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hptriviachamp · 31 minutes ago
do not go gentle into that senior year (just rage) Chapter 6 Snippet
A Kathony High School AU
Chapter 6 will be dropping tonight!
Anthony flushed brilliantly in response, and muttered something unintelligible.
It was kind of cute (not that Kate noticed).
Mrs. Bridgerton took the opportunity to slide the plate of steaming-hot chocolate chip cookies towards Kate.
“Have some cookies, sweetie. They’re fresh. You have until…” she consulted her timepiece, “three-thirty to eat your fill.”
“What happens at three-thirty?” Kate asked, reaching out to take one.
“COLIN,” Daphne, Anthony, and Mrs. Bridgerton said together in tones of exasperated fondness.
Right, the food monster of a brother.
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lemony-snickers · an hour ago
Helloooo! You are like, my FAVORITE Kakashi fic writer I just wanted to let you know that. Okay but I have a thought, less a request (more just spilling my guts to you about my latest vignette I came up with for my OC and Kakashi and by reading your writing, I thought you might enjoy it!) but feel free to add to this!!! Kakashi coming home to his wife after the war. Being semi aloof and cold at first (only because this man is doing EVERYTHING HE CAN not to burst into tears) and she (SHE, TOO IS ALSO TRYING NOT TO CRY) makes him his favorite food and draws him a bath and begins massaging his shoulders and dressing his wounds from behind him while he soaks and as she goes forward with her hands to sponge over his chest, he just holds her hands there and rubs his thumbs over her knuckles and starts to say something about Obito or Rin, as if he's been having a conversation this whole time and she just UNDERSTANDS. She then kisses his head as he finally FINALLY spills to her his trauma and they talk it out and cry it out and probably (no, definitely.) .... steam 😉 it out. Long story short he loves and conpletely trusts her and her, him and in THIS canon he has a loving, caring wife (and baby eventually die to this scenario) to love and take his troubles to for as long as he lives. I hope this is understandable 🤣❤❤ Keep on writing I LOVE IT ALLLLLL!!!!!!!! Have a wonderful day *air smooch*
first of all, thank you for your kind words!
and secondly, kakashi 1000% deserves all of this. someone who trusts and loves and understands him completely, flaws and all. someone patient and kind who will wait for him to be ready to talk about all of the pain and loss he's experienced, and who will listen attentively when he finally is.
(and, yeah, someone who's willing to resolve some of those emotional talks with a bit of spicy comfort.)
thank you so much for sharing this lovely little imagine; i think it's pretty perfect the way it is. <3
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ink-fireplace-coffee · 2 hours ago
Snippet. Marble and Magic.
Chapter 3: Maybe I'm human but these milkshakes sure are magical.
A/N: this one's kinda long oops.
The Dazzling Rooftop was just exactly what you can probably imagine: a dinner by day and a club by night (not always with a clear division), the place was on top of an industrial building, giving it the hipster-boho aesthetic everyone was crazy about.
Loud music, lots of neon signs with different words and pictures, and urban art sprayed all over the walls. Kit had the opportunity to decorate one when the staff knew he was an upcoming artist.
Still, if the amazing and giant milkshakes or the fries haven’t caught your attention yet, the diner was famous for one specific reason.
At the end of the place, in the wall that divided the bar from their outdoor area, there was a specific wall full of colored sticky notes. On top of the wall three words in bold letters.
Who are you?
It is true that some people had decided the wall was a good place to write their names, and under their phone numbers with “call me if you are hot!” under it. That could be a good answer to the question, as well, But you could always find some more interesting answers.
There were long and meticulously written paragraphs in multicolored ink, describing the aspects of a, sometimes messy, life; there were short answers (“I don’t know who I am but I know who I want to be” was one of Kit’s favorites), and sometimes even doodles, because some people expressed themselves better with pictures.
Bad handwriting, cute handwriting, loud capital letters, and even some lipstick formed the giant mosaic of identities and colors The Dazzling Rooftop had decided to offer us.
And, of course, they were all anonymous, unless specified otherwise.
Kit and I had had a few different notes on that wall, that had been slowly being removed or falling out of the wall as the years passed.
“Jasper, you need to understand one thing” I started explaining, his dark eyes fixed on me “This is not wherever the Hell you-”
“You call yourself a lady, swearing like that?” He interrupted me and I rolled my eyes.
I tried again.
“Jasper, this is not your kingdom anymore. This is not your home.”
“I know that, Lady Agatha” he smiled a little, for the first time ever “I am aware that this looks nothing like my home. Your clothes, your weird things in your face “he gestured to Kit’s brow piercing “His magical hair as well” Jasper paused a little and then whispered “Are you not human, Lord Kit?”
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spiderbitten · 4 hours ago
not me over here slowly giffing the raft fight scene bc no one has done the full fight yet 😌 like??? why has no one done the full fight yet?? it’s such a good angsty scene??? 
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digitalart-tw · 4 hours ago
Dystopian City
He smiled, the glory of the battlefield intrigued him, as did the thought of basking in victory. It wasn’t going to be blood he was bathing in, but electrical wires and potentially deadly currents. Considering the recent disease outbreaks, illness was spreading like wildfire in the camps. He felt lucky that his brother preserved a spot for him in the rooms. His brother was the best bet they had for winning, it was a smart decision to give him his own room. It was odd at first, no public changing rooms, good bathrooms, better food, he was right back to the time before the war. Childishness seemed to return as he was brought back to the days of his youth. He was flooded by a wave of nostalgia, a sense of childhood. As he laid in bed, darkness overtook him. His exhaustion overpowered everything as his senses shut down.
The memories of his mother cooking stew in the kitchen filled him in vivid detail. Oh, how he and his siblings used to flood the kitchen, just as his senses of smell used to overwhelm him, how he was giddy with joy as his mother poured him hot, fresh stew into a bowl. Laughter would fill the air, and food fights were frequent. Thanksgiving was special, everyone in the kitchen cooking and preparing turkey while they were playing with all of their cousins and siblings. Their parents were sitting with aunts and uncles feasting while they all rampaged in the guest room. Once, they even broke a vase while trying to build a pillow fort on Halloween. They got a time out for a while, and they felt guilty watching their mother clean up by themselves. He and his brother helped clean up, and so did they help more around the house as they grew.
Everything returning to normal just seemed like a dream, considering recent circumstances. He flinched as he woke up, “All a dream. Of course.” He had been having dreams for a while now. He was observing his own behaviour for amusement, trying to link it to how his past might have shaped it. Whenever they raided the abandoned grocery shops, he realized that he built a good moral compass as the years flew by. He always left money for what he took, in case the people owning the place ever came back. It was usually hopeless though, as more often than not, he would just find their corpse in the storage room, freezer, or just lying face-first into the countertop with blood pouring out of them. This was a devastating sight for someone like him, who had grown up in the very town that was now flooded with rotting corpses and lost loved ones. The machines were ruthless, anyone who was flawed stood no chance. It was now that he realized how to complete perfection, what he strived for, was forever unachievable. As long as emotions exist, they’re flaws. Sadness is weakness, anger is hot-headedness, happiness is a disease caused by dopamine, love is just a key to betrayal, disgust is pickiness, fear is a natural response. The worst thing is, these were things out of their control. As long as humans existed, the robots would go out of their way to eliminate them. Chances are, they’d have eliminated themselves before the robots even found them. May it be gunshots, starving, or destroyed by rubble. Another reason people were flawed. Physical weakness. The inescapable death, a forced elimination.
If they were lucky, their awaited demise had been painless. You'd already find it a miracle to see the corpse not already have started decomposing. Since the robots invaded with their vision of a utopia, the closer they got to complete human annihilation. "Dystopian City," as everyone in the military base called it. Just as it all seemed hopeless, the general came in with a scroll of sorts, panting and shaking. He looked like he ran for miles, clothes gripping to him with sweat, dripping with moisture. As for the scroll, it had a few drawings, looked like charcoal or burned wood scraped against the paper. It looked like a map, dots, lines, and a big cross. For the first time in years, he felt hopeful that things might go his way for a change. “An island! Far from the robot’s vision! Pack your bags!” Screams and cheers of joy were heard as far as the ear could hear. Footsteps were heard as people rushed through the halls, going in and out of their rooms. It was a cruel fate that despite all of this hope, the diseased people knew they would die and didn’t even bother trying to pack. Some of their corpses were buried in the confined garden, and some people were suffering in pain. He didn’t have time to care though, as he had witnessed a lot of people die. Everyone who wasn’t diseased got the luxury of packing and not needing medicines. Although things seemed all bright and filled with sunshine, he had a bad feeling in his stomach.
The general’s voice sounded flat and unenthusiastic, almost robotic. Sweat is warm, right? He witnessed that after the general came through the doorstep, the sweat was all on the left and front, none on the back or right. Was it possible that… no. He had to get more evidence, but how? Everyone leaves for the trip in a month, what could he possibly do at that time? Machines were practically indestructible. Those who were brittle or malfunctioning were taken apart due to them being flawed. This machine must be perfect, but then again, it was trying to mimic a human. Humans are imperfect. It might have some sort of flaw, but what? His brother went with him, where was he? His eyes widened in horror as he realized what might have happened. “Stay calm! Stay calm!” He repeated that to himself till he felt better. He didn’t know much, but all he knew was that those robots were going to apologize. May it be face to face, or if they were down on their knees. He wanted to see his brother, even if he was dead, or the unlikely chances of him being alive. He collected his thoughts, and went back to his room, packing, so as to not look suspicious. The general knocked on the door of his room. His heart raced, his knocks turned into pounds. He had to escape. Fast.
My notes below:
(I know, I dipped my feet into existentialism a little bit, but existentialism is something I’m struggling with. Might as well state it. Emotions seem confusing. Too much happiness means too much dopamine. Too much dopamine might mean schizophrenia. Too much sadness means too little dopamine. Too little dopamine might mean depression. Too much anger means hot-headedness. Too little anger means you let go of things too easily. Love means attachment, and you might not even find it. If you get attached, chances of betrayal loom over you. Fear is an instinct, we scream when we feel it. In some cases where fear is too high, your body freezes. When your body freezes, no one will know you’re fearing something. Frustrating, right? Idealism is unachievable with all of these emotions, severity of these means you’re sensitive, but letting go of them also means you’re cold. Idealism isn’t ideal at all, it’s just people bottling up emotions. That leads to a variety of issues. Idealism is a man-made term, which could be easily replaced by impossible. There’s nothing you can do, but it’s not hopeless. It’s just the way of life.)
(Organizing my ideas in a manner of this type can be fun. I picked it up when I was writing "The Demon’s Den,” a short story I wrote. Be vague, reveal things in between. Don’t let them get the full story. The more things you can delay, the more the reader will want to find out what it was originally. This seems like an effective ending for an opening, asking questions can create a few ideas in the readers’ minds. They can make up their own ideas, and will always be surprised by the writers’ intentions. Take Storm Catcher by Tim Bowler, a book we did last year. He was cutting between events by switching chapters, so you had to read the whole chapter before going to continue the previous event. I enjoyed that book a lot. I was cautious with the pacing, making the first few paragraphs feel like they were dragging, and made the last few sentences seem like they were occurring quickly. My inspiration to name it “Dystopian City” came from a YouTube animated series with the same name. Robots kill parents after their kids have grown up, and the cycle continues. Hence, the cyber theme. It was a nice experience to see his story thought process too, not to mention his artwork. All in all, all’s well that ends well. Goodbye, have a nice day.)
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Ah I’m in love omg! Chris I love him. Mc and him are gonna be endgame sorry y’all lol but seriously I wanted him to kiss mc so bad. 👀😭 may I have a little scenario if that’s ok let’s say the White House is hosting an event and randomly mc has to be introduce to someone there and when the introductions are done the person full on says why are you looking at her like that or something close to that and Chris is like what and the person says like your in love with her. And mc can’t help but look down at the floor all red. Bye I just love this already! ❤️
I changed it a bit, I hope that’s okay ❤️. (I’m so happy to hear that you like Chris. I’m deliberating on whether or not I should add a choice where the MC pulls Chris closer but I haven’t decided yet.)
Her name echoes through the air towards him. His back immediately straightens as his head turns so he could just catch one glance of her. As one look would be all that he needs to get through the night. To soothe his restless thoughts as he tries to sleep.
Catching sight of her is like a punch to the gut. All the breath in his lungs leaves him the moment he finally meets her gaze. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her even if he tried to. Even if Christ returned right in front of him nothing would compare to her. Nothing would match the beauty that she held. It was almost unfair how beautiful she was.
How could one being be so perfect? Every marvel of the universe being held within her gaze.
All the answers he could ever need were found in her arms. For there was nothing more important than being wrapped up in her.
Nothing more precious than being given the chance to love her. And he would until his last dying breath.
“You’re staring, sir.”
The soft voice from beside him startles him from his thoughts. His gaze shifts to the cool gray of one of his most trusted agents. Seeing the nondescript look of understanding, he nods. He knew that it was foolish to get so caught up with her in public. That it would only end badly for them both. That she would grow angry at his obvious stare. But how could he not? How could one not look at Aphrodite in her human form? How could one not look at the physical embodiment of their heart and soul?
“I don’t think anyone would blame me for doing so, Quinn,” he finally replies. His eyes were already seeking her out once more. Despite Quinn’s obvious sigh at the action.
“I know you’re in love with her, Mr. President,” he says softly. Making sure that passing dignitaries wouldn’t be able to hear him. “But we both know that it being revealed here wouldn’t be in the best interest for you. For her.”
At the mention of her wellbeing, he finally tears his gaze away. His eyes once again met cool gray. A look of dejection briefly flashing across his face at the knowledge that Quinn was right. That there was nothing he could do. Not with the situation he was currently in.
Even if he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and never let go.
He knew that it wasn’t in the cards for them.
At least not yet.
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hptriviachamp · 5 hours ago
do not go gentle into that senior year (just rage) Snippet
A Kathony High School AU
“Oh please, honey, call me Violet!” Mrs. Bridgerton beamed at Kate.
Daphne sailed in and delicately plucked a single cookie from the island. “Because she’s not a regular mom,” she informed Kate, deadpan. “She’s a cool mom.”
Kate laughed.
Anthony groaned and looked heavanwards. “Why?” he asked the ceiling frustratedly, as if he blamed it for his family's gratuitous references to the cinematic masterpiece that was Mean Girls.
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oceanera12 · 7 hours ago
Me debating how I want to answer this: "I can comment on how much I love the Birds as well, thank them for the comments they left, give an update on where I'm at on the sequel, or give a snippet of what I've written."
"What kind of snippet would you give them, you're not that far in and you don't want to spoil everything from the beginning of the story so what?"
"IDEA! Post some of the short Superson's spin-off story to see if anyone wants to see it?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't have anything to do with the Batchildren and I'm pretty sure this lovely person wanted something with the Little Birds."
"Fine. But at least give them an update on where you're at as well."
I am currently up to chapter 7 of 20 on the rough draft of The Birds: Building a Nest, hooray!
And now, a sneak peek at my idea for a short spin-off story: The Birds: Supersons
Clark loved Metropolis. He loved the people, the atmosphere, the quick pace, the skyscrapers, and the light it just seemed to emit. It was so unlike Smallville, but it had become a home away from home.
Clark loved his job. His co-workers, his desk, and yes, even Mr. White’s yelling grew on him over time. Being part of the news of his city was amazing to him, whether it was connecting with the people of his city or learning about the new and exciting opportunities coming to the city.
But most importantly, Clark loved his family. Lois was his light when work got dark. She was his strength and his reason for fighting. His Mom was still in Smallville, but Clark made sure to visit at least once a week and call almost every day. Clark was never surprised to find her on the phone with Lois when he returned home after saving a runaway train or something.
And finally, his boys. Jonathan and Jordan. The moment they entered the world, Clark knew he would do anything for them. He made a silent promise to himself and to the spirits of his late fathers, that he would be the best father he could be.
It was hard. He could never abandon the city. But there were moments where he was torn between work and family. There were days he failed. But Clark took them in stride and made efforts to do better at both.
When the boys had a game or activity at school, he made sure to do some extra patrols a few hours beforehand so he could attend. Or at least, hopefully, attend. If not, he made sure Lois filmed the entire thing. Then, when he got home, he would pull the boys close and they would watch it together with Clark whispering “no spoilers, this is my favorite show!” which made them both smile.
Lois and he discussed telling the boys about the other side of his job. Many times. There were many reasons to tell and many not to tell. The main consensus was “not now,” or “when they’re older. They were only seven after all. No need to tell them now. It was best to just tell them that when they were in trouble to scream for Dad as loud as they could. No one could claim it didn’t work.
But the thing Clark loved most was coming home.
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dailyfresh-za · 7 hours ago
Vector Drops Snippet for 'Crown Of Clay' African Remix
Vector Drops Snippet for ‘Crown Of Clay’ African Remix
Nigerian rapper, Vector has dropped the snippet for the remix to ‘Crown of Clay‘. This one features Kenyan rapper, Khaligraph Jones and Senegalese rapper, Dip Doundo Guiss. Vector posted the snippet via his Instagram page on Sunday, the 13th of June 2021. In his caption, the rapper says that Africa has a lot of ‘Crown of Clay‘ stories. He then introduced the remix with Khaligraph Jones and Dip…
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noirewaves · 8 hours ago
Possessed Sidekick
Gusts of air blew harshly over the two, the screaming windstorm whipping Hero's hair in all directions.
"Please, you don't have to do this!" Hero cried. "This isn't the real you." They shuddered as they spoke.
"Of course it's me." The spirit -- sidekick chimed. A string of electricity fumed in their hands, forming into flames. Possession had no reverse. No act of 'true love' could ever bring them back. They flicked their fingers and an explosion of fire was sent in Hero's way.
The last sound Sidekick heard of them was their agonizing scream. Sidekick left.
Why stay? They'd already seen the body, burned and battered.
As if the sidekick hadn't just murdered their own boss, the gloomy grey sky turned indigo again.
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untouchedsoap · 9 hours ago
jin: which part should i sing?
jin: *jumps immediately into the highest part*
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bedlamsbard · 9 hours ago
Nothing written today. At least I opened my Word docs.  *flips hand*  Slowly coming out of my fic binge, thank gods, since I hit the point of “if I read five more fics where I end up going but I would have done it differently” I was on the verge of tipping over into actually writing something and I am busy in another fandom THANK YOU.  Finally watched Friday’s Bad Batch episode, at least.  (It was fine.  I think BB makes literally the most boring choices possible.  TCW and Rebels occasionally went completely batshit (even in S1 of both!) and nothing in the animated shows since has ever matched, but at least Resistance and TCW S7 were occasionally interesting about it.)  (I do not consider S7 to be part of TCW S1-6.)  (Being really bored with my main fandom’s current offerings is not helpful when I am trying to avoid tripping into writing another fandom, lol, even if I did do Narnia for the first time in seven years the other week.)  Did laundry, answered an e-mail I should have sent like a month ago, Sunday Zoom, got a batch of bad comments on Gambit about Padme being a cheating slut, again, which is not helping with how put-off I am on Star Wars at the moment.
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writing-with-l · 10 hours ago
Sunday Romance: Save The Last Dance For Me
Word Count: 716
 The ball was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, an astounding success. It seemed like every notable member of high society was in attendance. Wealthy young ladies in richly-coloured elaborate gowns and heavy intricate jewellery spun round the room on the arms of dashing gentlemen in dark velvet suits. A long buffet table bedecked with cakes, sweets, and biscuits lined the far wall. Strings of flowers stretched from the rafters and flecks of multicoloured glitter seemed to cover everything. 
 Unfortunately, Cordelia de Winter was in no position to enjoy any of it, because her view was blocked by the staunch, heavy frame of Richard Carberry, Duke of Westwood. 
 Cordelia's eyes flickered back and forth across the room, searching desperately for some form of escape route, but she was unable to find anything of the sort. It was no use. The person she was looking for was not there. With a sigh of resignation, she steeled herself and resolved to face the man in front of her. 
 "I should be much pleased if you would join me on the dance floor, Miss de Winter," Carberry said, for what felt like the tenth time that evening. 
 His beady eyes fixed upon her, almost bulging out of his wrinkled face as it leered forwards. It made Cordelia want to vomit, but instead she plastered on a sickly sweet smile. 
 "I am truly sorry," she said, as emphatically as she could manage, "But I haven’t a space left on my dance card." She waved the object in question in front of his face, briefly enough that he couldn't possibly read it. 
 Carberry made as if to protest, a faint scowl marring his already unattractive features. Before he could utter a word, however, a deep voice from behind Cordelia made him pause. 
 "What an awful shame." 
 Cordelia started, turning quickly around - and there he was, the very man she had been searching for all evening: Edward Mansfield. The sight of him in his deep blue suit, his dark hair combed neatly into place, a light stubble across his jaw, sent Cordelia's heart racing faster than usual. 
 Edward's green eyes narrowed with distaste as he stared at the old duke. "Not to worry, Carberry," he said easily, but there was something icy in his tone, "There's plenty of other ladies around the hall this evening. Perhaps even some closer to your own age, hmm?" 
 Carberry sputtered indignantly, but Edward's sharp gaze was enough to send anyone shrinking back. He muttered something under his breath, then skulked away into the crowd. 
 Edward turned his gaze to Cordelia, the ice immediately replaced by a gentle warmth. 
 A flush darkened Cordelia's cheeks. "I had that under control, you know!" she snapped, suddenly defensive. 
 "You did," Edward agreed. "But I rather think your words are too valuable to be wasted on a swine like Carberry." 
 Cordelia opened her mouth, then closed it again. All evening her eyes had searched for him in the crowd but, now that he was actually standing before her, she found that she had no idea what to do or say. The fear of embarrassing herself weighed heavily on her mind. She fidgeted anxiously, looking back to the dance floor. 
 "I should like to get back out there this evening," she said absently, thumbing the hem of her silken sleeve. 
 Edward raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I just hear you tell old Carberry that you haven't a space left on your dance card?" 
 Cordelia shrugged. "I lied," she said easily. She hesitated, a pink blush creeping up her cheeks. "I was saving it for you." 
 Edward's eyes widened just a fraction. For a moment, Cordelia feared she had made a terrible fool of herself. Then, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. 
 "Well," he said, "I would have to be an idiot to waste the opportunity for such an honour." 
 A strange feeling soared through Cordelia's heart as he offered her his hand, an odd mix of relief, excitement, and something else, something that made warmth bloom in her chest. After a half-second's hesitation, she slipped her gloved hand into his grasp. She looked up into his sparkling green eyes and smiled along with him. With butterflies in her stomach, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 10 hours ago
Heart of Thunder - Snippet
The large mess hall practically vibrated with energy as every person within the crowd roared, answering the ancient battle cry of their people. Nyx stood there, on the table, one arm raised in a fist and adrenaline rushing through him. It made the cries seem even louder, the light even brighter. He couldn't help the grin forming on his face, all teeth and thirst for blood.
Libertus and Cor were waiting for him when he jumped down from the table. The energy within the room practically tangible. Every breath tasted like the atmosphere before an autumn storm in Galahd, like stalking through the jungle knowing you were strong, but knowing there was something even stronger out there looking for you. It was invigorating, electrifying and primal in a way Nyx hadn't felt for a long time.
His best friend and hunting-brother looked at him, a grin on his face that felt like retribution and the lust for revenge. “You want Scheheesa to be messenger?”
Nyx lowered his head in a slight nod. “If she's willing.”
“Ha! For this I won't even have to bribe her.”
Cor was staring at him. Like the action would answer all his questions. Nyx gave him a wan smile and hoped his fiancée understood, that he would explain what had happened as soon as they were out of here. Movement to his right made him look over. It was Crowe, who had finally managed to make it through the crowd.
“So it's finally happening, huh?” she said.
“If all goes to plan the hunt will be on soon,” Nyx replied.
“The Great Lady would never refuse, if it's you asking, Nyx.” Libertus said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Nyx wasn't so sure about that. He had met her during his First Hunt, yes, but that didn't mean that she would listen to him. The Wild followed its own rules and no one else's. It had its own pace at which things happened.
“Oirkar Ulric,” a feminine voice addressed him from behind.
It was Ladone Najad. She stood nearly a head smaller than Nyx, but still her presence seemed to tower over all of them. When her eyes landed on Cor, she gave him a nasty smile, an expression that the man returned with just as much viciousness. Ladone nodded approvingly.
“You chose well,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nyx answered, a tad awkward.
Ladone had been one of his father's good friends. They hadn't been hunting-siblings, but close to it. She was a hard woman that had taught him what she remembered of the Ulric fighting style.
“I'm here to tell you that I want Luche in my hunting group. His patron is Orfefs and that'll be very useful for what I plan to do.”
From the corner of his eyes, Nyx could see Cor's frown deepen. He was clearly thinking about what a political nightmare it would be to release the man. On the other hand however, it was a good reason. Having him help look for Drau- for Titus would ba a reason the Lucians would most likely accept, however grudgingly.
“What about any other person with Orfefs as their patron? Why don't you ask them?” he couldn't help but ask.
The older woman gave him an unimpressed look. “Luche Lazarus is the one person in this city who may actually know something useful about what Titus did outside from his duties as Captain of the Kingsglaive. We both know Luche makes it a point to know things, even if he may not act on his knowledge.”
Nyx nodded slowly and looked over to Cor, gaze questioning.
“If this is the reason for his release, people won't be happy, but they will understand,” the Marshal said after a second.
Ladone nodded, satisfied. “Good. Oirkar Ulric, I'll give you the full list of people in about an hour. If you'll excuse me.” With that she walked back into the crowd, probably to look for the other potential members of her hunting party.
“We should go,” Crowe said after a few seconds.
“Yeah,” Nyx agreed. There was still much to do tonight.
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360okay · 10 hours ago
Video Snippet of Burna Boy's Coming Song
Video Snippet of Burna Boy’s Coming Song
Video Snippet of Burna Boy’s Coming Song Nigerian pop star, Damini Ogulu who is known professionally as Burna Boy is getting ready to unlock a new song as he shared a video snippet. The Grammy award-winning Afrobeat star, Burna Boy who recently dished out a new song tagged ‘Kilometer’ seems to have something new on the way for his fans. The title is unrevealed yet. Watch…
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amethystpath-writes · 11 hours ago
A Heel in the Drawer
The walk could have ended several rows ago; it should have ended rows ago. But Hero couldn't stop- couldn't stop because this abundance of rows was her fault.
"I bet your legs are starting to feel heavy by now, yeah?"
Hero startled at the villain's voice, squealing and taking an instinctive step back. Looking up, she saw Villain sitting cross-legged on a mausoleum within the cemetery.
Villain had a drawer opened, thankfully one too high up for Hero to see the contents of. He had to have stolen the key off security, or otherwise broken the lock- only to have a place for his heel. The meer thought of such carelessness nearly made Hero gag.
A heel dug into the ribs of a man or woman long gone, supposedly resting if not for Villain's heel pushing in where their heart would be, assuming decomposition was nonexistent.
How were mausoleums maintained anyways? Hero didn't want to think about it- just as she didn't want to think about all the other bodies in this yard of graves and bodies.
"Why are you here?" Hero demanded, with a voice too shaky to describe as being demanding.
"The vast majority of these deaths were caused by you. Do you know that?"
Yes, Hero knew that. It was why she was here, and Villain knew that.
That asshole.
"Actually"- Villain corrected, unwinding one leg from the other, and planting it in the drawer as well- "the deaths were less 'caused by you' whereas the lives were more 'unaided by you.'" Giving a bone-chilling smile, Villain pulled his legs out of the mausoleum drawer, and snapped it shut with a his left heel. "You failed them, Hero. You always fail them."
No. No, she didn't fail them. Hero did her best, and that was all the citizens could expect, right? She tried to save them- did every possible thing she could to ensure their safety. But in the end...
"I'm weak," Hero whispered to herself, broken.
"Speak up."
Or what? Hero first wanted to spat, but that would only create more destruction; maybe another heel-crushed skeleton, something no one laid to rest deserved.
Hero repeated, this time louder, "I'm weak." And, she added, "Too weak to keep the city afloat by myself as I've been trying to do. I'm exhausting myself."
Villain's first words from their occurrence floated back to Hero. 'I bet your legs are starting to feel heavy by now, yeah?' Yes. He was right. She did feel rather heavy. Heavy with the weight of lost and helpless lives. My fault, Hero thought. All my fault.
"I want more than the city," Villain said, because owning the city was more than obvious without being said.
But what else was there to take? The city meant everything to Hero. Liveliness of innocence deserved to prosper. Handing the city over by admitting already cleaved Hero's soul into two. What else? What else.
"Turn yourself over to me."
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sewer-seance · 11 hours ago
I’m finally hunkering down and continuing with the first draft of my novel. I’ve finally come up with a beginning I like and I’m going for it
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klywrites · 11 hours ago
Last lines
I don't know what this is. Technically this is RS but the after years (20+) and the idiots are going to steal a ship to go back into Edon (you know, where their parents fled from) for something
"But how are we going to gain passage on an Edonean ship? We don't have documents."
Mira sighed. "Elly, my dear, did your mother not teach you the art of forgery? I've heard she was very good at it."
"No. I don't think she wanted anything to do with the past."
"That is how hauntings happen," said Remy, chewing on a piece of sugarcane. "Ghosts and stuff."
Elynia frowned. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"You might want to start," Mira said. "There are so many following you, and ignoring them won't make them go away."
(no tags or anything these are literally just my latest lines lol)
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