the tattered cover

here’s what the ratty shoebox under dean’s bed contains:

  • an old leather wallet with the initials “j.h.w” embossed on the front.
  • two tattered notebooks with ripped covers and loose pages full of scribbles about monsters, lyrics from songs, messy doodles, and phone numbers from truckstop diner waitresses.
  • a handful of photographs featuring a few familiar faces that are still painful to look at.
  • a dog-eared slaughterhouse five, a coverless grapes of wrath, and a relatively intact hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy.
  • some stray bullets.
  • some jewellery.
  • five mix tapes with handwritten titles in faded pen such as “tunes for ass-kicking” and “songs to get laid to.”
Yummy Barrel

I am a very new player. My first game, I was playing a chaotic neutral elf. We had just defeated some monsters, entered a room with a magic cup that I immediately picked up knowing nothing of what it could do and having done no checks (and was lucky enough to get an ability point to put wherever I wanted), and had continued to proceed to another room after determining that one was empty. There was just one other player and our DM.

DM: Okay, the room is dark.
Me: Well we both have darkvision.
DM: As you look around the room it seems to be empty. The walls are discoloured, a tattered rug covers the floor. You see there are some barrels with a clear liquid oozing from them. There is a table with…
Me: I lick the ooze
Other Player: You what?
Me: I. Lick. The. Ooze.
Me: What happens?
DM: I don’t know…I hadn’t planned anything with it…I didn’t think anyone would lick them. It was just a description.
OP: How are you not dead yet?!
Me:…So this Ooze…?


There is an incredible (and attractive) man in downtown Denver, Colorado that sits in front of the Tattered Cover book store that (for a tip) will make up a poem on the spot about whatever topic you want. He’s amazing! I chose Sunflowers as my topic and this is what he came up with. 🌼 I recommend anyone in the area to go see him. He’s really really nice too.


I wonder what the story behind these books is…

Liar Liar (Peter Parker x Reader) One Shot

“Um, no?” You whispered, cheeks hot as you struggled to keep your gaze on Peter’s eyes instead of his mouth.

“You promise?” He demanded, voice harsh as his grip on your arms tightened. You shook your head quickly, trying not to wince at the feeling of his fingers bruising your arms.

“I won’t tell anyone Peter, I promise.” He stared at you for a few more moments before he breathed out a sigh of relief, letting go of your arms.

Your hands shot up so you could rub the forming bruises, looking over in fear at the man you thought you knew. Peter sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face as he turned away from you. His suit was worn and tattered, covered in grime and in desperate need of a wash. Peter himself looked just as worn as the suit. The mask had been forgotten on the bed, Peter having tossed it there as he had launched himself through the window earlier. Which was precisely when you’d discovered that Peter Parker, your neighbor and friend, was Spider Man.

You’d nearly screamed when a man had jumped through the window and nearly soiled your pants when said man turned out to be Peter.

“Why were in here anyway?” Peter demanded, whirling around to face you.

You stumbled back, startled, and stared down at your hands which you had been ringing for quite some time now. “It-it’s wednesday,” You managed to stutter out, your voice sounding weak. Peter was never this harsh with you, hell Peter was never harsh with anyone! But he treated his friends like gold. Your usual bright and exuberant self was now a frightened mess.

Peter looked up at you suddenly, as if he’d forgotten it to be wednesday, before he squeezed his eyes shut. “Dammit, meatball wednesdays…Dammit I forgot.”

You and Peter shared meals almost every day of the week, but on wednesday you cooked sweet and sour meatballs because well, Peter loved them and work was hard on him. You didn’t mind it, in fact you both looked forward to it. He often came home late, due to work and seeing Aunt May-although you could assume now that it was because of his other habits-and so he’d let you have a spare key, telling you to let yourself in and start cooking. That was all you’d done today, although you deeply regretted it now.

Suddenly very aware of the tense situation, your heart began to race and you started towards the door. “I’ll just go now-”

“(Y/N) wait-” Peter called but you’d already thrown the door open and had slammed it shut before he could finish. Breathing ragged and uneven, you hurled yourself into your apartment and slammed the door shut, staring at it for a few moments while you struggled to wrap your mind around all that had happened.

Peter Parker was Spider Man.

Your neighbor and possible best friend was Spider Man.

All those times you’d spoken fondly of the hero and how attractive he probably was, you’d really been talking about Peter. And he knew it all along and just toyed with you. All those bruises littering Peter’s body all the time, the late nights, the disappearances, the tired eyes-all the danger?! It was Peter.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” You gasped, bolting the door with shaking hands before you backed away from it, eager to crawl into bed and escape the reality of what had just happened.

* * *

You avoided Peter for a solid two weeks after that. You ignored his texts, calls, the banging on your door, and whenever you’d exit your apartments at the same time you were sure to lock up faster and make sure the elevator closed before he could get on. You felt terrible about it, but not only had he lied to you, he could have put you in danger. He kept so much from you after all this time…

You frowned, biting your lip as you stirred the sauce on your stove. Meatball Wednesday. The event had happened exactly two weeks ago today. It felt like much longer, but that was probably due to the fact that you were lonely without your daily conversations with Peter. You missed ruffling his chocolate colored hair, the way his brown eyes crinkled when he smiled and how excited he got when you brought over dinner.

Well, screw him, you didn’t need him anyways. There was a loud crash and a shout and you froze, ears straining to hear anything else. Was that-?

“Dammit!” It was a muffled shout, coming from behind the wall on the left side of your small kitchen. Peter’s apartment. What the hell was he doing? Was he in trouble-?

“It doesn’t matter,” You scolded yourself, dropping the wooden spoon onto your stovetop before reaching for an oven mitt. “He’s not your problem anymore.” There was another crash, this was one louder than the first, followed by a string of curses and a rather loud shout. God damn that clutz. He was Spider Man, he was supposed to be agile.

Well that’s what he gets for lying, you mused, grinning to yourself. Except there was another loud crash, and a rather loud exclamation of pain and you couldn’t ignore that one. Groaning in frustration, you slammed your oven mitt down onto the counter and turned your stove and oven off before you stomped towards your door. The hallway of your complex was empty, thank God, as you stalked towards Peter’s door, throwing it open without hesitation.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” You demanded, hand still wrapped tightly around the doorknob in case you decided to take flight. Peter froze, whisk in hand as he stared at you.

“(Y-Y/N),” He stuttered, looking surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

“You’re too damn loud to ignore!” You barked, suddenly angry with the frightened looking brunette. Peter’s brows dipped in quiet hurt, before he held two pots up in front of himself. There was steam rising from a pan on the stove in front of him, and a jug of spilled vinegar lay on the floor at his feet.

“I don’t know how to cook meatballs.”

Your heart suddenly softened then and you wanted desperately to apologize, to forget all that had happened and to simply enjoy having lunch with your handsome, albeit stupid, neighbor again. But you just couldn’t.

“Figure it out on your own Parker,” You snapped, rolling your eyes as you slammed the door to his apartment shut. Still hurt and angry with his betrayal, you stomped back towards your own place, ignoring his shouting of your name. You heard the door of his place being wrenched open and suddenly the shouting of your name became much clearer.

“(Y/N)!” Peter shouted behind you, sounding angry.

“Piss off Peter,” You called back to him, hand already wrapped around the doorknob so you could go back to ignoring him. However, there was a loud ‘thwip’ sound and you jumped when a cool, silvery substance wrapped around you wrist. Startled, you let your gaze follow the trail of string-web, you supposed-and gulped audibly when you found the other end of it wrapped around Peter’s hand.

“Peter no-” You started, struggling to pull away from him but he pulled on the connecting web, causing you to lurch forward. “Stop it right now!” You demanded, stumbling towards him as you struggled to wrench the webbing away from your wrist. Your attempts proved to be futile, the webbing much too strong as you continued to be pulled towards a grinning Peter. With one last strong pull, you yelped and fell into Peter, your feet tangled amongst themselves.

“No, Peter-” You started, terrified you’d land too heavily and you’d both stumble and fall, or you’d hit your nose much too hard on his chest. However, neither happened. Instead, you found yourself being encased in his arms, one hand tangled in your hair as he held your mouth against his own. Eyes blown wide, you stared at him in shock. Your hands were pinned between your bodies, your feet a tangled mess and you were short of breath.

What was he thinki-

You yelped suddenly, before it turned into a soft moan as Peter’s tongue ran gently over your own. Oh my God, when-how-why you?!

He pulled back suddenly, lips barely brushing your own and you stared up at him, shocked.

“P-Peter,” You started, chest heaving but he cut you off, gently pulling back as he pushed your wrists together.

“Stay quiet,” He murmured, cheeks flushed as he started to wrap the excess webbing that had been around one wrist around both now, effectively restraining you. Your breath caught in your throat.


“You’ve got a lot to make up to me, ignoring me like that for two weeks,” He said lowly, eyes dark. You’d never seen him like this. “And I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” Heart racing and lower body feeling weak, you simply nodded at Peter and allowed him to lead you back through his door.

wedgewood-and-petrichor  asked:

*Curtsies* Good morrow, Duke! We all know that you prefer small, independent bookstores over chains, but what independent bookstores have you been to that you just fell in love with at first sight, and wish you could go back to someday?

*curtsies* Honestly I haven’t lived in the same place long enough to get too attached to any one bookstore, but the Tattered Cover (Colfax) is a special favorite of mine.

Jade at Twilight

The demon hunter stood out like a sore thumb among the small, green skinned Goblins and the hulking, paler skinned Ogres working the docks of Gadgetzan. He had been warned that the real power in the trade city belonged to the three gangs and not the mayor: The Grimy Goons and their brash, disorganized tendencies, the Kabal and their magic bolstered recklessly with corrupted red mana, and the Jade Lotus and their layers of shadow beneath the facade of honorable business.

And at this present moment the Kabal held control over the port. Their members dotted the area, some walking right past him. This made Altheas Flameshadow uncomfortable, though he hid this well; in no small part thanks to the tattered red veil covering his burning eye sockets. He should also be thankful for his red tattoos, as all members of the Kabal bore some form similar tattoo upon their body. And used to indicate their allegiance.

His were far different from theirs, thankfully. To him, theirs reeked of unbridled power. Whereas his was made of a more… controlled chaos, theirs was more wild. Waiting to be channeled in whatever uncontrolled sorcery they wished to unleash. Such a concentration of it all made his nose itch. Worse yet he could barely see each one that was not in plain sight. Which only served to point out the ones that were especially dangerous.

Even with all those distractions he focused on the goal before him. The shipment of jade that his employer, Aranya Ver’Sarn, had procured for the Jade Lotus. He watched and inspected each crate and each hand that touched each crate. It was easy to pretend to be someone else, easier through magical means. This gave him trust issues. He stood near the line of dock hands walking to and fro unloading the cargo from the ship and onto carts bound for the southern third of the booming trade city. The third controlled by the Jade Lotus.

On occasion he take a closer look at a random crate as it passed, looking for any sign of tampering or other form of molestation. Each one passing his quiet and unknown inspection. The sun was setting so this was to be the last ship to be unloaded before the workers went on to go about their nighty routine of drinking and raucous activities. Soon the last crate was off the ship and loaded onto the cart, and with that he headed up to the cart driver, a slightly portly Goblin with thick black mutton chops.

“You’ve been given the directions. Take it out. I’ll be nearby.”

tagging: @aranyaphoenix @tenuouslytenebrous @eclipsesyndicatewra @tattered

It stood there watching her, as always.

Only it was … not a wolf? It stood upright, its face covered by a fierce animalistic mask. Its clothes—his clothes—were strange and oppressively dark, a tattered cape covering his broad shoulders, the opposite of the snowy cape she wore over her simple dress. He wasn’t a wolf, but she could sense his feral nature. And in his hand—in his hand was a sword covered in flames, a weapon for an angel … or a devil.

Wolf at the Door by @shadowlass

After reading chapter three and thinking about this awesome story later, this vision popped into my head and I had to draw it out. I used Prismacolor colored pencils on 9 x 12′ black drawing paper.

Gift Basket

Originally posted by bovaria

Gift Basket

Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Summary: You ask Bucky for some romantic advice
Warnings: None
Type: Romantic

    You bursted into the common room, spotting Bucky on the couch with his nose buried in a tattered book.

    The torn cover of the book read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. You could see that some of the pages were bent and dog-eared, while the book was poorly bounded with a broken spine. You nose wrinkled at the decrepit state of the book. 

    Then, you saw something written in the corner of the book’s cover in black permanent marker. 

    Sam Wilson 

   Of course. Sam lent a crappy copy to Bucky.

    You came up behind Bucky and leaned on the sofa from behind. Bucky still haven’t noticed you as he continued to read. “Hey Buck.”

    Bucky jumped. “Yeah?” he said as he laid the book down on his lap. His cheeks tinted pink; he always blushes when you call him by the shortened version of his nickname. 

    “I need some romantic advice.” Bucky raised his brows. 

Keep reading


It was good hunting today. Wiping her brow of sweat, Velvet grins and lays claim to the fruits of her victory against the prickleboars. She’s got more than enough for dinner tonight, so she should head back home now, check up on Laphi and then start marinating all this meat—

There’s rustling from the thickets behind her, and Velvet instantly whirls around, blade unsheathed from her gauntlet as she readies herself for potentially another prickleboar attack.

Instead of a wild animal, Velvet comes face to face with a person. But even so, she finds it impossible to relax.

Many aspects of the woman before her strike Velvet all at once. Clothing that’s been ripped and worn out so bad that only the bare essentials are left covered. A tattered black cape that seems almost sinister and long, unruly black hair to match. The face that stares back at her with pursed lips and a stern gaze, but also all too familiar wide amber eyes.

Velvet stares. That’s her face.

“Um… What.”


Pepper cringed when she heard the knock at her door. Her son’s inablity to sleep through the night was going to get her evicted. As if she could handle that right now. Being a single mom was tough but she’d decided to take it on. Now she was just a failure who couldn’t soothe the two month old to save her life.

The red head opened the door to her two bedroom apartment with her hair sticking up all over and her tattered robe covered in unidentifiable stains, “Im so so sorry, okay? I know he’s loud. I’m trying.” She didn’t know who the other woman was but she had to assume she was here to tell her to get the hell out.

Roland had decided he would be better off going with CJ as a date. Not that they were anything more than best friends, but Roland loved him and Valentine’s day was the day you dedicated to the one you love. So Roland fixed his pants which were ironed nicely and made his legs look longer. He still wore his tattered, paint covered shoes but hardly noticeably one you say the baby blue shirt he say. He confidently walked up to CJ and quickly laced their fingers together. “You look nice!” He complimented, face red.



Fandom: Marvel Avengers

Word count: 1748

Characters: Bucky x reader, Steve, Nat

Warnings: injury to reader and other characters, angsty stuff

Summary: Bucky runs away on a mission after he helps tend to your wounds.

It was a long drive back to the Tower. Good thing the cars that SHIELD provided you with had tinted windows, because you didn’t want any police sticking their noses in and noticing the couple of bloodied agents in the back seat. That would raise awkward questions that you were too tired and in too much pain to answer. You didn’t want to get hauled down to another police station, not when you were so close to the Tower.

It said a lot that of you, Nat and Steve, only you were fit to drive. Kind of. The sunglasses you were wearing hid your left eye, which was swollen nearly shut, and your clothes were tattered, but covered the rest of your injuries. Every time you braked, the pain in your ribs shot through your whole side. You’d definitely broken a few. Behind you, Nat clutched a broken arm, and Steve was out cold. The silence in the car was thick, only broken by the occasional shuddering breath or gasp of pain when you turned too sharply.

“He still breathing?” you asked Nat, face grim. Steve had taken the worst of it, intent on protecting you both. There were bullet wounds in his shoulder and side.

“Think so,” Nat mumbled. You glanced at them in the mirror. Nat was nearly out too, eyes drooping as she leaned against the window, and Steve…The hand that was pressed to his side was the same bright scarlet as food colouring. Not a natural colour.

Keep reading


OK so, silliness aside, while I wouldn’t put it past Brady (an emotional being… who needs to be protected at all costs) to actually feel bad about the taters… there’s another option to consider here. He first starts to cry after Owain shows doubt about his cooking skills, which Brady reveals he learned from Maribelle.

It’s only after he mentions he learned it from his ma that he starts to tear up, even if he denies it, but when Owain inquires and insists about it, it is THEN that Brady comes up with the “feeling bad for the taters” thing.

This leads me, and a few other people as well, to think he’s crying because he’s reminiscing about his mother, and using the taters as a cover.