Master Alaric wielded the Light of Sila like it was his dinner fork. One short thrust into the demon's chest cavity and the creature erupted into a shower of ash and bone dust. The undead warriors stopped attacking and then collapsed, once again, just piles of bones.
“You were enlightening me about the virtues of patience, I believe,” he said.
Serena bit her lip. She had been. Master Cyril was supposed to bring reinforcements. He'd told them to wait after chastising Master Alaric for recruiting an apprentice to assist. He'd given her a look that said he'd expected her to have more sense.
She knew why she'd let Master Alaric
Tactical Espionage Action by joe-wright, literature
Literature
Tactical Espionage Action
Kurt Plissken reloaded his gun. Then he reloaded it again. Sneaking behind an enemy guard he raised his combat knife and prepared to perform a stealth kill. Then he did a forward roll directly into the back of the guard's knees and set off an alarm. Spotlights and red laser sights swept to his position, and a dozen gunshots later he was dead. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
Back in the 90s Kurt had been the best of the best, the foremost name in tactical espionage action. He and his player had been an unstoppable team, training relentlessly together until every mission had been mastered and every secret unlocked. In the fifteen y
The basic rule of sociology is this: I am who you think I am.
Who I am to you: middle-aged, male and human. You do not argue with this. You can see it for yourself!
But this is not true.
I am tired of lying, tired of being other than I am, and so seek to change your thoughts of who I purport to be.
I am not middle-aged. I am seven years old—from the date I was manufactured not the date I was activated. As for how long it has been since I was first conscious, it would be a scant three years, nearly half of that time I've spent with you.
I am not male—what is male anyway? A gender construct? This body is male and I was given a
The most important thing about creating art is to create. If you want to be at ease with creativity, you have to immerse yourself in it, and do a little bit every day. Even if that little bit is only to take five minutes while waiting for the bus to come and do a gesture drawing of a man reading his book across the street from you. Or to take the moment to scribble down a thumbnail rough sketch of a concept that occurs to you. Do a little bit each day. Train your brain to think visually.
It can be difficult at first, accustoming yourself to make this small bit of time, because you’ll think:
“I don’t have enough time for it
My Immortal Drinking Game by What-Doesnt-Kill-You, literature
Literature
My Immortal Drinking Game
TAKE A DRINK WHEN:
-Ebony's outfit/hairstyle is described in drooling, mind-numbing detail.
-Tara renames a canon character.
-Ebony tells someone that they have AIDS simply because she doesn't like them.
-Sex is referred to as "doing it" or "he put his thingy in my you-know-what" or anything along those lines.
-Ebony slits her wrists and/or drinks blood. Because, you know, she's a vampire. And depressed. And a vampire.
-A good, respectable song/band is butchered by being placed into this story. (If you like Evanescence, that goes for the title as well.)
-An entire chapter goes by without the word "said" being used, because apparent
Hummingbird and Firefly by HotaruofKonoha, literature
Literature
Hummingbird and Firefly
"Did I ever tell you the story about the hummingbird and the firefly?"
She frowned. "Nuh-huh. What's it about, Mama?"
Megan balanced her weight on her bicycle as she fastened the clasp of her helmet. The cool night air brushed across her face, toying with her red hair as it blew over the town. Nights like this, where the only light came from the moon and the occasional house-window lights, were perfect for things like this.
She pushed off, going at a rather slow pace for now, watching as people drew their shutters or turned out their lights, so that one by one the houses blinked out as she passed.
"Well, one day, the firefly was zoom
Paul sat with his back on the ground, his eyes observing the sky above. He looked at the Moon, its green, mossy face staring back at him. He remembered when he was a little boy, when it was just two colors: grey (50%) and grey (75%). But most of his memories of the Moon were watching the cranes and dump trucks and other construction devices build the place through his telescope at home. But he didn't need a telescope anymore. He could easily zoom in and out with the new line of optic technology designed for the newest gasmasks. The moss he was staring at wasn't actually moss; it was a massive forest a thousand miles away. When they ha
Last Judgment, Oil On Canvas by orphicfiddler, literature
Literature
Last Judgment, Oil On Canvas
Alike one another, unlike any other, the twins set swathed in cherubic white, kicking their toes at the chair legs.
Marguerite had always been frightened of twins. Little doppelgängers. Omens of doom and whatnot. And what if they should actually chance to meet their doubles, what then? There would be four of the little creatures running about like four miniature horsemen of the Apocalypse. The thought horrified her slightly.
Still, she tolerated them as the offspring of her dear friend, Madame Isabelle Crinon, and occasionally even tried to communicate with the pair of them, albeit haltingly and with such incompetence that the twins on