didsomeonesaybooks

[didsomeonesaybooks]

How to make a character's death sadder

 Don’t have them die of old age after a long, fulfilling life. Many people don’t even think of this as sad (note that this can still work if you have enough of the other factors).

 Leave one of their major goals unfinished. The more enthusiastic they are about completing the goal, the sadder.

 Give them strong relationships with other characters.

 Make them fight against whatever is causing their death. Their ultimate loss is sadder if they struggle.

 Kill them in the middle of their character arc.

 Don’t describe their funeral in detail. Maybe it’s just me, but I find that long descriptions of funerals kill the sadness.

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“Drabble prompts! Send one of these and a ship :)

“Oh go sit on a a cactus.”

“The president needs me to do what?”

“Do you even own a shirt?!”

“Was I suppose to be impressed?”

“How am I suppose to be calm at a time like this?”

“Everything is awful and nothing matters.”

“I forgot how much I hate you.”

“Everyone knows the 90s were the epitome of high fashion.” 

“Is that a dragon?”

“Why is the bathtub full of gold fish?”

“You call that a pizza?”

“Stop complaining at least you only broke one leg?” “YOU BROKE MY LEG!” “I said I was sorry.”

“Did you run a background check on me?”

“How was I supposed to know there was someone in the trunk? I was just stealing the car not trying to kidnap you!”

“Are you saying you don’t accept my rose?”

“What do you mean you don’t know who Batman is?”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?” “Well I did take a psych class in college.”

“Just go to sleep.”

“You can’t sing and dance your way our of every problem, this isn’t a musical.”

“If you frown any harder your face will stay like that.”

“You’ve always been trouble.”

“I heard you singing Taylor Swift in the shower this morning, are you okay?”

“I’d tell you to go to hell, but I never want to see you again.”

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“What are you, a vampire or something?”

“According to US Weekly we’re married.”

“Don’t leave me alone with him, he’s got a murder-y face.”

“You said you were good at baseball!”

“Did you steal someone’s cat?”

“I need a favor.”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“Who said I hate you?”

“You’re not a 1920s mobster, stop acting like you are.”

“Regina George would be impressed with you.”

“Are you crying because we ran out of pizza?”

“Wow she’s way better than you, does that make you feel bad?”

“I bet you ten dollars you won’t kiss me.”

“If you don’t hurry up all the good fruit will be gone.”

“Since when do you have a stand at the farmers market?”

“Did you actually carve that?”

“I can’t get up there are three dogs on my lap.”

“My dad mailed me all my old yearbooks, I never noticed that you were in ever picture with me.”

“Stop playing games.”

“It’s 2 AM, why are you here?”

“… Where are your pants?”

“Please don’t give me a ticket, my dad will kill me!”

“How’d you get here so fast? Can you teleport?”

“Is that my shirt?”

“Are you an undercover cop or something?”

“I’m not a pirate I’m a privateer.”

 “Well my mom thinks I’m special.” 

“I… I think I love you.”

“Make that bird stop chirping, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Stop running away!” “Then stop trying to protect me!”

“Are you… are you growling at me?”

“Look I was suppose to take my sister to the Ed Sheeran concert but she ditched me, want to go with me instead?”

“You look really familiar, do I know you?” “I think we matched on Tinder a few months back.”

“You brood more than Bruce Wayne.”

“We’re closed.”

“Shit! I forgot your birthday didn’t I?”

“Just go with it.”

“I need a favor, and not the sexual kind.”

“Wow amazing, it’s like you’re trying to be an asshat.”

“Your pickup lines weren’t cute in high school, they definitely aren’t cute now.”

“Why did someone just tell me that they ship us?”

“How many seasons did you watch today?”

“If you make one more stupid pun, I will actually stab you.”

“Never do stupid shit alone, always do it with a friend.”

“Stop laughing every time the announcer says 69.”

“You look good in green.”

“You can’t come here and only eat the free samples.”

“I’ve never lost in a bake off.”

“I wrote you a song.”

“It’s been 10 years how do you still look so good?”

“Don’t you dare bite me, I’m mad at you!”

[didsomeonesaybooks]

Our bodies are pressed together as the make-out-fest continues on the couch. Somewhere during A New Hope, my lips found his and the movie slowly became less and less of a concern. My mind wanders to the sounds of the trash compactor closing in the midst of Chewbacca’s voice, but as my face starts to turn, it is quickly recaptured as he turns us so that his body is on top of mine, the springs of the couch digging into my back.

It isn’t until his leg is between mine, our hips flush and moving against each other, that it hits me.

“Stop,” is barely a breath between our lips. I start pushing myself off the edge of the couch and he pull himself backwards to let me escape.

Pacing isn’t typically the way I cope, preferring utter stillness while trying to calm my anxiety, but I can’t stop as he watches me, waiting patiently while knowing I will speak when I find the words. There all here at once, I’m trying to sort through them and when I find the one I want to start with, the rest slide away. Damn it, I wish I had a pen or keyboard in front of me, not this man who needs me to speak rather than write.

“I’m trying really hard to be patient, but it is getting as thin as you are wearing the carpet,” his tone is playful but he can’t hide the worry in his eyes. Deep breath.

“I didn’t know where the line was before. But I found it. And we left it back there,” I point at the end of the couch he vacated. “And I know that's not really a line that most people recognize, but to me it’s significant.” He draws a breath to interject, but I stop my steps and look into his eyes, knowing what he is about to say. That he respected that line, now that we found it, and it wouldn’t happen again until I was ready. He lowers his hand again and waits for me to continue. “I know our lines are different. I know you wouldn’t have if there was any possible way for you to have known. That you respect me and want to talk this out so that I’m comfortable. But that's the thing. Something I should have told you before, but you are always so go to me and I thought I would ruin any chance of you in my life.”

It is all I can do to keep breathing, his eyes growing bigger as I talk.

“Babe,” his voice is utterly calm, the lines around his eyes and lips playing with his shoulders to portray the worry building in him, “I love you. Something from your past is not going to change that. You know what kind of hell I had in my past before I met God, who led me to you. You accept me for who I am now. I will offer you nothing less. Please, take a breath, sit, talk to me.” His hand is out, asking me to take it. Hesitant, I give his fingers a squeeze as I pass to sit on the other side of the couch, legs tucked up, back resting against the arm so I face him. He loves me…

“I’m demisexual. Asexual. Not aromantic, obviously, but closer to demi then fully,” My words tumble out faster and faster, “It's not that I would never have sex, I just, the thought of it makes me uncomfortable. And I don’t know where that starts, I’m fine with kissing. But when things progressed….” His face is now blank. “That's something that I know I only want to share with one person. Ever. I know for most that's not even a monument in the progress of their physical relationship, but for me its the flood gate. It feels like it could be the flood gate. The thought of sex may make me feel uncomfortable, and I’m not taking it off the table, but I don’t want it to be on the table at the beginning of a relationship. I want it to be something that comes later. Me being demisexual means that I fall in love with their people for their personality, their character, not their body. No matter how good they look.” And damn, he looks fantastic, and what I’ve felt through his shirt….

“I guess my point is that I love you too. That I’m choosing to say it knowing that this could be the tipping point for our relationship to either side. That when I think of spending the rest of my life with you, I can’t help but smile. And that for you, with you, I would be willing to try and do many things I never would have ever thought to consider.” I close my eyes and bury my head in my arms as the first tear slides down my cheek.

The couch groans as he stand up and sits down again, practically on my toes. A broken sob breaks from my throat as his arms wrap around me and he kissed the top of my head, the only part exposed to him. He begins tracing circles on my back with his palm, his tone distant, “I know that you have shared the difficult parts of your past with me, and in return I opened up to you. I’ve told you how I’ve been with more people than I care to count and that it is through the grace of God alone that I am here today. Here, knowing that I am save. Here, loving you.”

His chest vibrates as he chuckles, and I look up needing to see the smile that goes with it. “Babe, I’m demisexual. There is a reason I was only ever with my friends. People I thought were my friends. I thought that the only way to demonstrate my love for them was through that type of sacrifice. God knows I know better now. I don’t care if I never touch you again, all I need is you in my life.”

As if to follow through on this promise, he starts to pull back. My growl is enough to make him pause. “Don’t you dare.” His laugh vibrates through me once more.

I look up at him fully, into his steady eyes that are already on me when I look. Releasing my legs, I turn to bury myself in his side for a moment, breathing his scent in deeply. “You can bet your ass that if you want to stick around, you better be willing to cuddle.”

“Ready and willing.”

We sit in a comfortable silence, absorbing everything that we have shared with one another. I chuckle, “I love you. Some how I pictured my first time telling a man I loved him differently.”

“Were you wearing a corset, I breeches and riding boots?” The mischief in his eyes is back full force and his crooked grin making my heart flutter.

“Do not mock my love of Elizabeth Bennett, Tessa Grey, or being courted by a gentleman.”

“I can’t help but laugh when I ended up being the one lucky enough to have you.” My eyebrow raises in silent question, have me? His only response whispers of kisses on the corners of my mouth. I beg for more, pulling at his lip with my teeth in a hunger I haven’t shown before. I feel the heat pool in me, and the bulge I can now feel beneath my leg tells me that I need to finish this conversation.

“I don’t want to be alone. I want to lay down with someone at night and wake up with them every morning. I want to share my thoughts and feelings with them. I want someone to tell me that I’ll be okay and hold me when I am down. I want someone that will let me be strong for them. I want someone to be the third set of footprints. When I look down and see 2 sets of footprints in the sand, I want to know that one is God’s as he carries me and the other is the one who chooses me each and every day as he walks with us and holds my hand. And I want him to want this too. Not in these words, but in his own way. I want us to grow together in faith, and physically. I want this, but I want who God wants for me, even if it means waiting 20 years like Isaac did for his sons.”

“Then lets pray. Let’s see if I am the man God wants for you. Because I want you. I want to share this life with you while worshiping Him. I want to experience the good and the bad, all by your side. I want to hold you and give you everything you want. And hold back everything that you don’t.”

“I want to experience it with you. Piece by piece. I want to let you do anything you want to me. And I want to watch your face, your eyes, as I do everything I can to please you.” I can feel my face getting red, the more I say. “I want to explore myself, my limits, with you. And I want to explore you. I want to explore the world, do good, share the Word, all with you by my side.”

His breathing is nearly as ragged as mine. I can’t tell if my heart is racing from joy or anxiety. Possibly both.

“If I had a ring,” the breath of his hushed voice caressed my cheek, “I’d propose to you right now. And by your own courtship standards, you would be mine. And I would give you everything I possibly could by the goodness of God.”

“As hard as it would be for me, I would have to decline.”

“Trying to play hard to get, Ms. Bennett?”

“Have you asked my dad? Not to mention that this is the first time that we have ever talked about our future together, or getting married. Or shared these things about ourselves with each other. Are you sure you could not only put up with me and my attitude for the rest of your life, but my family? Or going the next 60 years without physically being with a woman?”

“I would go an eternity without so much as looking at anyone, if it meant you by my side.” My core warmed and my cheeks flamed to match the growing heat. That dummy didn’t miss any of it.

[didsomeonesaybooks]

[didsomeonesaybooks]

Turn your handwriting into a font

I discovered this by accident and I thought it was really funny and cute:

1. Download the template from MyScriptFont website

2. Write out the alphabet and numbers in your style, using a black marker (felt pen). This is mine:

3. Scan the template  4. Upload to the MyScriptFont website, name it, set the format and click “send file” 5. Download it to your computer and install

And check out my result!

[didsomeonesaybooks]

Doctors are just IT people for us meat sacks.

[didsomeonesaybooks]

know the difference

It has come to my attention that many people mistake wyverns for dragons, so here’s a post to help you remember

Dragon: 4 legs, 2 wings

Wyvern: 2 legs, 2 wings

Drake: 4 legs, flightless

Wyrms: long snake like body with no appendages, can also appear as a traditional Chinese dragon with 4. Legs and no wings yet can fly

Amphithere: 0 legs 2 wings, can be feathered

Lindwurms: 2 legs, 0 wings, long body

Luck dragon: 4 legs, no wings, can fly, long body, furry with dog like face

Komodo dragon: 4 legs, no wings, real

Bearded dragon: 4 legs, 0 wings, often kept as pets

[didsomeonesaybooks]

“What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m Syrian,” I answer. “My entire country is a war hostage. I survive, I try to fight, try to belong. The entire world is looking at me, and I stare right back.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m French,” I answer. “I was out there enjoying life, drinking, dancing, laughing, trying to forget about the world. But he didn’t forget about me. They wanted to hurt someone, something, and it’s me who was chosen to bear it, I don’t know why.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m a Lebanese,” I answer. “I think it was something about revenge. I was at the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong universe, where people claim the right of life and death over others, in the name of… In the name of what?” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m a Jew,” I answer. “I lost count of how many there are. Oh no, that’s not true. I know exactly how many, even if they’d like me to forget. It’s carved in my flesh, bore by my children. I’m hurt, and hurt.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m a Palestinian,” I answer. “I was born here. That is my crime.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m American,” I answer. “My neighbour did this to me, my classmate, my colleague, a stranger. One scar for each way I’m not like they’d want me to be. Wrong skin, wrong love, wrong ancestors, wrong faith. Oh, this one? No you see, I was in that tower, that one day…” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m Mexican,” I answer. “I tried to speak, I tried to rise because my country wouldn’t, and in the end it was my persecutor. A victim with no crime and a crime with no punishment.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m Indonesian, Japanese, Haitian,” I answer. “The ground beneath my feet, the sea beyond the ground, the earth and the sky, they vanished under my feet, taking everything with them, leaving nothing behind.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m Muslim, Christian, Buddhist,” I answer, “but my country is not.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m Kenyan, Norwegian, Pakistani,” I answer. “I am just a student. Was” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m a policeman, a serviceman, a doctor, a journalist,” I answer. “That’s what I chose to do, and I paid for it.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m a mother, father, brother, sister, daughter, son, husband, wife, lover, friend,” I answer. “This is my strength, and my weakness.” “What are those scars?” he asks. “I’m not heterosexual,” I answer. “I’m a woman,” I answer. “I don’t have money,” I answer. “I was on a plane,” I answer. “I was in the metro,” I answer. “I wasn’t born in this country” “I was born in this country” “What are those scars?” he asks, “On your soul, and your body?” “I am human, I answer. It’s a hard thing to be.

Twenty-first century (via l-ecriture-des-choses)

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There are many reasons to steer clear of Christianity. No question. I fully understand why people make that choice. Christianity has survived some unspeakable abominations: the Crusades, clergy scandals, papal corruption, televangelist scams, and clown ministry. But it will survive us, too. It will survive our mistakes and pride and exclusion of others. I believe that the power of Christianity - the thing that made the very first disciples drop their nets and walk away from everything they knew, the thing that caused Mary Magdalene to return to the tomb and then announce the resurrection of Christ, the thing that the early Christians martyred themselves for, and the thing that keeps me in the Jesus business (or, what my Episcopal priest friend Paul calls ‘working for the company’) - is something that cannot be killed. The power of unbounded mercy, of what we call The Gospel, cannot be destroyed by corruption and toothy TV preachers. Because in the end, there is still Jesus.

Nadia Bolz-Weber, Accidental Saints: Finding God in All the Wrong People (via liberated-otter)

[didsomeonesaybooks]

[didsomeonesaybooks]

[didsomeonesaybooks]

Finally in my room, I slowly start pulling the bobby pins out of my hair. I pick up my brush, reliving the evening as I straighten the tangled mess. I look over into the full length mirror and marvel at how beautiful I feel, I look. Adrenaline starts pulsing through my veins. I NEED to talk to someone. Its 1 a.m., she still hasn’t texted me back, she's probably asleep… Em told me she’d stay up so I still have a chance, if I can sleep at all. And keep him off my mind, or at least toward the back of my thoughts.

I try to settle my nerves as I change into a baggy tee. After washing my face and brushing my teeth I gallop over to bed. As soon as my head hits the pillow I feel it; despite the rush I am exhausted. It only takes a minute or so to slip into my dreams.

There she is! “Em!” I call out and she turns, a grin spreading across her face.

“Car, I am so glad you were able to come! I was afraid you might be too distracted, but I couldn’t stay awake any longer.” There is a laugh in her eye and she sounds truly concerned.

“Em, there are no words… I don’t know where to start,” I can’t tell if I’m thrilled or scared, my tone suggests it could be either.

“Just start at the beginning.”

[didsomeonesaybooks]

Sharpies soothe the soul