100 Words For Facial Expressions

"All My Friends Are Dead,"

an autobiography by Merlin Emrys.

Dedicated to Dr. John Watson

Preface by The Doctor.

Epilogue by Dean Winchester.

Bold but smooth, fruity taste with a lingering, mellow and sweet aftertaste

——Superfine Keemun Mao Feng Black Tea

Reblog, click the picture, and prepare for battle.

Fantasy Worldbuilding Questions:

Taken from the Nanowrimo forums. For my future reference. I might just answer questions later, or post my own answers as well.

What kind of shoes do people wear?

Do they have guns?

As a culture, do they prefer sweet foods or savory foods? (or spicy?)

Do they have horses? Other large pack animals?

How do your people typically dance, and when?

What kind of food do your people eat, and how is it grown?

What are your people’s death customs? Cremation, burial, something else? Is there any kind of mourning ritual?

In your world, is the country ruled by one family/king, or by several?

What education is available?

What is the economy of your world like? If there are several countries, what resources do they trade, and what do they need to import to survive?

What kind of opportunities and power do women have?

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““What can you possibly achieve by seeing someone else miserable? What kind of a sick person do you have to be to get a kick out of someone else in pain? I don’t care how badly you were hurt. The second you think that someone else deserves the suffering you went through, you too become evil. And just like every other evil in the word, you need to be destroyed.””

—

Aequus

Building a character from the ground up

Method of determining personality: Quote 

Type of Character: Antagonist

Main or Secondary: Main Villain

Main Purpose: Challenge the way the protagonist views the people around him

Puppy Sibling

She walks around the house with a stuffed rabbit. We had put it in her crib about a week after she was brought home from the hospital. She was so tiny, and mom thought that she might accidently suffocate herself by hugging the toy too tightly. We told her it was silly, and we still put the toy beside our baby sister, but a part of us could not help but wonder. So, despite our own inner scolding’s, we still kept a mighty fine watch on that crib. We still listened for the sounds of the baby inside extra carefully, just in case. But nothing bad had ever happened.

She did love that rabbit though, and I could not have been any happier. I had spent hours upon hours working the doll into a decent shape. My fingers were all practically useless, numb from the constant jabbing of several different needles. I had started making it when mom gave us the news that she was expecting another baby. That was about two months along. It took me an entire seven months, and a couple of weeks more for added measure, to finally finish it. I can’t say that it wasn't a pain, but I knew it was worth it when I saw her slobbering all over the thing.

I used to call her Puppy, or Pup, because back then I hadn’t seen anything cuter than a puppy before. Yet, I had decided then, at twelve years old, that my litter sister was even cuter than the purest of purebred puppy dogs, and thus gave her a set of nicknames I felt suited her. It was something special between the two of us. Everyone else called her by her name, Evelyn, or Eves if they were feeling cute, but she always liked my names the best. Just like she liked that stuffed rabbit more than any of her other toys. She carried it with her wherever she went, and she was never without it when she needed to take a trip back to the hospital.

Puppy was a sick kid. She had breathing problems and would often have these huge fits that would leave her in bed for days. Her curly hair would go limp, her plump little cheeks would lose color, and her eyes would lose a bit of their sparkle. My brothers didn’t like getting too close. Even though they were older, and knew they couldn’t catch what she had, they didn’t want to get too close. So mom depended on me for a lot of the help with her. I didn’t mind. Pup and me were like two really aged gapped peas in a pod. I was her favorite brother, and I just loved her to bits. That rabbit was a testament of that, I guess, and she once said, in that cute little baby-doll drawl of hers, that we’d all be together always. I think I believed it.

But sometime during the winter she turned three, she got sicker than I had ever seen her. I stayed home from school a lot because I was so worried, and I would later pay for it by repeating my senior year of high school. But, back then, all I could focus on was Puppy. The last time I saw her smile, she told me she loved me, asked for a hug and kiss, and then went to sleep. She didn’t wake up again. We buried her in a dress mom made, and her favorite toy bunny wrapped in her arms.

Pup was a very sore subject after that. Mom liked to talk about her a lot, and dad did too now that I think about it, but my brothers never stuck around for the conversations. I think they felt guilty, and would have preferred we’d forget the source of the pain. I think they thought it would make things easier on all of us, but I couldn’t do that. Instead, I used her as my driving force in life. I was going to live enough for the two of us. The night after her funeral, I promised her I would make it back to her someday, and when I did, I was going to be good enough to keep that little promise of hers.  

Ever since then, I’ve had a bit of an affinity for good luck. Good things happen to me for no reason, and eventually people had to wonder what was going on. I never lost my keys, never forgot that important date, and the opportunities had a way of finding me just when I needed them the most. People thought I was blessed.  They thought I must have done something really good to deserve all of this luck. I think I was just a beloved older brother with a younger sister who still wanted to see him happy.

Yup, you guessed it. I didn’t think it was luck, or a blessing, or even any good karma on my part that put me in a good place in life. I’ve always believed that it was Puppy looking after me like I used to look after her. In fact, I know that’s what’s been happening. I know because I’ve seen her.

At first I thought I was hallucinating, letting grief take over, but it’s happened too many times since then, and I’ve long since healed after the initial pain of her death. Now I know she’s just following me around the way she always used to when she was alive. Only, this time, she’s learned how to do nice things for me without physically being there. I see her peeking around the corner when I’m having a bad day, giggling when I need a bit of a pick-me-up, and running a hand through my hair when I end up sick. And I still see that rabbit of hers bouncing up and down in her arms from the corner of my eye. My little sister, my favorite Puppy, is now my own personal guardian angel.

And I think that makes me the luckiest man alive. 

Quirky

I’ve mentioned before that one of my favorite things about character development is figuring out the smallest tidbits of a character, something insignificant that shapes a person in a roundabout way. Characters should never be hindered by their quirks of course, but I like recognizing characters by one or two things they always seem to do. And I have a new favorite that I only just realized.

Feidhelm, one of the mc’s in my changeling story, falls asleep to the sound of conversation. Unless he is directly involved or benefits from said conversation, and he knows not to do this when a situation is dire, the sound of people talking and the rise and fall of their voices serves as a lullaby. He does it with people speaking around him, when a TV is going off, or even during a live human performance. His favorite voice to fall asleep to is Kyran’s, because when he’s not talking to his half elf brother directly, Kyran’s voice is a pleasant and comforting thing to hear. To some if comes off as incredibly rude, and I would too if someone was like that in real life, but I like the bit of inside info. 

a letter to taurus

You leave a pollen trail of petals and wind chimes, and you build sanctuaries for me to crawl into and wrap my legs around your vines, you make me feel so safe. And yet, you feel so unsteady yourself, like you are always looking for a cradle of security, worried that the world will be pulled from below you feet and you will be left holding nothing and no one. It’s always everybody else’s hearts you want to stitch together and repair. And you forever try to stay still and placid, as if you are so resilient you cannot be moved. This is true, but I can also sense your fear, and your worries, and that if you move you think you will crumble, or break everyone around you. I know every pain in your life has cut a deep wound in your body and you are forced to rewatch the memories… everything is not so analgesic as it seems You seem so serene that even your silences make music.

cherry