try your luck!

“I shouldn’t have to pay for other people’s healthcare” yeah, no, you should. We’re all soft, weak, hairless apes long removed from any species that could survive alone, and you’re alive because of the daily efforts a vast web of people just as weak and helpless as you. That’s what a society is. America requires you to pay extraordinarily little to the common good, but keeping your fellow witless apes alive is part of the small fee. Deal with it or try your luck in the wilderness.

Scene Transitions

An important part of structuring your story in any format is the transition between scenes. When not handled properly, time and/or location jumps in a narrative can become disorientating and confusing, making it harder for the audience to keep up with the action. There are three important things to focus on when transitioning between scenes: where the first scene ends, where the second scene begins, and how to connect the two.

It’s important that each scene have closure. When you leave a scene, you need to know that the goal of that scene was reached. If you leave the scene too early, before you receive that closure, your audience will be left hanging, feeling unsatisfied and off balance. You need to ‘cut away’ when the scene comes to its natural end, when everything is understood and the audience is ready to move onto the next idea. If you leave the scene too late, it drags your story, and makes it feel like the scene is longer than it is.

As with the end of a scene, the beginning of a new scene must feel natural. If you have to backtrack immediately after starting your scene in order to explain whats going on, then it means you’re not starting at the beginning of the scene. You can sometimes get away with doing this, if the reflection is placed naturally in the writing, but you shouldn’t try and push your luck. If all of your scenes start with an immediate backpedal to explain where everyone is, how they got there, and when it takes place, then you need to go back and fix some things.

Information about the change in time and location are important to include. If you didn’t, then it would be impossible for the audience to tell if, when or how these changes occurred. The most widely accepted way of transitioning between scenes is to detail the things done by the characters to go from scene A to scene B. They can do so by showing the transition between locations (“They walked the distance to the theatre, laughing the whole way”), points in time (“hours passed as she sat reading in her favorite chair”), or combinations of the two (“they drove for days, the grassy hillsides of home growing into a looming mountain range”). The information in the transition must do everything to set up the new scene that’s starting.

I am going to use a segment from “These Shallow Graves” by Jennifer Donnelly as an example of what not to do when transitioning between scenes. In chapter thirty-four, a scene is ending where the protagonist and her love interest meet secretly during a ball and make a plan for her to sneak out later that evening. The scene ends on an angsty moment as they both watch her almost arranged fiance dancing with the competitor for his affections. Chapter thirty-five immediately begins with the two of them having met up and halfway to their destination. It is then explained how the protagonist had left the party early, snuck out, and made it to the meeting point.

Feels kinda jenky huh? Here’s how we could smooth this out.

Their plan for meeting up that evening involves the protagonist telling her uncle (who an attendee) that she is feeling faint and using that as an excuse to leave the ball early. This would make more sense as a place to end the scene as it signals the beginning of the transition between locations. When she sneaks out the house is a good place to officially begin the next scene, as it signals another change in locations. Because the time spent at the protagonist’s home is not important to the overall story (her waiting for everyone to fall asleep) this could serve as the transition between the scene of the first and the scene of the second meetings. The cab ride from her house to the meeting place is also its own small transition, and is a good place to reflect on past information without interfering with anything else going on (such as dialogue and bonding between love interests).

Remember! All of the important things to keep in mind when writing scene transitions are:
Know where to end a scene.
Know where to begin a scene.
Know how to connect the scenes.

So a demon is possessing the body of my rogue’s adoptive-brother. She obviously doesn’t want to hurt him, but she doesn’t want him to hurt the rest of the party.

Rogue: Well that leaves one person. I stab myself in the stomach.
Everyone else: WHAT THE FUCK.

The DM laughs a bit, making some rolls as I get yelled at for stabbing myself.
Fighter: “The fuck is that going to accomplish-”
DM: The demon seems frazzled for a moment before rushing over to [rogue’s] side and using a cure spell on her.
Demon: “The fuck was that?! How did you do that?!”
Rogue: “You’re possessing my older brother. Unless you got rid of him completely, I doubt he’s suddenly going to become passive rather than fussing and obsessing over me when I’m injured.”
Demon: “Well-”
Rogue: “Try your luck at killing me. See how that does over in my brother’s body.”
Demon: “Bullshit! I’ll deal with you and your gross sibling love later-”
Rogue: I stab myself again.
DM: *More rolls* He returns and heals you again.
Rogue: “Thanks for the healing.”
Demon: “Quit it, can’t you see I’m trying to kill people!”
Rogue: I stab myself again.

My confused party takes this as permission to attack him, knocking him out pretty quickly while he’s distracted with me.

Fighter: “…what just happened?”
Wizard: “Familial bonding.”

TL;DR: Rogue beats demon possessing her brother by distracting him and tricking him into healing her from brotherly instinct.

(Note: anything in quotations is in character, if not, it’s ooc)


beats by Dre ||  made for Mitch Marner

consider: cameos for both Cassian & Jyn in the Han Solo movie, wherein they narrowly miss meeting each other

ok ok so i know hanahaki happens when you’re in unrequited love with someone but i always like the concept of coughing of flower petals whenever your dreams don’t come true. the larger the dream is to you, the more flowers come up. these are the dreams you know realistically will never happen anyway, and your mind labels them as wishful thinking, but still, you find yourself going, what if.


yuuri katsuki was eight or nine when he decided he wanted to focus on figure skating instead of ballet. minako-sensei let him go with a proud smile to hide the small wisps of carnation she sneezed out moments after yuuri left her studio. the flowers were quick to go, however, as she accompanied yuuri to his regional novice competitions and watched her student flourish on the ice.

when yuuri was twelve his best friend yuuko told him about victor nikiforov, fresh out of his jgpf win, and out spilled blue roses from yuuri’s gaping mouth. he was too astounded to even notice. takeshi snickered and muttered something along the line of pathetic kid can’t even hold himself together, which earned him a kick on the shin from yuuko.

the blue roses came every day after that. because they were whole instead of the usual petals people cough up, yuuri did his best to preserve the shape and lined the flowers up on his desk, put them on a string to hang above his growing victor posters collection. sometimes he’d make flower crowns out of the more recent batch and pretend he was on the ice with victor, the flowers a present from an adoring fan somewhere up in the audience. he coughed up another fresh rose for his trouble.

they served as a reminder of sorts for yuuri, as he clawed his way up to japanese junior nationals and junior worlds with no formal coach other than minako-sensei. yuuri clung to the hope, however impossible it might be, that one day he might be able to compete against victor. sometimes his mind got the better of him and reminded him that all these childish imaginations must come to rest by filling his lungs chock full of flowers he struggled to breathe. yuuri just did the same thing he’d been doing for years now: put the roses on display, put his heart on his sleeves, and let his dream go up higher than he could reach.

it became a cycle for yuuri. one step higher, two roses more. 4cc bronze in 2011 for yuuri, euros gold for victor. 2013 gpf second alternate for yuuri, third gpf gold for victor. seventh place overall and a bronze for team event in the olympics for yuuri, second olympic gold medal for victor.

closer, his heart screams.

you’ll just stumble and fall down like the pathetic person you are, his mind replies. and supplies more flowers for his lungs to gasp out, because why not.

the night before men’s short program, sochi’s air was the clearest yuuri’s ever inhaled. there were no petals in his respiratory system; finally, after years of tireless fighting, he managed to nab a spot at the finals. now if he could just make the podium, that would be the closest he’s ever been to victor.

the night before men’s free skate, yuuri was busy getting his windpipe to clear from the new petals that quickly clogged his airway. his phone laid somewhere to his side on the hotel carpet, mari’s muffled voice getting more and more concerned by the seconds. he didn’t have to see the flowers to know what they signify.

i wish i had more time with you. i wish i’d been there. i wish i weren’t selfish.

yuuri pulled through his free program with bruised throat and bloodshot eyes. he said nothing to celestino at the kiss and cry, knowing that if he opened his mouth it wouldn’t be words that came out, but vicchan’s flowers instead.

so this is what grief feels like, yuuri thought while struggling to articulate his apologies to his family back home.

i told you so, his mind shouted. he choked out a whole blue rose that served as nothing but salt to an open wound.

when yuri plisetsky kicked his toilet stall door in and delivered his angry spiel at a yuuri who was too stunned to even react, the russian skater zeroed in on yuuri’s tearstreaked, full-of-flowers face, and let out an “oh my God you’re so pathetic” to hammer his point home, then walked away.

here’s the thing, though.

victor nikiforov has always had flowers in his lungs and throats and nostrils, even when his nose was so runny he couldn’t feel the flowers piling up. he felt he had always had more flowers than other people in general. most of the times, he didn’t even know what he wished for that could cause such a strong reaction. nevertheless, he learned how to hide his flowers so as to not worry his parents.

it’s a skill that came to be useful for his life, because the only thing worse than a sore loser is a sore winner. it’s understandable for the silver or bronze medalists to sneeze out a few petals during the ceremony, and it usually subsided by the time the gala rolled out. as the five-times consecutive champion, naturally victor couldn’t let his flowers run amok. one petal is all it takes for media to hound a gold medalist and call them names on various articles the next day.

(after victor won his fourth gpf title, a few jasmine petals made their way out of his mouth during the press conference. media went crazy. even chris subtweeted him, saying “what else could he possibly want, honestly?” before quickly deleting the tweet, but not before victor’s seen it. victor had to mute his entire timeline to regain some semblance of peace.

the problem is, victor didn’t know what he wanted. he just knew that there was this empty, gaping hole somewhere inside him, and his body was trying to compensate by filling it with flowers that sometimes overflowed.)

ever since meeting yuuri at the sochi gpf banquet, he’d been coughing up whole green carnations. this was the first time he’d ever seen a whole flower from hanahaki, instead of petals. the flower was beautiful, too, for all that it was gross because it was propelled from his airway. it reminded him of yuuri, bright and incandescent and a lifesaver.

he didn’t throw the carnations away. he didn’t hide them. he told anyone who asked about it that he fell in love and had yet had a chance to talk to the person recently–that is, of course, until the video of yuuri skating his stammi vicino program surfaced and became viral in mere hours, and victor quickly made plans to move to japan.

during victor’s first few weeks in hasetsu, he realised that none of his old flowers showed up anymore. even when he faux-sneezed in front of yuuri to gain his attention, no petals came bursting out of his nose. in their place, only yuuri’s carnations remained.

victor thought back to what felt like centuries ago, when his body’s idea of stability was ten different types of flower petals hurled out every time he coughed, and realised that he just wanted to be happy, all along. he didn’t know why he’d thought happiness is complicated.

he saw yuuri coo at makkachin, something about russian dogs only understanding russian phrases, and wondered whether happiness has always been this simple.

yuri plisetsky came and went as an angry hurricane, leaving jagged pieces of torn roses in his wake. yuuri paid him little mind, his head instead zeroing on the fact that victor stayed. victor chose to stay here and coach him. victor chose to gave him his time. but how much time? how much is enough? how much is too much?

yuuri spent too much time making sure he lived up to victor’s standard to notice that he no longer coughed up his familiar blue roses.

victor took notice of the old flowers sometimes before regionals. he saw the loop of stringed roses on top of yuuri’s desk and said, those look familiar.

it’s not what it looks like, yuuri backtracked, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to, it’s just, i’ve been looking up to you for years, but i promise, i wish nothing more from you, no more than what you’ve already given me.

but victor pressed on. it’s alright, yuuri. what do you want me to be? i can try to give it to you. your friend? a father figure? your boyfriend? then i’ll try my best.

yuuri surprised him though, after overcoming his own surprise. no, i just want you to be who you are. i just want you to be victor.

victor left the beach with a lighter heart, not realising how heavy it had always felt. he woke up the next day with no carnations in sight.

after they get married, when victor is having a bad day, yuuri will leave carnations pressed between the book victor’s currently reading. and likewise, when yuuri is having a rough day, victor tucks blue roses inside his gym bag, under his sheets, behind his ears. the fresh flowers serve as a reminder for them, as if saying you are the one thing i thought would always be impossible, and yet, here you are. thank you. i love you.

With Love And Money

 Sugar Daddy!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff 

Warnings: Daddy kink, spanking, D/s themes, i think that’s it

Words: 8k 

Request:  ahhh yonni omg could you do a really nasty yoongi daddy kink smut with spanking please?

Originally posted by bwiseoks

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Sock, and his lovely Lopunny pal, have set up a kissing booth for the holidays!
For only the small fee of a dollar you can receive a heck of a smooch! Send in an ask and get one now! (Pokeblogs only please, otherwise I will choose a random pokemon to represent you!) 

Sock, and guest star Lopunny, have joined the party!

Someone said they left together,
I ran out the door to get her,
She was holding hands with Trevor,
Not the greatest feeling ever…

Said, “Pull yourself together,
You should try your luck with Heather”
Then I heard they slept together,
Oh, the less I know the better,
The less I know the better….

Oh my love, can’t you see yourself by my side?
No surprise when you’re on his shoulder like every night…
Oh my love, can’t you see a child on my mind?
Don’t suppose we could convince your lover to change his mind,
So goodbye…

She said, “It’s not now or never
Wait ten years, we’ll be together”
I said, “Better late than never
Just don’t make me wait forever”
Don’t make me wait forever…

Made with SoundCloud
Frye Twins x Reader ~ Family

Originally posted by assassinscreed

People say in your final moment, your life flashes before your eyes.

It does.

The first two decades of your life, you would say, weren’t really exciting. Being the only child in your family you continued the legacy of your parents. Born and raised in Crawley you trained with the reckless Ethan Frye to become a Master Assassin. Matching to his longing to court danger you were a free spirit yourself. The two of you were almost like siblings. Inseparable and the perfect team to take out the Templars. Well, until Ethan met Cecily – his future wife.

You were on your own again during missions, but you didn’t really mind the loneliness. It changed rather fast, when you saved George Westhouse’s life. You took him to the Brotherhood so he can join and become your new partner.  

In the meantime, the Brotherhood in Crawley got a fifth member. Duncan Hardy – your future husband. So a handful of highly skilled Assassins should be more enough to take back London from the Templars. 100 years they had the upper hand. It had been the time to change that. Or so.

1847 changed everything for you and the Brotherhood in general. Ethan and Cecily were expecting a child, while Duncan and you weren’t blessed in that way. Yes, you were happy for them and jealous at the same time.  

A day before the twins were born, Ethan fails on his mission miserably, which resulted in Duncan, his current partner, getting killed. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the chance to mourn over your loss. On the 9th November 1847 Cecily died after giving birth to Evie and Jacob Frye. Healthy twins.

“Cecily, please, you can’t do this to me! They need their mother”, you cradle the little bundle in your arms hoping to stop Evie from screaming, while Jacob takes a nap on the bed. Born and already a lazy ass. Cecily flashes you a slight smile, which doesn’t reach her tired eyes. Her time is slowly running out, but at least she knows her two angels are in good hands. In yours and Ethan’s.

“You are going to be such a great mother. I would be honored if you take care of them. Please”, how could you say no to her begging eyes? And after all, to be a mother is still a wish of yours. “Sure, I will do my best”, you mumble under your breath trying not to choke on your tears.

Like Cecily has been waiting for your answer, the sparkle in her eyes dies. The door gets pushed open as Ethan rushes in the room panting heavily. True happiness appears on his face, but it doesn’t last long. “Cecily? Cecily!”, you step into his way before he can reach his deceased wife. You got a last look at Duncan’s dull eyes, which are hunting you in your dreams. He shouldn’t endure the same.

“Take care of Evie. I’ll coordinate everything else. We got this, Ethan”, you have no idea how you will keep everything under control, but it will work out somehow. The Master Assassin flashes his hidden blade just an inch under your chin, “Don’t tell me what to do!” Nothing is going to work out well.

Without a word you swipe away the blade from your skin. Then you wrap Evie and Jacob up in a blanket to carry them out of the room. “Ethan-”, you try your luck to talk some sense into his head, but he cuts you off rudely, “Out!” The Grief takes the best of him. Hopefully he will get himself back on track. The twins need their father. 

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A thread of everything you need to know about BIFL. 

Troll-hole adventures (Thorin x Reader)

Originally posted by thorinoakenshieldconfessions

Requested by Anon: “Hello! What about number 13 with Thorin or Fili ? :).”

Number 13 = “Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

Thank you very much for the request, anon and I’m sorry that it took me a few days to write it! But I had to change a lot to improve it and I still don’t like it very much… I bet y’all would have prefered if I had done something like them being locked up in a room by Kili or something, but I wanted to try something new, and well… let’s just hope you’ll enjoy it :)

I chose Thorin, because I did Fili not long ago, I hope that’s okay xx .

Word count: 3216

Warnings: Fluff and let’s just pretend that you and Thorin never feel the urge to go to the toilet and you aren’t that hungry while being locked in there

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uxienya  asked:

Venom X Reader for an aspiring actress? Possibly a meet up after a club performance?

You typically shift out of see-and-be-seen mode as soon as the makeup comes off. You don’t mingle after performances because the being on the receiving end of so many complements is not a comfortable place for you. Besides, everyone is usually drunk and the men tend to get a bit familiar with performers when they’re inebriated.

With the other girls out shmoozing, you have the long dressing room counter all to yourself. Off comes the wig - you shake out your own hair and give it a quick fluff - and then the makeup. You’re The Reigning Queen of the Well-Stocked Show Bag (Long may she reign!) and you keep washcloths and makeup remover (and tampons and double-sided carpet tape and Advil and bobbi pins and wig caps and a whole-ass military grade first aid kit) handy for nights when you just don’t see yourself rubbing elbows with members of the audience after curtain call.


No makeup, no wig, no costume. You’re ready to sneak out of the venue and take a walk up the street a few blocks to the late night taco truck. Without your slap and sequins you should be able to make it all the way through the crowd to the entrance without being noticed.

Passing by the bar on your way to the door, you notice a broadly built, handsome man appreciating you with his eyes as he closes out his tab. The temptation to stop and talk to him is strong, but the siren call of tacos de lengua is stronger and really, nothing good can come from trying your luck with a stranger at a bar. Strangers at bars have let you down before, but tacos have never failed you.

You slip a $20 to the mountain of a door man on your way out and give him a quick kiss on his pock-marked cheek. You take care of the door man and he will always take care of you and that is the gospel truth, praise Jesus.

“‘Night Roy!”

“Night kiddo. Stay outta trouble.”

“I’ll do my best,” you reply over your shoulder.

It’s a busy night in the city with lots of people out of the street enjoying a warm summer night. Music and street vendors and drunk friends, sounds that make you feel a little less alone in the world.

You’re a block and a half from the best tacos de lengua in at least a 10 mile radius and an ice cold Coca-Cola hecho en Mexico when you hear a man’s voice call out your stage name behind you. You turn and see your handsome stranger from the bar. You decide then and there that asking him to come along with you to get a late night outdoor dinner is really the best of both worlds and after he apologizes for bothering you (“I just wanted to tell you in person that you were great on stage tonight. It was really something else”) the two of you head towards the sound of cumbia para bailar and the smell of an open grill.


“So you like tongue, eh?”

Your new dinner companion, Eddie, finds your order of four beef tongue tacos on corn tortillas quite amusing and you’re not sure why. It makes him smile in a way that suggests both a private joke and rather explicit suggestion.

“I happen to LOVE tongue, thank you very much.”

He didn’t expect you to play along and your reply makes him blush. The pink in his cheeks give him a boyish appearance that strikes you as unexpectedly charming and you warm to him without meaning to. The two of you chat about the show and about your life as a performer while you eat. He seems reluctant to talk about his own work and life and is content to listen to you, leaning in with interest.

When you’re both finished eating, he asks you to dance. Music is playing loudly from the food truck - a playlist of popular songs by Selena, Grupo Niche, Bronco, and many others compiled by an enthusiastic prep cook named Hector possessed with both excellent taste in music and admirable knife skills - and patrons had been dancing in the street and on the sidewalk all night.

It’s nearly 2am. You wrap one arm around his shoulder and rest your head so close that he can feel your breath on his neck. His arm around your waist is holding you close to him, and his other hand is holding yours in the air as you both sway back and forth. You’re tired, but not tired enough to turn down a dance or two pressed up against Eddie’s muscular chest. He really is a gentleman. The tips of his fingers trace gentle circles in the small of your back and you give a soft sign of appreciation.


Eddie walk you home and at the door of your building he takes your chin in his hand and gives you an unembellished kiss on the lips. He waits until you’re safely in your building with the door locked behind your before turning to walk back up to a busier part of the street to hail a cab.


“I know.”


“I think she prefers beef tongue.”


lovely nightmare (M) ║ pt. 2

Warnings: smut (SLUT SHAMING, A LOT OF DOM/SUB), angst, demons & strong language.

Words: 5K

Summary: Y/N is the typical awkward college girl. She was wanted by many, and bullied by more. She was innocent and super intelligent; something you just can’t be in college. One night she decided she no longer wanted to be known as that innocent girl that she was labeled and decided to get drunk by herself. After three shots Y/N was looking up rituals people used to summon demons. A demon named Jungkook.

A/N: huehuehuehuheuheuh

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