ROTG: New Beginnings
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- Partes 22
Darkness. . . . that's the first thing I saw when I awoke. . . . or more like felt. I couldn't see or hear anything! Just as I was starting to get worried, a voice crept out of the darkness. . . . it sounded so familiar, the laugh I heard, but I couldn't quite remember. . . .
"So. . . . the boy of snow finally wakes."
My senses suddenly rushed back to me and for the first time in several years, I was scared.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.Concluida
A Dragon's Curse
- I can’t decide whether I liked the old days more than the present, he said sounding as if he was speaking mostly to himself. This time the hooded man turned to look at him, most of his face covered by the dark material, his head titling slightly to the side and his lips forming a small smirk. - And what do you know of the old days, boy? They existed long before you were even an idea in your parents mind. - I wouldn't know. I never met them. I do have a story from back then though. It’s about how the legend of Tiana started. The stranger flinched almost imperceptibly and stared at the young man for a few tense moments. Next his jaw clenched and he barely managed to speak the words that came out. - The dragon slayer is just a myth. Just a story The Fallen made up to blame their failures on.Concluida
Collapse: Book Two (bxb) ✔️
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Born To Lose (Frerard) 2.0
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Fire and ice (hiccupxreader) COMPLETED
A small story that popped into my head. Slightly similar to the story I'm currently typing but....eh I duno. --- You lived and travelled alone, well with your dragon. She was your best friend. You didn't need anyone else. Then a strange boy swoops in (literally) saving you. Who was he? Why was he so persistent? What does he see in you that you don't see in yourself? He was warm and welcoming, you were cold and distant fire melts ice, no matter how thick.Concluida
Allen Walker And The Missing Voices
Allen Walker(NOT FROM D-GRAYMAN), a 13 year old boy with a dream to become a warrior, just like his Father Argon Walker. And 4 childhood friends will gather together and reclaim what was once theirs. Wonderful tales about adventures and battles against the Empire of Gallamine... But this was not one of those heroic times. The messenger was a soldier of the King, bearing a Blue cloak with a Gold insignia of the King, The Mighty Blue Dragon, on his hands. Allen's mother covered her face with grief and ran inside the house. Allen wanted to cry, but he kept a brave face. His lower lip wouldn't stop trembling. As he extended his hands for the cloak, the messenger unveiled his hoodie and underneath was his Uncle Waller with tears and red nose. Allen ran and hugged him. Not letting him go, thinking he too would suddenly disappear. "Allen... Please take this inside." Said Waller, "I will come back when we have done the ceremony for his burial." Waller kneeled down with his arms extended, offering Allen his fathers cloak. "But... Uncle Waller. What-" I started crying, but kept a brave face. "I understand Uncle *Sniff* I will be brave for the family and Mom." I took the cloak from his hands, and something clicked inside my head. A voice came through to my head, more a whisper than a normal voice. Uncle Waller stood up and walked away. I embraced the cloak, my tears falling on it, as I remembered my fathers scent. "I don't know what happened... But I promise you this Father, I will find the person who did this to you, and make it pay for taking you away from our family". I swore with anger burning in my heart. "I must grow strong, just like Father, Uncle and Grandpa... I will become The strongest Warrior there ever was, you will see Father..." I walked back inside the house. "Allen... You have promise..." Said the whisper, "I will help you grow strong, and get Revenge..." Said the voice with sadness, "You are a very special Kid".Concluida
The Sunshine Project: Book One (bxb) ✔️
Book one of three in the Project Trilogy MUST BE READ IN ORDER EMERY GRAY: I'm the friend who likes doing cute things for my friends if I notice they aren't mentally doing well. I enjoy making uplifting cards or beaded bracelets just so they can smile. I do this for holidays, too, because I know the holidays can be hard for some. I never knew my friend group was secretly against me the entire time. After overhearing them laugh at my expense, I'm about to walk away. When I turn, I slam right into a very tall wall of muscle that sends me backward before another hand shoots out and catches my elbow before I fall. When I look up, I see them. The infamous Triple-A. Everyone hates them. They don't trust anyone. They're cruel. Those are all things I've heard but never witnessed. After they drag me away from my supposed group of friends, they offer me a safe place with them. I decline. I declined because my brother would have my head if I accepted. If Ellis found out I befriended the group he hated, I wouldn't know what to do. But a member of Triple-A has noticed me. Alaric Benson. The jokester. The class-clown. The one with the amazing hazel eyes that I start getting lost in. No, I can't befriend Triple-A, but the offer becomes harder to resist when I realize how alone I feel. I befriended them, and they started helping me find out who I am. They aren't cruel like everyone believes. Not unless they have to be. So, where did everyone get this idea? Oh, god, someone help me. I don't know how much longer I can resist Alaric Benson. Falling in love with him is a recipe for disaster! Right? If my brother finds out, I don't know what will happen, but I can't resist him anymore. Screw the damage I'll take from the fallout. It's my life, and I need to remember that.Concluida
King Of The Night: The New Servant
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Journey within the beast world
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Little Red and the Big, Bad, Wolf.
BOOK 1 OF THE BIG BAD WOLF SERIES: "R-Roman, stop," He lingers on each kiss, teasing me with his tongue. Sparks erupt. "You make me so damn angry," He says huskily, fanning his warm breath on my neck, making another shiver course through me. He places a kiss right below my ear, and I visibly shudder. He notices. He starts attacking the spot with his lips, and I bite my lip hard trying hard to not let the moan escape me. I involuntarily close my eyes. Everywhere he touches me sparks erupt. He starts sucking on the spot. "R-Roman, pl-please, st-top," I push lightly on his chest, but he doesn't even flinch. I didn't want this to happen, not when he was just being a total asshole 2 seconds ago. "Roman," I practically moan out his name. He starts gently biting me, and I melt into him. I put my hands on his shoulders and push him again, slightly harder this time, but as he keeps attacking my neck, I feel as though all the energy has been drained from me. "You're mine," he says huskily in between kisses. I self consciously nod. "Only mine-" He starts kissing and sucking my jaw, and I refrain from letting out a moan. "And you'll never talk to Dimitri or any of the warriors again." I open my eyes wide at his comment, and I push him back with all my strength. *** They said the Big Wolf was bad... They said no one could tame him... That his heart was made of ice... That he couldn't love anyone and no one could love him. His pack was ruthless... Killed without a second thought. They said Little Red was Human.... They said she was shy and quiet.... They said her innocence was like no other... That she was pack less. Helped without a thought... At least... That's what they say... Let me tell you the real story... *** WARNING: THIS BOOK HAS STRONG LANGUAGE, SEXUAL THEMES, ABUSE, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, DEATH AND HARASSMENT. IF THESE ARE TRIGGERS THAN CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK!Concluida
A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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