes, they might be able to function as meals unto themselves but are excellent when consumed together.

The best fight sequences are the ones which maintain the audience’s suspension of disbelief. They can go about doing that in a number of ways, from utilizing the five senses to the author making excellent use of their set pieces, but usually come together when the author has a solid grasp of what they want from the scene and understand how to go about getting it.

The how is usually what trips people up, how to translate what we’ve envisioned in our minds to the page. The more you understand about a subject, any subject then the better you’ll be at figuring out how to get what you want. This may involve some reevaluation of what, specifically, you wanted to begin with in order to start asking the right questions.

The more you understand about warfare, and how warfare has grown, changed, and transitioned throughout history then the better you’ll be at writing magical, fantasy battles.

If you want to write Rurouni Kenshin anime fight scenes, starting with research into Kendo, Iaido, Budo, and that specific historical period in Japanese history will ultimately help you parse through where inspiration was drawn.

Sometimes, we need to ask the wrong questions before getting to the right answers. You want to write in a similar vein to what you’ve drawn inspiration from then start with understanding how it works.

It may suck when looking for a quick and easy answer, but the truth is that good work isn’t easy. It’s difficult. It takes a lot of investment, both mental and emotional. And there will never be anyone who can get to the bottom of what you want better than you can, because you know what you’re looking for. You just need to figure out how to get there. Investigation, essentially, is key to writing good fight scenes.

When you understand basic concepts like distance and the order of operation in a fight, moving between different zones until we end up on the ground, then the fight sequences won’t feel like just a static listing of techniques. Instead, they become interesting due to the fight actually moving. (The issue with many fight scenes is lack of progression.)

The second issue is choreography. When writing fight scenes, the writer’s closest relation is a film’s stunt choreographer. That’s a different set of priorities beyond just “realistic or no?” because a novel, like a movie has its own setting rules that it abides by outside the realm of the real world. The key issue for many writers is they either don’t know enough about martial arts or have a ready grasp of various techniques to choreograph a fight. Then get down on themselves, forgetting that fight choreography is a craft in and of itself. The best scenes we see in movies are often choreographed by seasoned, if not master, martial artists. 9/10 when you’ve got someone asking for a fight scene, they’re asking for choreography. They want to know how to structure a fight so it’s interesting to read/watch.

A fight scene that utilizes it’s environment, laying down the groundwork and foreshadowing objects like staircases as the fight progresses will create a sense of catharsis for the audience when a character finally throws another down those stairs. Or grabs a frying pan off the counter. Or starts throwing plates. Or is out numbered against a group of bullies, and maneuvers their way around the hallway to pull the fire alarm. (They see the fire alarm before they get jumped, or when they’re trying to figure out what to do, then try to get to it.)

Fight scenes work when we understand a character’s needs, desires, and wants rather than focusing on a need to “show, don’t tell” their fighting ability by making them fight.

Poor fight scenes aren’t just badly written, they serve no purpose other than “proving a character’s fighting ability to the audience” and often feel out of place in the narrative. They are a violation of the character’s stated goals and needs, and often work under a different setting rule set which has no interaction with the main story itself. Poor fight scenes are boring, the illusion breaks and the characters are just paper dolls being mashed together.

After that, the sentence structure is just structure.

In fiction writing, we use sentence structure, grammar, word choice, and even white space on the page as a means of crafting tension and tempo. Tempo in fiction is manipulating the speed at which someone reads. An easy solution is to use progressively shorter sentences to build a sense of tension and imitate the feel that events are actually moving faster. Long sentences feel slower because they take longer to read. That’s the basics, anyway, it becomes a great deal more complicated than that once we get into the inner workings of a single sentence. There’s also beat, rhythm, and rhyme schemes.

If you want to learn how to manipulate emotional experiences in very few words then poetry is what you should be reading.

Basically, all these require various skills. There’s no easy way to develop these skills beyond hard work, practice, and trial and error.

The first step is: get over the fear of failing.

You’ll try, you may fail, it may not work the way you want on the first go. You’ll probably have to go back to the drawing board multiple times, and that’s okay. You’re not alone if you sit at your computer watching a single fight sequence you love on repeat a few hundred times trying to figure out how it works. That’s normal.

It takes work to gain knowledge and then figure out how to apply it contextually. You’ve got to learn about the subject then learn how to make that knowledge work for you. The process is often embarrassing, sometimes clumsy, and we may feel like we suck because we’re unfairly comparing ourselves to experts in the field. A writer is a perpetual student seeking out new knowledge and new information. Whatever we’re digging into will always be more complicated than we initially thought.

TLDR: It’s difficult to write fight scene involving guns if you don’t know how guns or bullets work. That follows for everything else.


This blog is supported through Patreon. If you enjoy our content, please consider becoming a Patron. Every contribution helps keep us online, and writing. If you already are a Patron, thank you.

A Lovers Lie

Originally posted by killbilled

Gendry x Reader

You waited for the house to fall silent before slipping out into the dark streets, ragged cloths and a heavy cloak hiding you as you hurried to the blacksmith. You smiled to yourself when Gendry didn’t notice you, brow furrowed in concentration, only noticing you when he was done.

“What?” He asked fondly when he shrugged on his shirt and beckoned for you to embrace him.

Keep reading

October 1st: Cauldron

Day One of the Drarry Halloween Fest. Really excited for this month of Drarry! @drarry-halloween-fest

“This is a very precise potion. One common mistake is stirring the potion all the way around for the last stir. You only stir two-thirds of the way. Otherwise, contact with the potion can transform the witch, wizard, or other into an animal of some kind. It doesn’t last terribly long, however I’m sure none of you would want the experience. Now everyone-” Professor Slughorn was interrupted by the door bursting opening, revealing a dishevelled Harry Potter. Everyone turned to him as he bounced on his two feet and scratched the back of his neck. 

“Er, sorry Professor,” Harry said. His cheeks were tinged slightly pink. Slughorn appeared to be having trouble keeping himself from rolling his eyes. 

Keep reading

fallen angel! kang daniel


daniel x you



other members: woojin | minhyun | to be cont…

  • “ah, shit..” you hear a voice say from just outside your bedroom window
  • you quickly grab your biology textbook as it was the closest weapon you could find
  • you peek out the window to find a tall, toned,, and shirtless guy sprawled out and tangled within your rose bush
  • you opened your window timidly
  • “uhh, are you okay there..?” you asked cautiously
  • “oh! yeah, yeah. it’s all good. just a little knotted up,” the guy laughed, although his face said he was in immense pain as the thorns tore cuts into his bare skin.
  • “do you need help?” you asked, still unsure of how to handle the situation.
  • “no, no, you just stay there. i got this.” 
  • every attempt the guy made to get out of the rose bush made him wince in pain
  • so even though he said he didn’t need help, you went out to examine the bush, and how he could have possibly landed like that
  • i mean, he was facing your window,, how does he just fall into the bush like that, unless-
  • are you a peeping tom?” you sneered
  • “what? tom??? no. my name is daniel.”
  • oh, lord,,,,.
  • “okay, nevermind. hi daniel. how did this even happen?” you mentally laughed at his seeming cluelessness
  • “welllllll, you see, god gets a little sloppy from time to time when he puts one of us down here, so i kinda landed a little funky, wouldn’t you say?” daniel laughed
  • “i’m sorry, god? what?” you scowled in confusion
  • “yeah, god sometimes takes the wings off us ‘bad’ angels and throws us onto earth to learn our lesson before taking us back in. basically, this is time-out. totally. sucks.”
  • “um, right. okay. so what exactly made you a bad angel?” you went along with whatever daniel was rambling on about just, you know, for the heck of it
  • “ok so i was manning the grill at this burger joint, right? and god doesn’t come in too often but when he does, oh boy, it’s a big deal. and so, i accidentally burned his burger a little too much. so he sends me to earth! like what the fuck, right? it was only a little bit overdone, i swear.”
  • “uh-”
  • “okay, so maybe it was completely burnt, but like, it was so packed that day, and i was the only one in the kitchen, all my other coworkers had to go out and serve! it’s not fair, i tell ya,” daniel kept rambling on.
  • “okay, well let me just help you outta this bush here, and you can go do whatever it is you need to do to get back to heaven, alright?” you say as sickeningly sweet as you possible could. 
  • “NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!” daniel screamed
  • “wHAT? WHY?” you clutched your heart, startled by daniel’s sudden screaming
  • “if i touch or am touched by a human, i’ll be a human and get old and that’s so gross, don’t make me do that.”
  • “ok, fine, whatever..”
  • you end up finding a rope for daniel to tie around his waist while you try to pull him out of the bush that has latched into his body and simply wont let go without a fight
  • “on the count of three, i’ll pull,” you announced.
  • “one… . two … three!”
  • you dug your heels into the ground and yanked the rope as hard as you could.
  • at first, daniel’s body doesn’t budge
  • but before you know it, daniel becomes free and is cheering as he finally is outta the bush
  • but you quickly feel yourself begin to lose balance and fall backwards
  • daniel swiftly reaches out for one of your hands
  • …only to fail at keeping you two upright, and ended up landing on top of you when you two fell to the ground
  • you felt as though you were one giant bruise due to daniel’s larger body toppling on top of and crushing you, but daniel just laughed manically and you couldn’t help yourself but start to giggle too
  • yours and daniel’s faces were mere centimeters apart
  • you both made eye contact as your laughter began to die down
  • and in a flash, all joy is erased from both your faces as you two noticed you both were still holding hands
  • daniel’s face suddenly loses all signs of color and says:
  • “ah, shit..”

infinity war predictions

  • there’s a joke about mjolnir most likely made by peter quill
  • rocket tries to steal something
  • the Cell Phone is used
  • the resolution between tony and steve is glossed over 
  • clint is bitter 
  • there’s a joke about technology 
  • star lord, doctor strange, and iron man all compare facial hair 
  • wandas values are tested 
  • vision just wants there to be peace but how can that happen when literally no one talks to each other 
  • natasha??????? bruce????? fjslk;slkdfja nat asks where bruce has been but no one asks where nats been 

things that i want to personally happen but will not

  • tony makes bucky a new arm
  • bucky uses B.A.R.F. to help separate memories and to finally start to heal
  • everyone apologizes to tony because he’s been talking about the threat of aliens since he went through a worm hole and died, you know the worm hole that gave him ptsd,,,,,to which the rest of the iron man movies were centered about how he was going to try to stop this Very Thing from happening
  • wanda tells everyone about tony’s super awful nightmare to which all of the avengers are dead out in space and how steve used his dying breath to blame him
  • all of the avengers realize that they’ve kind of been dicks about things 
  • theres open communication 
  • steve apologizes
  • tony apologizes
  • everyone literally apologizes to everyone
  • the guardians of the galaxy are like ‘oh boy we do not have problems compared to these people’ 
  • thor is more true to the thor in the short video about what he was doing during civil war 
  • sam and rhodey become best friends 
  • thanos is destroyed by the power of friendship 

As someone who happens to really enjoy wine, delicious food, and beautiful countrysides, I can’t help but love Napa County just north of me, here in San Francisco. I also have Napa to thank for Olivia O’Brien, the fast rising chanteuse who gave us eternally infectious “hate u, love u”. The young talent, now based out of LA, is signed to Island Records. She’s been tipped by V magazine as “the next generation of Taylor Swift-esque anthems wrapped in the sweet vocals of Lorde and maturity of Lana”, and she continues to impress with a new single named Empty, which really isn’t empty at all. This smoky curling, synth heaving R&B pop number addresses the melancholy and confusion Olivia felt when she first moved to LA. I’d imagine if Lana and Alessia Cara made a song together, it’d sound similar to this tune, which comes with a music video you can watch below. 

Made with SoundCloud

Okay, I am super pumped for tomorrow. Wanna know why? Cause I am a part of the Sterek Reverse Bang and I am posting tomorrow!!! Keep your eye out around 5-6 pm California time for the link to the fic and the amazing art :)

So, I wrote this to expel all my extra excitement like the productive writer I totally am ;)

It had been a long day for Stiles Stilinski. Not so much in a supernatural way, thank the lord. That had already happened and filled this week’s quota when a new Wiccan group wanted to negotiate the use of the Preserve. The talks had resulted in access to new herbs and such for Deaton to help the pack with and the Wiccans getting a safe haven from prying eyes and a place to be more rooted in nature. Ha, rooted. No, today was perfectly mundane , plain in its lack of “emergency pack meeting” texts sent out or lore needing to be studied to save a life.

Yet, somehow, it had still been one huge shit storm built on several hurricanes of fuck with a one hundred percent chance of frustration with an advisory warning of mental break downs in the near future. Wow, that analogy really got away from him. But with the day he had had, he deserved hours worth of tangent filled ranting.

Doing a double major at Berkeley would be the death of him. Not vampires or covens or faeries or those goddamn trolls. No, it would be all the criminology/folklore course he had to do as his third year progressed. It was rough and painstaking and he wasn’t above admitting to his fair share of tears, not knowing if he could make it in life. But that’s okay because nothing could beat coming home.

Home. Stiles stumbles into the apartment, cursing as he drops his much too heavy school bag onto his foot. His voice cuts off when he catches a whiff of the greatest smells he has ever had the pleasure of smelling. Well, maybe not the best, but when you have been had a long day of classes and studying, anything that isn’t coffee or energy drink scented is a god send.

He takes a deep breath, following the scent of lemon and basil pesto, finding Derek in front of the stove. He smiles dopily, shuffling forward quietly despite knowing he was heard from long before he even reached for the front door. He puts his hands in the pockets of Derek sweats  and presses his cheek to a bare shoulder, nuzzling in before settling with a sigh.

“Cooking shirtless is dangerous.” The werewolf snorts, but doesn’t shake Stiles loose.

“For a human.”

“You’ve already burned yourself, haven’t you.”

“Three times.” Derek puts the pan he’s cooking pasta in and sets it on a different burner to cool. He turns and wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. The weight and warmth settle something intangible deep in his chest. The gentle lingering kiss to his temple lets the air he pulls in go deeper than he’s managed alone all day.

Derek carefully leads them to their thrift store couch, leaving Stiles there for a moment. He returns with steaming plates of pasta before Stiles can pull in enough breath to whine over being abandoned.

After food and a little idle chit-chat, Derek simply gathers Stiles’ long limbs into his arms and carries him to their bed. He gives a cursory comment that involves three attempt to not slur the word ‘emasculating’ while Derek smiles soft and fond like he’s grown to do over the past few years. He sets Stiles down and rids them both of jeans and t-shirts before curling them up under the covers. They lay in contented silence, peaceful space filled with easy breaths and calm breaths. Yes, home is always a nice place to be.

Stiles flips onto his stomach, curling his arms under his pillow after he drags Derek large, warm palm over his bare back. He arches, asking with a hum for a back rub knowing Derek loves the scent marking as much as Stiles enjoys the massage. After a little while, Derek takes up tracing the lines that connect his moles. Stiles knows the patterns almost by heart with how fond Derek is of the activity. Just as Stiles begins drifting off, something changes.

It isn’t bad, nothing is wrong. Derek is still soft and relaxed next to him, a warmth lining his left side, but there’s a shift somewhere and he can’t quite pinpoint what.He lays there, not too bothered but curious until he figures it out. Derek is no longer tracing his moles, but a new pattern that takes Stiles a few minutes to decipher. When he does, his heart melt like a popsicle in the Sahara.

They hadn’t said it before, it wasn’t entirely necessary. Stiles knew and he knew that Derek knew, it showed in the everyday things - Derek making dinner, Stiles forking over the extra cash for the body wash that didn’t meddle so much with his chemo-signals, Derek reading him to sleep on bad night, Stiles not saying a word when Derek crawls into bed with his back to Stiles in silent question. They didn’t say it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“I love you, too, Der.”

Welcome to the 14th edition of my Recommendation list for Cas!girls.

Check my Masterlist

Hello, fellow Cas trash pals. It’s been a loooong time since I posted a list. January 16th to be exact, my birthday. I moved cities and I’m not around here as much as I used to, but in light of the recent events regarding our baby. I’ve been crying to the slightest provocation since Thursday, so I felt the need to post a new list to raise our spirits a little bit, tho JiBCon already did a lot of that.
This list will be loaded of fluff and sweet love to our angel. I haven’t been reading a lot of fics lately, but I had these on my waiting list to be posted a for a while now, so I hope you enjoy them anyway.

Here we go.

Note: The summary of the fics are in italics. Some of them are written by their authors, and some others are written/modified by me. All the series start on chapter one, except if they have their own masterpage. The text written after this “–” hyphen are just my lame ass comments.
If for any reason you want your username and/or fic to be removed from this list or you wish not to be tagged, just hit me a message and I’ll erase it/untag/stop tagging you, whatever you preffer..

* Users that tumblr didn’t let me tag are marked with an asterisk.

Keep reading


Okay just bear with me my fellow trash

 - He isn’t portuguese technically. His grandparents escaped from Salazar dictatorship to france as everyone did back then. His own dad was born in france. So yeah he is french. But he still has that hot portuguese blood and lord help us all.

- He used to go to portugal every summer when he was little. His own dad speaked portuguese in his house because that’s what happens, we are assholes and speak our language in our homes and then go back to our country and speak french just because we are lil shits. So yeah Grantaire knows portuguese. His vó would kill him if he didn’t.

- When he is stressed he starts talking in portuguese because other people can’t understand him and that makes him feel safer. 

- When he hurts himself he just screams “caralho”.

- No one of les amis knew that was exactly cursing and they thought it was a beautiful word. Till R is like “you know that is like the most normal portuguese cursing word right?” And everyone starts using it as well and its adorable.

- He actually knows a lot of portuguese history and when marius is being an idiot about Napoleon he just clears his throat and be like “Well my people kicked his ass 3 times he ain’t that great”. (also enjolras screams there that that aint the point that Napoleon was bad because he was bad).

- The only time he was vocal about a cause it was about the immigrants and refugees. No one ever saw him like that. He was talking with everyone and defending that cause and one night Enjolras comes to him and aks why its so important for him and Grantaire just smiles and says: “My grandparents escaped from the dictatorship. They were refugees in France. I can’t let that be forgotten.” So yeah Enjolras kind of fell in love with him a bit more.


- First time he calls “amor” (love) to Enjolras, he almost dies. Because that sounds so much better than in french and he loves french. But the way Grantaire lips move when he talks portuguese is something that makes Enjy weak.

- He just curses in portuguese. Forget french. He is just caralho, merda, puta que te pariu, filho da puta, cona, cara de pila, etc. 

- And everyone thinks that is beautiful.

- He likes to say shit like “oh in portuguese you dont say ____ you say __(something that has nothing to do and its probably a dirty joke)__. Because he is an adorable liltle shit.


- He loves the beach and gets cranky in summer because the sea calls for him.

- He loves Fernando Pessoa so much. So so much. Cause hey no one was more emo than him.

- Sometimes he sings fado and everyone is looking at him and awe because damn R voice is amazing but in portuguese??? They can hear something more even if they dont understand a third of the words.

- just portuguese!grantaire

Dating Sam Winchester Would Include...

Originally posted by neededtofrolic

I thought it would be cute to do these! Feedback is appreciated!

no warnings for this one :) just a lotta of fluff and cheesiness

gotta kinda lengthy so i put a cut :)

  • meeting while he was on a hunt with his brother, dean. dean suggested they could stay in town for a few more days.
  • he was unsure, at first, whether or not you would even be interested in going on a date with him
  • but dean convinces him to ask you out
  • “if it goes well, it goes well. if not…well…what do ya have to lose?”
  • your first date was awkward, to say in the least. you could tell he hadn’t been on one in a while, but you didn’t bring that up.
  • but towards the end, when he was walking with you through a park you suggest you visit, something sparked. you really hit it off.
  • every date you had after that topped the one before it. not in what you were doing, but each time sam went out with you, he fell in love a little more each time.
  • he officially introduced you to dean after two months.
  • “sam told me you like pie, so i made you some apple and cherry-”
  • “sammy, if you don’t marry her, i will.”

Keep reading

The Day I Met Paul

A/N: happy mclennon day! this is just a small tidbit that i wrote to celebrate. enjoy

The day I met Paul.

It didn’t seem like a big deal.

The most exciting thing for me on July 6th, 1957 was the fact that my skiffle group, The Quarrymen, were playing a small gig. But little did I realize, meeting the slightly chubby boy with a guitar slung across his back would change my life.


I cherish that day more than anything else in the entire world.

He was quite cocky, yknow? I knew later on when I had finally gotten to know Paul, that his cockiness was his defence mechanism because he was nervous. I asked him if he was any good, and he replied,

“I’m alright,”

With a grin on his face that I would much sooner than later fall in love with.

It didn’t make sense, when two people such as Paul and I came together, but then again I disagree. We made sense. We fit together.

Chalkandcheese chalkandcheese chalkandcheese.

We fit together.

Chalkandcheese chalkandcheese chalkandcheese.

I must admit I laughed when I saw him. It wasn’t a Billy Shears type of love at first sight, though I am certain it happens all the time. He was rather chubby as I said, and his eyebrows. Lord help me, his eyebrows. So prim and proper, as though he had just finished plucking them.

“I’m Paul.”

“I’m John.”

Chalkandcheese chalkandcheese chalkandcheese.

If I could relive any day of my life, it wouldn’t be the day I met Paul, mind you. I like to look back on that day for what it was. A broken lonely boy whose Mummy and Daddy left him, meeting a smart young boy with a dead Mummy. That brought us closer, but it was more so the music.

Our music was our way of expressing our soft feelings that we couldn’t quite admit, realistically. Sitting on the floor of Forthlin Road, mirroring our hands on our cheap old guitars. The music that flowed out was the way our love sounded.

Then, we fell in love.


The day I realized I was in love with him was one of the worst days I’ve ever had. It’s not everyday you realize something like that, let alone with your best mate.

But, the day he told me he was in love with me would be the day I relived, yknow, if I could relive one.

He was angry with me.

We played at the Cavern and I was drunk, hammered, right out of this world. I kept messing up. I kept telling Paul,

“It doesn’t matter Macca, they’re not listenin’ anyway!”

After the show we piled into our dressing room and he was silent, sitting, waiting, stirring until the other lads went for a pint. And then,

Well. That’s not the day I’m discussing with you now, is it?

The day I met Paul was the day my life really began. The day my life had meaning. The beginning of the end, really.

“We’ll get back to you.”

I tried to make sure Paul knew I was the leader. I was the leader of the group. He couldn’t come in and mess about. Which as we all now know, the beautiful little bugger did just that.

I felt a shift in my universe when I heard that boy sing. My knees nearly buckled and my heart stopped for several moments. I composed myself well, and convinced myself and Shotton, who noticed, it was just the pints catching up to me.

He was going to be my songwriting partner. It was written in the stars when we were born. Our paths were meant to cross, merge, become one long and winding road. To nowhere.

His voice was smooth and full, it was soothing but yet exciting and crazy all at the same time. I had been overwhelmed with countless emotions, yknow, not to be too soft.

I thought about him as soon as the door closed behind his nice little arse. I thought about him as the lads and I continued to drink. I thought about him on my drunken stumble home to Mendips, on my lazy excuse for sneaking up the stairs to my room. I thought about him while I lied in bed.

Hell, I thought about him every single day until the day I died.

Still think about him.

I hope he thinks of me, now and then.

I think of his cheeky smile, his soft dark hair, his perfect eyebrows and the laughter behind his eyes. I think about his voice, his stupid jokes that I hated to admit were, in fact, very funny. I think about the way his fingers made such a beautiful sound come out of any instrument he picked up.

I think of everyday we spent together. Every brief touch, every long touch, every quick glance, every long stare that could fade into the night. Just staring.

I think of July 6th, 1957 because that’s the bloody day I met Paul fucking McCartney, and I’ve never been more thankful for anything in my entire life.

If I fell in love with you
Would you promise to be true?
And help me understand?

He did. He helped me, he fell in love with me. I fell in love with him. We didn’t understand, but we could always sit down and sing. Snog. Anything. Paul saved my life, he brought me life. He brought me the sun, the stars, laughter, happiness and most importantly he brought me love.

Of course, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, Johnny is getting to it.

We brought each other a lot of grief, misery and broken heartedness. But, why would I think about that now?

I don’t see him anymore. I have to remember the best parts of our relationship.

I miss him. I miss July 6th 1957.

The day I laid eyes on an innocent little school boy.

The day I laid eyes on a learning musician and singer.

The day I laid eyes on a fellow song writer.

The day I met Paul.