So this will make no sense but a friend named Matty or as many know her @supersillyanddorky06 suggested I cure my writer’s block by doing a free write. The shot might be odd, or disorganized but that’s what it’s meant to be. I needed to free my mind and by doing this I did just that. Thank you my friend and thank you to everyone who has ever read a word that I’ve typed. It means more than you could possibly know.
His eyes looked frozen, that she could clearly remember as his gaze carefully scanned over the her painstaking words. His parted lips and quivering fingers made her own body tremble with unspoken fear. She watched him carefully through the security cameras that lined the walls of now heavily guarded building. His downcast eyes and fallen chin made her softly touch the flickering screen. His lips moved soundlessly before his knees gave way; she watched in silent torment as he slowly slipped to the cold ground. The letter fell beside him limply as she whispered into her self made darkness, “I’m sorry Oliver…I’m sorry…”
5 Years Later…
“Are you sure about this?” the quiet voice beside him beckoned somberly.
Oliver’s heavy, light-less blue eyes raced upwards toward the tower’s glowing tip. He felt her supportive touch near the small of his back; her soft perfume floated around him like a warm blanket as his body shuddered from his own internal cold. He croaked with tears forever frozen in his raw throat, “I’ll be fine Dinah, but I need to do this, I need to say goodbye…”
He felt her gloved fingers pressing firmly over his spine. Her hiccuped reply made his chest burn, “Did she know?”
His chin fell instantly to his cavernous chest, “What that I loved her and still do?” he mused tiredly.
“You’re never going to move on are you?” she asked as her hand raced up his chilled spine.
“I tried and she left…” he snapped quietly with not even a small note of hidden remorse.
Dinah’s sighs over the nape of his neck warmed him momentarily before the chill of her words made his blood run cold. “She left because you betrayed her trust by trusting Susan over her.”
His automatic nod seemed rehearsed when he seethed with repressed anger, “She left me long before that day Dinah…”
aquarius is a room full of art, there is the sweet melody of the panflute god plays his most inspirational thoughts through there is the rainbow loom of the weaved bows and threads of flower children and the halo of their saturn ring of daisies
it’s always tomorrow in the aquarian heart, the future is in her eyes and the stars sparkle even brighter she is nocturnal, something about the aquarius frequency is eternal, bathed in intuitive goodness and peachy soda her life is a blue myth of its own, written in sky script, neon glitter pens aquarius glows fluorescent in the dark
Nope, it was just a bad joke, and they were going to go back home and pretend that this hadn’t happened. That the prize wasn’t gone and that the entire mission hadn’t been pointless. That the man wasn’t another one of the crazy people who offered something they didn’t have for an insane job. But still!
“Levy, just calm down,” Jet said from behind, his hands up as he tried to placate the angry script mage. “I mean, it’s just ink after all, right?”
The blue haired girl whirled on him, her normally cool chocolate eyes sparkling bright as she clenched her fists. “No, Jet, it wasn’t.” She hissed, her entire body trembling. Jet shot a look at Droy, and both began to back up slightly as she paced in the street. “It was Liquid Silver, only the best kind of ink for everything! Do you know how rare it is? Let alone how expensive it normally gets?” Her hands pushed through her wild locks, freeing them from the yellow ribbon and mussing it up even more.
She couldn’t believe how gullible she’d been, falling for the prize before she’d even thought of researching the man behind the job. But it wasn’t something she couldn’t help either; Liquid Silver was indeed one of the rarest inks made in the world, and it was said that only kings could afford it, using it to scribe only the most important documents. She knew for sure that Princess Hisui had a small, precious bottle of the stuff, and Lucy had mentioned that the Celestial King had at least two bottles of the stuff.
It wasn’t just that the ink looked like its namesake that made it rare, but it glowed in starlight and could harness magic as well, making script magic far more potent than she could’ve dreamt. And it looked sooo cool when it glittered under the stars, like the stuff of dreams.
However, it seemed that it would have to stay that way till she was able to figure a way to get her hands on some, expensive or as a prize. For now, she was going to have to borrow a tactic from Gajeel for their supposed “employer”. She turned to the boys and clapped her hands together, making them jump and gulp uneasily. A wicked grin pulled at her lips as she cocked her head at them.
“Well, shall we go to visit the guy to ask some more questions?” She asked, and Jet sighed as she rushed past him, not waiting for their answer.
I swear Gajeel’s too much of an influence on her these days, he thought wearily as he and Droy whirled to follow her.
In fact, it is so utterly plain
that you almost pass it over as you sit at your desk, sifting through the pile
of junk mail. Luckily, the shimmering gold seal of the League catches your eye:
the letter is, in fact, anything but ordinary.
Immediately, you open it up. A
single notecard slides out. You look inside the envelope to double check, but
see nothing else–no ostentatious congratulatory letter, no phantom fanfares,
no miniature pixie dust fireworks. Just a white notecard, as plain and simple
as the envelope itself.
You take that as a good thing,
though, since the last time you opened up a letter with celebratory fireworks,
you were five and ended up lowkeypissing yourself and splitting everyone’s eardrums
with your scream. In your defense, you’d never seen anything close
to the bright sparkly dust before, and you’d always been taught that anything that
explodes is bad, and when things are bad,
(And, you suppose, when
five-year-old-you felt the shock of imminent death, the survival instincts of
screaming and pissing yourself overrode just about every other reasonable
action. For example, getting up and running the fuck
out of the room, or away from the “dangerous” explosions.
Five year old you did not have
very good survival instincts.)
In any case, the card in your
hands seems relatively safe. You think. Hopefully.
Beca is a famous musician/producer (really, we all knew it was going to happen), and Chloe’s America’s sweetheart as the host of a reality dance show. After four years at Barden denying that they were hopelessly in love, Beca’s having a hard time accepting the media’s refusal to acknowledge their relationship.
“God,” the door opened unceremoniously, and from the kitchen counter, Chloe heard Beca’s boots echoing on the foyer floor. She was mumbling something that the walls didn’t pick up until she entered the kitchen. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Chloe looked up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner, spotting the tiny hurricane of a rage whirling through the room. It took most of Chloe’s self-control not to break into a grin. “Ah yes, great to see you too. My day was great, thanks for asking. I’m just making dinner for my gorgeous girlfriend. No big deal.”
Beca rolled her eyes, pulling herself onto the bar-stool before throwing a magazine down and opening up to a page where her own face was smiling giddily back up at them. Donning a striped suit with high-waisted jean shorts, photo-Beca was propped on one elbow, her hand trailing down Chloe’s figure - which was donning a bikini that, at the time, nearly convinced Beca to not leave the house at all. Their legs were intertwined on the towel, and it was a grainy photo, but you could see the wicked grin on their faces. Beneath the photo, “Hollywood’s Favorite Girl-Power Duo Enjoy a Day at the Beach”.
(A/N: Fuck the season three finale. If you’re wondering why this is so late, it’s because it took me this long to calm down enough to write a fic. AU where Abbie and Joe lived. How I think the story should have ended.)
It’s all she hears as she walks towards the glowing box
with her death written in its script. She makes it about three steps away
before Crane’s condor arms envelop her waist and snatch her off her feet. She
struggles against his lean frame, surprised to find that he’d tightened them
around her like a boa constrictor’s coils.
“Crane, let me go!” she orders. “I have to! I don’t have
“No, Leftenant,” Crane says, digging those long fingers
in as if he intends to set down roots to keep her put. “It doesn’t have to end
this way. Remember what you taught me? There is always another way.”
She squeezes her eyes shut as his words dig into the cold
pit of her stomach and sting. “Not this time. We have to stop him. It’s me or
the world, Crane.”
“No,” he murmurs, and then turns her around. He leans
down to her height, clutching her arms, smiling sadly. “It’s us or the world.”
Her breath catches as she realize what he means. “Crane,
please. I can’t let you do this.”
“Neither can I. And so we will do it together. We are the
Witnesses. Quoth the lady, ‘What you do, I do.’ There is no world without you
in it, Abbie. If we must face the Grim Reaper, we shall do it as God intended
He slides his hand down her bicep, her elbow, to hers.
His are cold and clammy and shaking the slightest bit, but his smile is steady.
She swallows hard, tears burning in her eyes, then nods slowly.
They walk towards Pandora’s Box and set one hand upon the
lid each. The light explodes and then they are gone. The last thing she feels
is his fingers squeezing hers.
“…The work of British artist Linder (Linder Sterling, born Linda Mulvey, 1954), recently on view at the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, also grew from an interest in a refiguration, and in this sense she stands in what can perhaps be called a “collagist” tradition. Collage is indeed one of her primary techniques – her central motif is the female body – and the title of the exhibition, “Femme/Objet”, responds to the fact that major parts of her œuvre fall under the umbrella of gender concerns. The show’s mission statement takes the form of an aphoristic slogan spelled out in pinstripe-thin fluorescent lights on one of the exhibition space’s walls. Set in a neo-Art Deco script, and glowing from behind a curtain of sheer fabric, it reads “Anatomy is not destiny”…”
As the earth around her quakes and burns, all Levy McGarden can do is close her eyes and wonder how it all went wrong.
It was supposed to be a simple job – an easy one – but then again, that’s how it plays out in all the stories, isn’t it? What seems simple is suddenly very not, and the world is flipped around without warning.
A warm, heavily calloused hand wraps around her own, and something rights itself within her. She opens her eyes to see Gajeel standing next to her, a dark scowl on his face, pierced brows drawn together in both anger and determination. Small cuts litter his arm; blood oozes down his cheek from a gash on his temple. He’s taken the brunt of the hits for her, because his body is built to withstand the attacks she cannot.
there are plenty of songs, I listen in bulks with each artist, but my top songs would be:
- you’re dead wrong / mayday parade
- angels / mayday parade
- woman / the 1975
- stella / all time low
- oh, calamity! / all time low
- why / busted
- one / ed sheeran
- trust me / the fray
- is there somewhere / halsey
- roman holiday / halsey
- all I want / kodaline
- somewhere only we know / keane
- glowing / the script
- science & faith / the script
- ode to sleep / twenty one pilots
- holding onto you / twenty one pilots
- tear in my heart / twenty one pilots
I hope you enjoy if you decide to give it a listen! 💞
Okay so robotnik-mun told me something interesting that I didn’t put much thought into until he came back and talked to me more and pointed something even more interesting out.
From what robotnik-mun told me, Sonic Boom was actually based upon a rejected premise for a Crash Bandicoot game, Crash Bandicoot: Evolution. Seeing as Big Red Button is made up of (or was, as a lot of people left during the making of Boom) failed Naughty Dog employees, I can easily see this rejected script coming along with them too.
It actually explains a lot of things. The Enerbeams are directly in the script apparently, only as a glowing snake thing in CB:Evo. And perhaps why at first they were insisting that Sonic has pants. And why Knuckles now almost has exactly the same build as Crunch Bandicoot, which is one of the things robotnik-mun specifically pointed out to me because I’m not that familiar with the Crash series.
I guess I’m sort of more disappointed with Sonic Boom than ever.
aquarius is a room full of art, there is the sweet melody of the panflute god plays his most inspirational thoughts through there is the rainbow loom of the weaved bows and threads of flower children and the halo of their saturn ring of daisies it’s always tomorrow in the aquarian heart, the future is in her eyes and the stars sparkle even brighter she is nocturnal, something about the aquarius frequency is eternal, bathed in intuitive goodness and peachy soda her life is a blue myth of its own, written in sky script, neon glitter pens aquarius glows fluorescent in the dark