I thought valkyries mostly did pickups and deliveries,” I said. “Choosing the best warriors from among the slain. Taking them off to Valhalla. Oh, and serving drinks there. Odin’s virgin daughters, pouring mead for the warriors, partying until Ragnarok.”
Gard threw back her head and laughed. “Virgin daughters.” She rose, shaking her head, and glanced at her broken arm again. Then she leaned down and kissed me on the mouth. Her lips were a sweet, hungry little fire of sensation, and I felt the kiss all the way to my toes. Some places more than others, ahem.
She drew away slowly, her pale blue eyes shining. Then she winked at me and said, “Don’t believe everything you read, Dresden.” She turned to go, and then paused to glance over her shoulder. “Though, to be honest: sometimes he does like us to call him Daddy.
Sigrun Gard and Harry Dresden (Side Jobs: Heorot by Jim Butcher)
I’M BACK WITH Part 2!!!!!!!! It took me a little longer than I’d initially planned to get it posted because of all the rewriting I did, but hopefully the result is a better product? Well, I’ll leave that for you wonderful people to decide!
ALSO, GUESS WHAT POPPED UP AFTER I POSTED THIS CHAPTER!?
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!! HERE’S HOPING THERE’S ANOTHER HUNDRED MORE!!! Thank you all so very, very much for your continuous love and support. Without it, I’d never have gotten so far. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! <3 <3 <3
“Blue is a Darkness Weakened by Light” is about a lonely young woman, recently moved to the big city, who is looking for love. What she finds is a friend and confidante who is much older and wiser than she.
They had stopped a few hours ago and set up camp. The forest took on the glow of a dawn that does not yet know it is awake, and they drank coffee made over a fire and stared at the trees. Talking politics and philosophy and space travel. She asked, as she often did, for him to speak his mind about what they were trying to do. “Why do you believe in helping ? Why do you believe in me? ” The question was not blunt, but genuine and soft.
He scratched his beard and pushed the hair out his face, so that she could see his eyes shining in the almost-light of morning. Then he spoke…
“ There are preachers giving sermons, recycling scripture to suit their purpose and instilling faith in fairy tales. Telling us how to live our lives, and maybe some of them are good. Maybe. There are advertising companies selling sex and dreams and skin and decadence beyond measure, damaging us with their standards, a sensory overload of MONEY MONEY MONEY, and perhaps when they started they just wanted to inform instead of infiltrate. Perhaps.
There are television shows and movies, tweets and status updates and laws and banks and corporations and war and war and war.
All of them promise they’re trying to change the world.
But darling, we don’t need their kind of change. The kind that comes in a can or spins on a wheel right back to where it started. The kind that bombs a country for peace and then denies entry to it’s fleeing residents. The kind that tells us we have to look a certain way and then persecutes us for trying too hard.
The kind of change we need… the kind that I want to see. Is your kind. The kind that comes in the form of a smile. The kind that picks others up, instead of putting them down. The kind that challenges those who seek to undermine community and divide, divide, divide. The kind that you embody so perfectly. The kind which teaches love and hope and faith and patience and understanding. The kind that brings everyone together at the end of a long day, just to say ’‘You’re okay. We’re here. We Missed you. You’re safe. Just breathe”. The kind that stops in a city you don’t know, in a country you’ve never been too before, in a neighbourhood full of struggling people, just to give a homeless guy a hair cut and help a community build a new school and teach music to children.
We need your kind of change. The kind of change that IS kind.“
She looked at him as though he had just told her all the mysteries of the universe. She often looked at him that way… like maybe his veins were full of magic instead of blood.
Then she brushed a tear from off her cheek, said ’'I love you” and kissed him so hard he fell over, laughing. They both laughed like that and rolled around in the dirt of the forest floor until the world woke up around them and dawn became day. And a good day it was.
the-poet-and-the-pauper-tumblr.com (WATCH ME ) Extract - (A good day for a good day )
When they are your biggest fans, what more can a writer need? Beta readers, ladies and gentlemen.
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