/r/write
Wholesome:
"good for you, and likely to improve your life either physically, morally, or emotionally."
"An embodiment of the following: self-less, considerate, sweet, compassionate, thoughtful, generous, genuine, doesn't talk trash about other people."
The first definition is from the dictionary of Cambridge, the second from the dictionary of urban. Either way you spin it, it does seem to be only positive vibes and like there couldn't be anything wrong with something that is deemed wholesome. Yet, I have found, that 'wholesome' is more of a package, whose value can range from "making my day" all the way down to 'almost meaningless', depending of its substance. "Substance-less wholesome" is achieved, when promises for a better future are made on shallow grounds, there is a lot of acting for a hidden camera involved, and whenever somebody in a suit-wearing, politely smiling, presenting, role says "We can change this for the better" and is mysteriously avoiding any details. These words ring 'positively hollow', the message lacks in substance.
The word "genuine", on the other hand, describes that very substance as a reflection of the intrinsical intent of a person, which is why I like to use it so much. "Genuity" is something that can be both positive or negative, but for an optimistic person is probably positive, and it is definitely... honest. Being genuine is saying something and meaning it, though not in that order. Speaking and then finding a way to justify it, is not coming from a place of genuity. However, meaning something and then trying to find words for it, that is genuity. Accidentally saying the "wrong" thing, choosing words that distress, irritate or offend other people shall be forgivable offenses, as the person begging for forgiveness will testify: That was not my intent.
In a best case scenario, a person speaks with genuinely positive intent and his words are understood as such.
But I would rather have somebody speak genuinely, but in offensive language, than in a polite manner, that s/he doesn't mean, leaving a void in substance-less wholesome words, where character should be.
I want to finish with this quote: "There are people who speak words that other people like. When I speak, I merely try to translate what I feel or think into words. And if I am lucky and a little bit smart, then these two line up."
Be genuine. And be forgiving.
My dystopian book is called Lights, and the main plot is that everything is centered around lights. Currency, hierarchy, weapons, and more. This is my first paragraph. Can someone tell me if I need to fix anything? It was a dark day. The clock on the towering building that stood menacingly above the town rang with a loud bang, signifying midnight and the time to walk home. The rain poured down seemingly endlessly on the ground’s cursed surface. Water infiltrated the cracks of the sidewalk and froze. He walked uncomfortably with a single lamp in hand. It was all that he had left. He approached the small house illuminated by a single torch.
I don’t know how my personality works. Last week, I was motivated and enthusiastic about writing. The week before, I was interested in watching a specific scientist on YouTube. Last month, I was overwhelmed with reading about philosophy, and so on. I don’t have a specific hobby.
I really like to write since i'm really articulate, do you guys have any topic suggestions?
This is the story that i am trying to write (only first chapter) and i want to know what you guys think, u can also ask about spoilers and magic system:
"Man is bound by his nature to act. Even without desire, he cannot remain inactive. He performs his duty with detachment, for action without attachment will not bind him. Destiny plays its role, but your effort matters too." Especially in this enigmatic world, where the sacred may wear the guise of the profane, and the divine may walk among us as an ordinary man.
It is a normal but radiant day of this world and Mortis, a normal being, is doing his usual routine, like watching TV, but it seems that he has forgotten that, this day is going to change his routine and his roads forever.
Mortis, a charming boy with spiky black hair and green eyes as a chameleon, is sitting on the couch but something unusual about him is that he is suffering with a disease, that niether he is aware off, called “partial amnesia” (a disease where you forget some random memories and informations)
* * *
“Mortis, are you ready for it? we should go.” asks Mortis's mom from the kitchen.
“Huh?! Isn't it tomorrow, Mom?” replies Mortis with a dry mouth.
“Well, well, well. I guessed it right, you forgot about it. Get ready and prepare the backpack then I’ll drop you to Arcane academy, son!” orders his mom.
After that, Mortis gets ready.
He retrieves his phone and begins packing his bag with essential items: his phone, a selection of snacks, a water bottle, and a notepad, which he fetches from his wardrobe, a chaotic space brimming with scattered toys and disheveled clothing.
“We should go, son!” suggests his mom to Mortis from downstairs.
“Yeah, I think I am ready,” states Mortis and quickly runs downstairs.
After securing the door, they step into the car and begin their journey toward the academy.
“Have you got an idea of what you want your Astra to be?” asks his mom, seeing his son sitting quietly while scrolling down through his phone.
“I don't know. It can be anything. I was not sure if I wanted to join the academy, anyway” answers Mortis with an apprehensive and somewhat irritated voice.
Her mom glanced at him with a soft smile, her hand briefly brushing his shoulder.
"You'll figure it out." she says, her voice calms Mortis, ending the conversation as she looks ahead and the silence between them again starts to comfort Mortis as it has always done.
Once they arrive at the academy, his mom drops him off and wishes him good luck for the long Journey that he is going to start from today.
Mortis then enters the academy.
The academy is a grand building with the base of ancient stones and on the other hand the building of morden materials like concrete. It also has a sprawling green country yard with some rocks and a grand rectangular shaped stadium.
Mortis, as soon as enter, goes to the reception and asks the receptionist about the weapon selection for new students.
The receptionist leads him to the room where the Brahm energy is stored.
After waiting a while in the corridor, the masters of the academy finally call him inside.“Good morning, masters!” says Mortis with a loud voice.
The room where the Brahm energy is stored is decent but with the floor of wood, there is a table with Brahm energy and some bookshelves.
Mortis sees five masters sitting on the ground.
“Good morning, kid. Are you ready to form your Astra?” inquires the youngest master.
“Yeah I think so, but what do I have to do exactly to form my weapon?”
“You have to place your hand on the levitating sphere on that table and then think about it.”
Mortis walks to the table and places his hand on the sphere.
Once the hand of Mortis gets placed on the sphere made out of photons, it starts to get more intense, mini and darker.
The photons in the sphere start to die and their occupied space gets replaced with dark matter.
All the masters were shocked to see that energy becoming darker.
“Is it supposed to happen? Why is it becoming darker?” probes the youngest master to the oldest one.
“The Brahm energy is reacting with his spiritual energy. This boy isn't ordinary, there's something hiding in his soul.” replies the oldest master.
While the masters are talking, Mortis is not even moving a single inch as his brain is using all his energy to create the astra.
After a few minutes, Mortis wakes up and Brahm energy calms down and becomes like before.
“What just happened!?” wonders Mortis with a lot of curiosity!
“Great student but what was it like to hold the Brahm energy for you?” Inquires the youngest master.
“i guess, it was like to…, like looking at the stars in the night where you are the only one who can listen the sound of air”
“ That's interesting. Well, now that you have created your astra, it's time to inform you that your astra will not come outside of your soul easily, you have to generate it.” asserts the oldest master.
“And how should I do that?”
“There are various ways to do that, in fact everyone has their own way to spawn their astra.
It’s generally based on the personality of the holder.” answers the youngest master.
“Umm…? I didn't understand, what do you mean by the holder’s personality?” Questions Mortis
“Well, I mean every person on this planet has his personality and favorites, that can make a person feel better and spawn his astra. For example, a person who likes to listen to music, his astra will get triggered on harmony!” asserts the youngest master.
“Ohh…! So I have to figure it out myself, right?”
“Correct, kid. For now you should go to your class.” states the oldest master to Mortis
“Ok, I guess. Thank you masters!” Greets Mortis to all the masters
Mortis leaves the room where the receptionist was still waiting for Mortis.
“Have you successfully created your astra?” Inquires the receptionist
“Yeah I think so, but I still don't know how to spawn it.” Replies Mortis
“Don't worry about it, nobody knew that for at least one day!”
“Really!? I thought that I was the only one!” says Mortis, raising his voice tone and smiling.
“So, are you ready for your first class!?, questions the receptionist”
“Yeah, I think I am ready!”
“So follow me!”
The receptionist and Mortis go downstairs where the receptionist leaves Mortis in front of a class saying that it is his class.
Mortis knocks the door and opens the door, he sees all the students and the teacher “Lukàri” staring at him.
“You are late but chill, today I am feeling happy so you can sit down on your seat.
Which by the way is next to that girl” asserts the teacher Lukari to Mortis and pointing out the bench.
Mortis walks to his bench which is attached to the girl’s bench and sits there.
“Hello I am Akiha, but you can call me Aki!” tells that girl to Mortis
Aki is a beautiful, adventurous and kind teen girl with light hot pink hair which arrives at her shoulders and she is slim and short.
“Hey, my name is Mortis. Nice to meet you”
“No need to tell me, I already knew that!” informs Aki to him
“Ok..?, but how do you know my name?” queries Mortis
“Huh? well, let the mystery be unsolved” says Aki with a cheerful voice
“Ok I guess?” Says Mortis
“Can you two bring attention to the lesson?” states the teacher Lukari
After Lukari says to stop talking, Aki whispers to Mortis: “We’ll talk later” and they start to take notes.
After that lesson, Aki brings Mortis to the stadium which is behind the school.
“Why are we here?” Questions Mortis to Aki.
“You don't know? This is the stadium, where the students can do battles to make them more powerful!”
“Ahh, I forgot about that. By the way, have you got your weapon? Inquires Mortis
“Yes, of course, and I wanna become a warrior who travels all over the world and destroys bad people. What about you? If you have then we can do battle!”
“I don't know what I want to become. I have created my weapon but I still don't know how to spawn as the masters said that it is based on my favorites and my personality”
“Yeah I know, let me think what can be your trigger” wonders Aki watching the orange sky.”
“Hey you two, The academy is closing. You should go home.” inform the teacher Lukari.
“Ah, already? Well then let’s go” says Aki and then they two leave the academy.
Outside the academy, Mortis sees that his mom is waiting for him.
Mortis runs and goes to her mom.
“How was the day, son!?
“It was quite good, but..”
“But what?” questions her mom
“But he doesn't know how to generate his weapon!” says Aki from the back
“Oh Aki! How are you!?” Says her surprised mom to Aki.
“How you guys know each other!?” questions Mortis
“Well I am surprised that you don't know about our neighbor!” Says her mom to him
“Neighbor? Wait! Is Aki our neighbor!?”
“Yes, she's the only teen girl in our neighborhood!”
“Oof…, well now I am too tired to think about this. Let's go home, mom.” states Mortis.
“Ok then, bye aunty! I have to go to the convenience store.”
After that, Mortis and his mother go home and Mortis. After getting fresh, sits on the dining table and eats dinner while her mom was washing dishes.
“Did you become her friend?” Inquiries Mortis's mom.
“You mean Aki, right? I mean not really but she is quite nice to me.”
“You are right, son. she has become very social and kind, especially after that accident.”
“Accident? What are you talking about?” questions Mortis with confusion
“Oh, son. I am really worried about you, you don't know that Aki’s parents passed away last year. We also went to their funeral.”
“Umm… I guess… I am, but… I don't remember, maybe because…, i don't know” says Mortis in a pensive way and a little bit of hesitation
“Well I guess, you should help her, son”
“Umm… I will help her but for now she's going to help me about my weapon”
“You will find out soon and after finishing the dinner go to sleep!” orders the mom to Mortis
Mortis, after eating and doing his dishes, goes to the balcony of his room to relax but he doesn't relax, because he is continuously thinking about his astra and his trigger point with a lot of curiosity and a little bit of anxiety.
“I wonder what's Aki’s astra” wonders Mortis
As he is thinking and looking at the stars, he sees that in the balcony of the house, next to his home, there's Aki looking through a telescope.
Mortis doesn't call her as he doesn't feel a friend to her and to disturb her but just remains there and looks at her while she enjoys looking at the stars.
Next day, Mortis wakes up early and gets ready even if he doesn't want to.
“Alright, I think it's time for you to leave!” States his mom
“What do you mean, mom? Are you not dropping me at the academy?” questions Mortis
“I am not going but someone else is!”
“Uh…, and who's that “someone?””
“Your biggest fear, boy” informs Mortis childhood , who was transferred two years ago to another city but today he has returned.
“Ryuji! You are back!?” says Mortis with a lot of excitement
Ryuji is a mature tall and skinny boy with gray spiky hairs pointing out the back. He generally likes to spend his time playing video games or practicing with his astra
“Not only has he returned but he has also joined Arcane academy!” Says Mortis’s mom.
“Cool! Ryu let’s go”
After that Ryuji and Mortis leave the house and start walking.
“Mortis, I heard that you have got your astra, right?”
“Oh yes, I had it yesterday”
“Let me guess, You still don't know how to spawn it.”
“Yeah, but how did you guess it?”
“Easy, you are still stupid”
“Well, that's not so nice way to talk” comments Mortis
“Whatever” replies Ryuji
“Hey, let's do a race to the academy like when we were children” says Mortis
“Ok”
“Good, the race starts” shouted Mortis and started to run.
Ryuji however doesn't run immediately but lets Mortis go and when he sees that mortis has taken a great lead, he stops and starts to generate his astra.
“You can run, but you can't survive” as Ryuji says this, the weather becomes cloudy and dark from sunny and illuminous. Then, a lightning bolt from the sky strikes his shoes and after that, his right shoe starts creating lightning sparks (which turns it in an astra “Virgrahastra”)
Ryuji starts to run, his speed doubles every microsecond and whenever Ryuji makes a step on the ground, that part of the road becomes extremely hot and blacklike thunder strikes a metal.
Ryuji, after a few microseconds, overtakes Mortis who doesn't even notice Ryuji overtakes.
After a millisecond, Ryuji arrives at academy but he waits for Mortis to arrive because he wanted to Mortis’s shocked face.
Mortis finally arrived at the academy after a few minutes and when he sees Ryuji outside the gate of the academy, he gets shocked.
“How!? Like how are you-? Aw man, you are cheating like in childhood, right?” says Mortis.
“Well, how am I supposed to cheat in a race and especially when the road is straight?”Questions Ryuji, being calm as before.
“I don't know, but you always have a method of cheating”
“ Yeah, Whatever”.
“Oh really, if you are really that fast then you can definitely get into your class in ten seconds!”
Comments Mortis to Ryuji trying to challenge him.
“Don't worry about me but for your kind information, you are already late for your class!”
“Oh, damn it! See you later.” states Mortis and enters the academy, running for his class.
Ryuji however, being calm and not caring about being late, climbs the stairs and goes to his class normally.
Ryuji doesn't use his super speed because he doesn't want to reveal his real power before the correct time.
“Mortis, it's the second time you're late. Have you got any good excuse like there was traffic?” questions teacher Lukari in an ironic way.
“Sorry teacher, I was just talking with my childhood friend who has returned today after two years” explains Mortis to Lukari
After hearing that excuse of Mortis, Lukari goes into a deep flashback of him and a mysterious friend in a mysterious Japanese temple staring at a statue.
“Sir, what happened?” Questions Mortis.
“Ah-, nothing. Go to the seat” states Lukari with hesitation.
Mortis goes to his seat and sits.
“Hey! What's up?” Inquires Aki who was already sat on her seat
“I am good, you?” Replies Mortis
“Good but sleepy because today i woke up at 5”
“But why?”
“Idk, but I think it's because I was feeling excited for the annual championship!”
“Championship? What are you talking about?”
“Huh!? You don't know about the annual championship?”
“No, but what type of championship is that” questions Mortis.
“Well. Excuse me sir.” says Aki to Lukari
“Yes?” replies Lukari
“Can you explain the annual championship?”
“Well, if you paid attention to the class, you will know that I already explained that” replies Lukari in a sarcastic way.
“Ah-, yeah but I didn't listen because… it's because Mortis disturbed me!”
“Oh Mortis, if you have any questions, ask me even if the question doesn't make any sense and if you were asking about the annual championship you only need to know that It's a championship where students fight with astra”.
Snaps Lukari.
“Ok thanks and sorry” replies Mortis
“It's ok, next time don't disturb Akiha”
The conversation stops and Mortis seems a little bit frustrated because Aki blamed him even though he didn't start the conversation.
“I am sorry, i didn't really want to say your name” explains Aki and tries to excuse her.
“It's ok, I can understand why you said my name. By the way, are you participating in the championship?”
“Yes of course! Aren't you?”
“I don't think so”
“How!? You don't want to participate and win the tournament?
“Well, I don't even know how to generate my astra so how am I supposed to win even one fight?”
“Ahh, right. You are not so pro to find out your astra in one day” comments Aki trying to make fun.
Mortis however, gets offended and angry because he always thought that he is perfect in everything.
“Heyy! Look mortis, your bracelet is glowing!”
They see that the Mortis’s bracelet is glowing and some Amber color particles are going upward.
When Lukari sees those particles, he goes into a flashback another time. This time, he seems to be sitting on a wooden bench with his mysterious friend in the middle of a jungle. The bracelet of that friend was leaving the same particles as the Mortis bracelet.>!!<
So me and my friend are writing a zombie/infection story with inspiration from the last of us. our main plot is that our city has a heavily damaged generator and we need parts to fix it so our city won't go to hell. our city is like government protected like a quarantine zone. Its been 3 years after the infection started. Anyways, the characters have to travel to another city (Chicago which got bombed a bit to kill infected) that also has a QZ to trade and bargain for supplies / parts to fix our stuff. (Radios exist still and our city made contact with them to set up trade) But on the walk there the leader of our trade party who's a military "scavenger" leader dies. and when we get there to Chicago the QZ is destroyed and run by raiders and hunters. and to make things brief, we have to steal the parts we need. But I feel like to write a lengthy book type story we need subplots. I was thinking about like running into a mother and her child that needs help in the cities and other things. I need inspiration, please help. We already wrote a whole chapter hoping for more to come. I've thought about romance, but since this is currently at hobby work stage and characters are based off ourselves and people we know, it would be unfit I feel -----> go ahead and convince me otherwise if you think I am wrong though (:
I'm having trouble writing the laws of my world. My light novel is about science fiction and time travel. I haven't been able to define what time travel will be like. Why? And what limits will it have? The story is about three timelines that split due to external interference from another artifice like a megaverse. Which produced a massive war that shouldn't have happened. Which resulted in there being two twin timelines that are intertwined and another thing I need help with is the objective which I'm also not clear on. What's better? Something like: Rejoin the three timelines or I've also thought of something like the objective being: Separate the timelines causing more changes.
‘He’s Dead, isn’t he?’ She Said awaiting an answer, full of tears ‘He’s been shot twice in the liver and once in the lungs, the lungs alone take his life, I’m afraid…’He said, assuming he would continue she replied, still crying ‘Hm?’ They were interrupted by someone ‘Doctor, I’ll have her for a moment’ he takes her to the side, she asks ‘What do you want from me after my own husband was taken away from his lifelong dear?’ ‘Well, with those teary, beautiful, eyes of yours I will never, even if it rained cats and dogs, break this type of news to you now’ ‘Alright, but can we file a lawsuit and find who did this?’ ‘Obviously’ because I want that insolent, disgraceful, bastard wailing for mercy under my foot’ ‘Yes, and as I have information not leaked publicly, I’d kindly ask of you to lend me my father’s case to me, Mother’ He said bowing down ‘Alright’ she replied ‘Then it’s settled’.
Charleton Edith Gilbert, born into this world on June 16th 1857 into The United Kingdom, Scotland in the Rovelnight house, His sister, Marie Edith Gilbert was born on Dec 3rd 1860. Edith their father was born on June 16th 1835, Whilst Amanda, his wife, was born on March 30th 1833. Edith and Amanda got married on Oct 3rd 1854, they have two kids, Charleton and Marie who were both highly intelligent for their ages. The two entered school at the age of 4 and joined the Dunkeld national school. Gilbert had 1 more child, Aunt Beverly, Born on March 2nd 1826, Much older than Charleton. The Rovelnight house is situated at Dunkeld on the south-western part of Scotland. The Rovelnight law firm was booming in 1849 at the time of the Victorian era and became one of the most successful companies in all of Scotland in just 7 years competing with their nemesis The Clinton Family who have been a law firm since the 1770s before The United Kingdom. In The Rovelnight house, There are two servants who are married to each other, They keep their identity hidden for whatever reason they have but they told everyone to address them as Mr. and Mrs. O, Their age is unknown (obviously) and nobody knows a Single detail about them, quiet mysterious, innit?
The Wanderer
The forest smelled of damp earth and decay as Kwame made his way along the winding path, his boots crunching through the undergrowth. In the distance, the faint glow of a small village peeked through the trees.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel, his dark eyes scanning his surroundings. The village lights brought him no comfort, only a reminder of the risks he carried. Crowded cities were out of the question — too many eyes, too much technology. But even in the quiet anonymity of small towns, Kwame never stayed longer than a week.
The weight of his isolation bore down on him with every step. He had chosen this life to protect others, but that didn’t make it any easier. Somewhere far away, two faces haunted his memory: his younger siblings, Zina and Ayo.
They had searched for him at first, sending letters, hiring investigators. He had stayed silent, cutting himself off from their lives to shield them from the dangers that followed him. But every year, on his birthday, they sent him greetings — through whispered messages relayed by trusted intermediaries or emails routed through anonymous servers.
Kwame never replied, but he left the line open. A small, silent act to show them he was still alive.
He stopped at the edge of the village, studying the few lights that dotted the narrow streets. A sign swung on rusty hinges, marking the entrance to a tiny inn. The scent of wood smoke and roasted meat hung in the air. His stomach growled, and he decided to risk a meal before moving on.
Inside, the inn was warm and dimly lit. He bought a loaf of bread and a bowl of stew, eating quickly in a corner. No one paid him any attention — a blessing he didn’t take for granted. By the time he returned to the woods, the moon was high.
As he sat beneath an ancient oak tree, tearing the bread into pieces, a rustling sound caught his attention. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing. A scruffy brown dog emerged from the bushes, its tail wagging tentatively.
“You again,” Kwame muttered.
The dog had been following him for days, skulking around his campsites and scavenging scraps of food. Despite himself, Kwame tossed the dog a piece of bread.
The dog devoured it eagerly, its bright eyes fixed on him.
For a moment, Kwame allowed himself the faintest smile. Then, the warmth in his hands began.
It started as a tingling sensation, then a flood of heat. Kwame’s heart raced as the oak tree beside him withered before his eyes. Its leaves browned and crumbled, the branches twisting unnaturally. Energy flowed from the tree into Kwame, bright and violent.
The dog yelped and backed away, its tail tucked between its legs.
Kwame scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He stared at his trembling hands, then at the collapsed tree.
“What is happening to me?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
The energy still thrummed inside him, wild and chaotic. Whatever this power was, it had rules—rules he barely understood. And the cost was devastating.
The Detective
Detective Zora Mensah rubbed her temples, staring at the case file spread across her desk. Photographs of her fiancé, Idris, stared back at her. In one, he was alive, his smile wide and bright. In the other, he was cold and lifeless.
The official report was clear: suicide by hanging. But Zora couldn’t accept it. Idris had been investigating something before his death, something that terrified him enough to leave cryptic warnings.
“Burn my notes,” he had told her in their last conversation. His voice had trembled with fear. “Forget about it, Zora. Please.”
She hadn’t listened. After his death, she had pored over his journals, uncovering references to strange phenomena and whispers of forbidden knowledge.
Now, two years later, she was chasing leads that no one else would touch. Unexplained deaths, reports of aging victims, strange electrical surges—cases dismissed as coincidences or freak accidents.
Her grief fueled her obsession. Somewhere in these scattered threads lay the truth about Idris’s death. And in the center of it all was a man she couldn’t trace.
The Circle
The underground chamber was silent as the Circle convened. Around the table sat the keepers of the Five Laws of Energetics, a doctrine created generations ago to prevent catastrophe.
At the head of the table, Director Halstrom leaned back in his chair, his expression calm.
Dr. Adama cleared his throat. “There’s been an increase in resistance to the Aether Protocol. Two percent of the population isn’t responding to the memory suppression agents.”
Halstrom waved dismissively. “Two percent is insignificant.”
Amara, the youngest member of the Circle, sat at the far end of the table. “Insignificant now,” she said. “But what happens when that number grows? These people are remembering things we’ve spent decades erasing. If they start using magic—”
“We’ll deal with them,” Halstrom interrupted.
Amara’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing. After the meeting, she approached Dr. Adama privately.
“Dig deeper,” she told him. “Find out why the resistance is growing. And bring the data to me.”
Adama hesitated, glancing at her warily. “Why are you so interested?”
Amara didn’t answer. Her thoughts were with her brother, Kwame — the man she hadn’t seen in years.
Nyx approached the railing of the balcony on the roof of the inn. She stared out to the wandering cityscape, dimly lit by the waning candlelight of the streetlamps. White phosphorus gas lanterns were clicked on by the city’s engineers.
Despite the time, the city was perhaps just as lively as it was during the day. Yet here she was, close to midnight, coming off the tail of first sleep, and lingered on the patio. All by herself.
Her mind wandered. Mostly to Dee. She leaned over its edge and sighed, deep in thought.
“Wha’s the matter, can’t sleep.” Sylas approached, a smile on his lips. “If yer thinkin’ ‘bout jumpin’ there are better ways ta end it than that. Granted ‘s the quickest, but…”
“Nah. City sure is beautiful.” she looked back down towards the street.
“Yeah. Mus’ be nice ta get out of the ‘rents place e’ry once an’ awhile eh?”
The silence hung between them.
“Min’ if I join ya?”
Nyx turned around and gestured to the spot beside her.
“How’s yer boyfriend?” Sylas put his hands on the guard rail and leant forward.
Nyx rolled her eyes.
“Pent up–but fine. Wish he’d just make a move ya know?” Nyx huffed.
“Yeah. Mine’s good. But I miss ‘im.” Sylas snickered to himself and looked towards the castle.
He ran his hand through his hair as he admired the starry night sky above. His eyes seemed to suggest he was lost in thought. Contemplating something. Perhaps he saw himself in the lord’s castle that rose above the city. Maybe it was their group’s first night together in nearly half a decade that they reunited. Or maybe he simply his mind wandered back to his partner, and the concern he had for them?
Whatever the case, it clearly weighed heavy on his brow.
“Copper fer yer thoughts?” Nyx finally spoke up.
“Ya see that castle?”
“‘Course.” she waved dismissively.
“I can’t help but think all our problems are because of those guys.” he points.
“Howdga mean?”
“Crowns, oaths, ugh. Politics. I’d like ta be my own lord someday–not have it handed to me on a platter you know?”
“Bein’ perfectly honest–life as a servitor isn’t so bad. Ya keep yer head down, and don’ really bother.” she instinctively adjusted her septum ring.
“Yeah, but…Korvax? Did he deserve that? Or was it just some jealous noble who wanted his stake?”
“Who am I ta care? I’m not human, ‘member? ‘Sides, I can’t really say I knew him. Let alone work fer him. We only knew him cuz we were friends with his daughter.” Nyx’s words sounded unusually cold. Less than she intended, but the heaviness of them still weighed in the air.
The silence continued.
Sylas laced his fingers together and stared off into the middle distance.
“Shit.” Nyx finally spoke up. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’ be. Yer right. I should be apologizin’. I didn’t come up here ta talk shop ‘bout politics. Yer clearly flustered, so…wassup.” Sylas turned around and finally matched Nyx’s posture.
“Don’ apologize Sy. Happens. But like I said, ‘s Dee.” she slumped her shoulders.
“So ya said. What was it ‘bout makin’ a move?” he scratched his chin.
“Yeah. Trish says I should make him want me. Art says ta jus’ be myself. Tal told me ta fuck off and that he’s busy, and Dee…ugh.” she craned her neck back in frustration. “What am I doin’ wrong? I know I got a good body, I know he likes me, and he obviously knows I like him. We talk an’ trust each other, but when we’re alone, ‘s like he’s tryin’ ta ignore the signs.”
“Men can be stupid. I know when Cas started hittin’ on me, I thought it was jus’ them bein’ a shitter. When he finally sat me down…” He trailed off as he tried to find the words.
"Ya think he’s afraid? Dee, I mean?” she played with her jewelry more.
“Prolly? Either that or he’s a Eunuch.” Sylas snickered in amusement at his his joke.
“Nah, it works.” she nods approvingly.
“So do ya jus’ want him ta fuck you?”
Nyx’s face grew beat red.
“I mean…kinda? I want him ta kiss me, hug me, I dunno, something. I’ve been comin’ on ta him, trying to be greedy and snuggle with him. But I’m not Trish. I’m not gonna march down, rip his clothes off and fuck his brains out.”
“Want it to be special?” Sylas tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.
“Tal and Trish go back years. They got that right. But Dee an’ I?”
“I get it.” Sylas looks down and plays with his finger. “Cas an I still haven’t done it yet. We’ve kissed an’ all, and’ve slept together, in a bed. But that’s it. We’re waiting for the right moment.”
Sylas began to blush and shrink away from Nyx as he spoke.
“Don’ mean ta sound rude, but wha’s stoppin ya two from–you know.” She turned back to the city and rested her elbows on the rail.
The streetlamps have all been snuffed out. All that remains were white gas lanterns dotting the cobblestone path below and the steady pace of the Noctis Crownsguard patrolling the ever vibrant streets. Sylas turns back, and clasps his hand on the metal bar.
“We’re more than eager to. But h–They want it to mean something. There’s a difference between making love, and having sex.” he gingerly leaned his head in her direction.
“You’ve not really spoken much ‘bout Cas. I’d love ta hear more about uh–” she looked to Sylas for a response.
“Them. But I still call him my boyfriend. “S easier on everyone.” Sylas gives a warm grin.
“Well, what are They like?” Nyx giggled.
“Charming. Pretty. The Love of my life. You might already know my family an’ I have a large sort of Alliance with other groups so…’s complicated.”
“Okay…”she stretched the word out to three syllables. “But wha’s tha’ got ta do with Cas?”
“I’m getting there.” He punched her on the arm playfully. “Part of the Consortium’s territory was in the badlands. Before we, well…”
“Uh huh.” She nodded slowly and waited for him to go on.
“Anyway, I met Cas shortly after the first founding. They were a part of some nomadic tribes. Barbarians, for all intents an’ purposes. But Cas didn’t want us at each other’s throats.” Sylas closed his eyes and smiled, as if he were remembering the day. “So, we called a summit. We let the consortium and tribes hash it out, while Cas an I grew closer. He can still rock. My. Shit. But they’re a real sweetheart. An’ eventually…”
“I guess no one expects the biggest person to be a total softie.” Nyx laughed.
“Oh, they love a fight as much as any other. But unlike others, they don’t wanna see others hurt if they can help it. Part o’ the reason I fell in love with them.” Sylas’s eyes lit up with happiness.
“So my next question is what exactly are you?” she chuckled, part joke, part serious.
“My ‘rents an’ the Consortium think I’m straight, but know I have at least a friendship with Cas. The tribe, however, fully knows I’m with them. I personally like ta think I’m Bi. But I love who I love. To others, ‘s usually easier ta say I’m gay. Cuz my relationship with Cas is far too complex to explain.” Sylas gestured.
“Try me.” Nyx gave a slight smile.
“Like–we’re lovers, but I wouldn’t really call us partners. They aren’t really a guy or girl, somewhere in the middle. I think the term is Non-bi? Cas likes to appear more effeminate, but isn’t ostentatiously gay. More like they want to look more like a girl, but don’t really identify as one.” Sylas rolled his over one another as he spoke. “I’m still their boyfriend, they’re mine. I’ve tried to talk to Cas about other identifiers, I guess, but they’ve jus’ said that this is fine.”
“Why’ve ya not told yer parents? Would they not support you?”
“Oh, they would. The problem is, since Cas is apart of the tribal clans, which aren’t apart of the Consortium, means our relationship is a bit taboo. ‘S like you an’ Decklin.” He turned back around and rested his back against the bars of the rail.
“I think I get it. We, as in’ well, my ‘rents wouldn’t approve of me and Dee. Nor would his. Not cuz I’m an elf, cuz I’m a Servitor. ‘S one thing to fuck the maid…” She trailed off and looked down at the street.
“‘S another when you’re married to them.” He finished.
They stood in silence for a moment. Sylas craned his neck back and stared up at the night sky. The twin moons hung high above the clouds. Casting an incandescent, ethereal white glow over the rooftop patio. Four round tables occupied the space with umbrellas unfurled. Candle-sticks sat on their surfaces, waiting to be lit. Save for one table which had a couple talking quietly as they shared a platter of biscuits.
“I’d love fer ya guys ta meet Cas one day.” His tender smile dropped into a rather heavy frown. His eyebrows tensed. “But that’ll never happen.”
Nyx turned and pulled herself away from the rail. She walked up and sat down on the steps that lead down to the balcony.
She patted the spot next to him.
Sylas stepped away and joined her.
“I’d love ta show you guys off to my parents. But well. I don’ wanna go back.” Nyx rested her elbow on her knee and hung her chin in her palm.
“Ya never got released of yer Servitor duties, didga?”
She shook her head.
“I ran away. Ta be with him.” she closed her eyes.
She was about to go on, when the patio door opened up.
Stepping through the threshold was Trish.
She wore a sleeveless, cropped cloth tunic with lace overtop her chest and what looked like some men’s shorts that fit loosely around her waist. Her blonde hair was down and messy with streaks of white. A pair of slippers were wrapped around her feet as she walked forward through night air. She didn’t have any of her rings or other fancy jewelry in. Save for the handful of worn golden ear piercings on her right ear, and the black gage in her left lobe where her cross would dangle. But what caught their attention was the golden naval stud.
There were some archaic runic tattoos that traced down from her exposed midriff. Yet, on her arms were some more sigil-like swirls around her arms. They had some slight discoloration which suggested she must’ve gotten them at some point before everything…happened.
It looked like Trish had very much just woken up, and in typical fashion, showed no modesty, or frankly, and more likely–didn’t care.
“Min’ if I join you?” she approached with a warm smile on her face.
Sylas looked at Nyx.
“Ya. We’re jus’ talkin.”
“How’s Tal?” Sylas held an inquisitive hand out as Trish took her set next to Nyx, but left about a foot of distance between.
“Passed out on the couch. He’s…not doin’ good.” she pulled the cigarillo case out from her pocket. She struck a match and tossed it over the balcony.
A sweet scent of strawberries blossomed from the smoke of her cigarillo.
“Trouble in’ Paradise?” Sylas spoke up.
“Hardly.” she scoffed with a smile. “Nah…Jus’ overworking, ya know? Shit like that.”
“How’s lil missy doin’ here?” Trish looked at Nyx.
“Fuckin’ awful.” she huffed.
Trouble in paradise? Trish’s expression read.
“Gotta be in it, before there can be trouble.” All Nyx could do was shrug.
“No offense, Nyxie, but Deckin is an idiot.” She took a puff of her cigarillo.
“Yeah.” she looked down. “But he’s my idiot.”
Trish went to open her mouth to say something when the patio door opened once more.
Loudly.
“There ya guys are!” Arstor beamed from ear to ear.
Arstor was wearing a duelist doublet, with a cropped, sleeveless vest overtop, and stitched leather trousers with a pair of belts around his waist. He wore a pair of lion’s bracelets around his wrists that jangled slightly. In typical fashion, Arstor’s outfit was more function over form, but it was nice enough to know that he seemed to at least show some care about his look.
He didn’t need ask, he just clomped right over and plopped down next to Sylas.
“As I was sayin’--”
“Ooh? Gossip?” Arstor’s face lit up.
Trish cleared her throat and scowled at him.
“Forget it.” She looked back at Nyx.
“How ya been gettin’ on Art?” Nyx turned.
“I had a shitty day.” He sprawled back and looked up at the night sky. A heaviness lingered on his voice. “I found out my girl is gettin’ married to a noble. Damage control–ya know?”
He sniffed.
“How’ve ya been Sy?” He rolled his head to the side, a frail smile on his lips.
They all could see the pain on his face.
Sylas crossed his arms.
“I miss Cas. Was jus’ tellin’ Nyx ‘bout Them.” he nodded with his shoulders.
“I guess everyone’s had a bad day today.” Arstor spoke aloud.
“Worse is yet ta come.” a familiar voice interjected.
Head’s swiveled.
Talos.
He sat down next to Trish, and put an arm around her waist. She flashed him a smile and kissed him on the lips. All he wore was golden web tunic, and some loose fitting trousers.
“Hey babe. Thought ya were sleeping.” she brushed some hair out of her face.
“I couldn’t. Mind’s racing.”
“What the fuck are we even doin?” Nyx spoke out loud.
“Gettin’ by.” Art huffed.
“Feelin’ isolated.” Sylas closed his eyes and dug his nails into his elbows.
“In over our heads.” Trish grabbed Tal’s hand and squeezed it.
“Betrayed.” Talos tensed his jaw.
“Drownin’” Nyx sniffed as she rested her head on her hand.
“All alone.” the sixth, and final voice spoke up as Decklin took his spot next to Nyx.
He rested his head on Nyx’s shoulder.
Together the six of them looked up to starry night sky. They gazed at the two moons that sat high above the night, their globes full and radiating the dulcet shimmering light onto the city below.
Arstor sat up and put his arm around Sylas.
He reciprocated and pulled him in tight, then put an arm around Nyx.
She grabbed Decklin by the waist and pulled him in close.
Talos, and Trish joined in.
Their arms, shaking.
This group–
No, this family–held onto each other tightly. They pressed their heads together.
No one will break this family.
No bond will shatter.
No life will be lost.
They will survive.
And they will make damn sure they do.
And if they don’t–
Then at the very least this was the last peaceful moment they’ve ever had.
A sob caught in Nyx’s throat.
“Please don’ let it be the last.” she whispered, her eyes looking at the stars above.
“Don’ worry Nyxie–” Decklin nestled in. “We’re not goin’ anywhere.”
The hug was warm, but Nyxie has never felt so cold.
“We’re gonna live.” Trish tightened her grip, her words rang out like a promise.
“We’re gonna live.” Arstor spoke with a somber confidence.
“We’re gonna live.” Talos murmured it softly, as if he tried to will it into existence, as futile as it might be.
“We’re gonna live.” Decklin spoke with conviction in his tone.
“We’re gonna live.” Nyx’s fragile smile broke as her eyes burned, she pulled them in as tight as she could, as she dared not let go.
Grant stood in place in front of the entrance. He beheld a bright neon sign that read ‘Benny’s 24-Hour Convenience,’ its light scattered into the evening sky. He returned his gaze forward and stepped through the automatic door, a ding accompanying his entrance. As he stood at the threshold, he did a quick sweep of the dingy, underwhelming store space. It seemed the only occupant was a bored, twenty-something-year-old cashier that sat at the counter with his eyes set on his phone.
In short time, Grant spotted the section of the store reserved for common weapons and tools. He came to a stop in front of a shelf of various firearms and began examining multiple pistols. After several minutes of mechanical clicking, the cashier succumbed to his curiosity and peered over to the nearby aisle. He watched as the tall, hunched man expertly took apart the gun in his hands before promptly reassembling it. The entire motion took about twelve seconds.
Grant’s head quickly turned to meet the cashier’s gaze, his body following suit and, in a few decisive steps, reached the counter all without breaking eye-contact. He released a single pistol and a box of appropriate ammunition from his pale, veiny hands. The cashier looked down at the items before the man in front of him spoke in a soft, gravelly voice.
“I’ll take this one. By the way, the cartridges are rather dirty. I recommend using q-tips for precise cleaning.” The cashier kept his eyes fixed on the pistol while he tried to find words. Grant continued to stare daggers at the poor boy, his pale blue irises sticking out like a sore thumb amongst his messy, dangling bangs.
“I-It’s a three day wait,” the cashier finally blurted. Without missing a beat, Grant responded.
“I have a license.” He quickly brandished the card in front of him. Not only was it upside-down, but it only took a few seconds of analyzing it for the cashier to see that it was most certainly not the customer’s face. It was faded with occasional nicks and bumps along the edges and the faint splatter of what he prayed wasn’t blood on the lower-left corner. At this point the cashier didn’t dare take his eyes off of the man, beads of sweat began to form upon his face. Grant spoke once again.
“Is there a problem?” The cashier glanced over as though there was someone who could help him. Of course, there wasn’t. He looked back to Grant.
“Y-You know what, you c-can have it,” he stuttered.
“What do I owe you?”
“No, Just take it,” the cashier murmured as he put his hands outward in a defensive position. Grant slowly looked to one side, then the other.
“Very well.” He grabbed his items and turned around to leave. Immediately after his back was turned, the cashier pulled out his phone and attempted to dial 911. Meanwhile, Grant approached the exit while opening the ammunition box and loading the pistol. To the cashier’s relief, the authorities picked up and began asking the usual set of questions. Grant stopped right in the threshold and cocked the gun. In a swift motion, he turned his whole body ninety degrees and extended his arm outward, his head turned to look straight down the central aisle of the store.
The cashier slowly looked up only to see the distant barrel of a pistol. Before he could even scream, a sharp, loud boom filled the air as smoke and shrapnel flew about. The bullet was reduced to a mere blur as it pierced straight through the cashier’s head. A thorough coating of blood sprayed over the countertop and the poor boy’s body fell flat against the ground.
Pocketing the gun, Grant hastily crossed the parking lot and entered his car. As he sped away, he ran into and destroyed one of the parking curbs. The once glowing sign began to flicker until its light was fully out.
I don't think I can keep this up.
She laughs at his jokes and holds his chest as they lay in bed together for the last time. "Should we get up?" She asks.
"Of course not," he turns to his side, looking into her tired eyes, "lets squeeze this moment dry first."
"I'm hungry," she turns the other way to leave the bed. He snatches her back, wrapping both arms tight around her as she giggles. "Come on... your flight is in just a few hours."
"I'm already in the clouds," she wriggles as he kisses her back. She's extra soft today. I love her double. "I love you," smooch, "I love you," kiss, "I love you." Triple maybe.
As she looks at the blank wall in front of her, smiling and feeling him against her, she says "and I love you too my love. But it's time to go, really. It's time-"
"I'm no fool," despite his serious tone now, he continues holding and kissing her gently. "Let me have these moments with you. I don't know when I'll have this again. Let me love you now- let yourself love me now." He stops kissing her. His head falls between her shoulder blades, her soft curly hair against his, falling on his face, between them like always. "I love you."
She sighs, "okay my love. Let me hold you too then at least." He loosens his grip just enough for her to turn in the bed and face him.
They lock eyes-*I love you-*she puts her arm under his chest and they pull each other near. Their hearts beat together, he hums a song and she squeezes him.
They dance together for the first time, it's awkward and they've never been happier. Beneath the bar's red lights he squeezes her hand and pulls her to-and-fro, she twirls him and they giggle together. "I love you," he whispers in her ear. Now? He's saying it now?
"I love you too," she falls against him as they dance slowly in the airport to their favorite song. She smiles and looks up, tears fall down her face, she can't even look at him without crying. I don't know if I can do this. He squeezes her back into bed, holds her, laughs with her, holds her hand as she drives, splashes her in the hot spring, comforts her worries, spins with her joyously. She kisses his neck, pulls him close in the harsh winter weather, asks him about his day, tells him she cares, rubs his face and smiles at his smile. Not a care in the world who might see, they are so close, even with their eyes closed they can see each other and feel all the love they've ever had for each other connecting them like tightly wound cord wrapped around their hearts.
"I'm going to miss you so much," his head falls into her shoulder, he shudders as he cries. "I'm not strong like you are, I'll miss you every day."
"I'll miss you too," the song changes in their earphones, "it won't be that long...."
He laughs, "I miss you when we're apart for a single day. It's been so hard knowing our time is so fleeting, that I have to leave. It still doesn't feel real, not here, not earlier in bed, not for the past month I've spent worrying about it, or the months before that I anticipated worrying about it." He gently makes a little room between them so he can look at her. It's always been a dream. "God! How silly are we? Falling in love when we live a world apart? It's absurd!" She laughs and wipes the tears from her eyes. "But that absurdity is how I know it's meant to be. As much as I dread this time apart, I can't wait to hold you again. To dance together again." He smiles at her and kisses her lips so tenderly it will be hard to remember the feeling. Tears well in her eyes, she falls in his chest once more.
"I love you..." she tells him truly for the last time.
I do.
The moon no longer shines as bright it did before. A husk, a dull fraction of its formal self, i fail to see her initial glow. Sometimes i see figments of that formal glow but once sullied..The night sky stays forbidden for me to appreciate. For the heavens may be beautiful but it is forever changing, It was too late before i realised, my sense of loss was for sth that doesnt exist anymore. For me, the heavens are a singular ever engulfing entity, but for her, im just one of many appreciating her beauty. Grasping into thin air i tried to rearrange the sky.. re vitalise the moon, with tears down my face i begged for its formal self that didn exist anymore. Now i look up at the sky knowing the boundaries i can never cross.
THE SHADOWS OF GOTHAM.
Hoofdstuk 1: De Chaos van Gotham
Gotham City, een stad waar chaos altijd om de hoek loert. De lucht was donker en zwaar, met de schaduwen van de nacht die de straten omhulden. Boven op de Hooge Kerk stond een man met groen haar en een brede, gekke lach. Het was de Joker, en hij was klaar om zijn nieuwste plan tot leven te brengen.
Met een schelle lach keek hij naar beneden naar de mensen die zich haasten over de straat. "Het is tijd voor chaos!" riep hij, zijn handen in de lucht stekend. Plots verscheen Harley Quinn, die een trampoline onder de kerk plaatste. De Joker sprong met een grijns naar beneden, landde op de trampoline en sprong met gemak naar de grond.
Maar voordat de Joker en Harley hun plannen konden voortzetten, weerklonk het geluid van een sirene in de verte. De politie was onderweg. De Joker keek op en zag de iconische schaduw van Batman verschijnen. De man met het masker, het symbool van gerechtigheid in Gotham.
"Wat heb ik verkeerd gedaan?" vroeg de Joker, terwijl hij zich omdraaide naar Batman, zijn handen in de lucht stekend alsof hij onschuldig was. Batman antwoordde kalm: "Je weet heel goed wat je hebt gedaan, Joker."
De Joker lachte. "Oh, Batman, je hebt altijd zo'n serieus gezicht. Kom, laten we wat plezier hebben!"
Maar voordat ze verder konden praten, verscheen er een nieuwe stem: "Dit is niet jullie strijd."
Hoofdstuk 2: Dusk's Betreden
Uit de schaduwen stapte een mysterieuze figuur. Zijn aanwezigheid was angstaanjagend, zijn uitstraling even koud als de nacht. Hij was gehuld in een donkere mantel, zijn gezicht gedeeltelijk verborgen achter een zwart masker. Alleen zijn felblauwe ogen waren zichtbaar, koud en berekenend. Hij stond recht tegenover Batman en Nightwing, zijn stem kalm, maar krachtig: "Ik ben Dusk, en ik ben hier om Gotham te redden van jullie... spelletjes."
Joker, die altijd van chaos hield, keek naar Dusk en zei met een maniakale lach: "Nou, nou, wat hebben we hier? Een nieuwe speler in de stad?"
Dusk stond daar, onbewogen door de dreigingen van de Joker. "Ik ben hier om te leiden. Gotham heeft leiders nodig, geen helden."
De lucht werd kouder, de spanning steeg. Batman en Nightwing stonden klaar voor een gevecht, maar Dusk bewees onmiddellijk dat hij meer was dan een gewone vijand. Zijn zwaarden verschenen uit de holsters aan zijn zij, de bladen glinsterden in het maanlicht.
"Sterf, Nightwing," zei Dusk, zijn stem ijzig. "Vandaag wordt de dag dat de schurken winnen."
Hoofdstuk 3: Het Gevecht van de Nacht
Nightwing draaide zich om en haalde snel zijn stokken uit zijn riem. Hij sprong naar voren om Dusk te confronteren, maar de vijand beweeg snel en met precisie. Dusk zwaaide met zijn zwaarden, de lucht snijdend. Nightwing ontweek, maar Dusk’s zwaarden waren sneller dan hij had verwacht.
"Je bent niet snel genoeg," zei Dusk, zijn stem kalm, terwijl hij zijn zwaarden weer omhoog hief voor de volgende aanval.
Nightwing voelde de druk toenemen, maar hij bleef kalm. Hij kende de kracht van de schaduwen, en in Gotham was snelheid alles. "Dat denk jij, Dusk," zei hij, terwijl hij zich met een scherpe beweging naar voren boog, zijn stokken gericht op Dusk’s zwaarden. Hij wist dat hij een openingskans moest vinden, anders zou hij het gevecht niet winnen.
Tegelijkertijd worstelde Batman met de Joker. De clown met de groene haren had zich opnieuw in een wervelwind van chaos geworpen, maar Batman was geduldig. "Jullie kunnen niet winnen," schreeuwde de Joker, maar Batman was vastberaden. Hij duwde de Joker van zich af en zei: "Dit is niet jouw overwinning, Joker."
Hoofdstuk 4: De Onverwachte Wending
Het gevecht leek op een dodelijke impasse te komen. Batman was bezig de Joker af te leiden, terwijl Nightwing zich verdedigde tegen Dusk. Maar net op het moment dat alles verloren leek, draaide Dusk zich om naar de skyline van Gotham.
"Dit is niet het einde," zei hij met een glimlach die zo ijskoud was dat het leek alsof de lucht bevroren. "Vandaag zullen de schurken winnen. Gotham heeft geen hoop meer."
Met die woorden verdween hij in de schaduwen, zijn zwaarden verdwenen in de duisternis. Batman en Nightwing stonden daar, nog steeds gewond maar vastberaden, terwijl de Joker in het niets verdween.
"Dit is nog niet voorbij," zei Batman, zijn blik fel gericht op de horizon. "We zullen hem vinden, Nightwing. We stoppen hem."
En zo eindigde de nacht, maar de strijd was nog maar net begonnen. Gotham had nieuwe vijanden, en de vraag was nu niet of de helden zouden winnen, maar of ze het recht hadden om te winnen tegen zo'n machtige tegenstander.
Einde.
i want to write starting tomorrow, but right now i found out that i dont have the motivation for it. what to do when you dont feel like writing?
The two people who had been seated were that of Wilmer Hamm and Hugo Everst
“But the sole reasoning of what you are saying is merely preposterous, how can it be that you truly believe that war is a necessary must in this world!” exclaimed Wilmer Hamm, “The sole foundation of war is that of two people of such high importance can not get along and must instead use all the men and artillery in their possession and use it against each other for an outcome of such uncertain possibilities that it is gambling in a sense with the lives of tens of thousand, such a thing can simply not be trusted. The fact that that is necessary, would simply be outrageous, because if it were truly so then that would mean that the deaths of those at Borodino were a necessary tragedy, that all horrific wars are of importance because of what? The only thing it shows is how horrible it is, yet people still continue on with war as if it were something to be proud of. The Great War, for example, people wrote letters of pride to their families that they had been drafted. Hooray! They said, yet it was only until they arrived back from such a thing did the masses truly understand the severity of the situation, in fact I also served in the war. And the horrors and tragedies that I experienced and heard of, still haunt me to this day. The conditions inside those trenches were so indescribably inhuman, it is hard to comprehend if you weren't there. There were bodies, dead and rotting that filled the trenches. The smell so revolting you threw up at the thought of it, that you could taste the sickness in the air. Not to mention the noise. It was so noisy, a constant ringing so thunderous it seemed you might go deaf at any moment. But the worst art of it all were the guns, firing and not knowing what you hit, the lives those men had back where they lived, it was tragic, it fills my thoughts to the point where darkness seems to consume me and the only thing left is black, just darkness filling everything until there will never again be a light illuminating your way. So pray I'm begging for you to tell me how that is of necessary value to the world and subsequently their leaders!” Wilmer Hamm had said such things filled with such conviction and passion that he might have convinced even Hugo himself. Wilmer was smarter than Hugo when it came to things like this, and in this very discussion it would be most likely that he was right, so for what purpose would Hugo try to engage in a battle of wits against someone he could never win against? Well it is simply the fact that Hugo is a man of such undying ignorance that he believes everything that he thinks to be true and subsequently that he is smarter than everyone he meets. He thinks so arrogantly and pridefully, but everytime he tries to do something akin to this he fails. So why the repeated bashing of his credibility if it does nothing for him and only further worsens his social position? Well Hugo, a man so arrogant and prideful is so deeply rooted in his ignorance that all his actions can be summed up as an example of chess. Where one player sees an opportunity to attack and perhaps put himself in an advantageous position, yet when he does so, it is only then that he realizes that he was so deeply focused on that single area that the piece in which he attacks with is immediately taken and as such he is put in a very bad position for continuance and therefore must resign. Well it is the same for Hugo, for his mind ever so small cannot see the bigger picture, and as such he can only see a little piece. Like trying to put together a puzzle with no pieces. No matter how hard Hugo Everst tries to to see the bigger picture, it is so far from the capabilities that his ignorance bestows upon his mind, that no matter what facilities of deciphering he tries, he will always be fated to never be able to be smarter or more deeply thoughtful than even that of a little boy. His ignorance is his greatest downfall, and it is for this that he can never be better than anyone. Though this ignorance makes him so foolish in matters such as most philosophy, he himself is not stupid, and it is this exact ignorance that allowed him to become so successful. For when he can not see the bigger picture, it works, because the investing of stocks is such a big picture that if you were to try to base your investments off of that, it would only lead to downfall, it is just so that seeing such a little bit allows him to be able to make investments so accurate that he is the only one benefiting. He is a character of many tragedies, a character of a despicable manner, but also a person of many victories, it is why Joseph likes him so much even though he views him in contempt. But what does Hugo have in response to such a powerful argument presented just slightly earlier? Well it is that of magnitudes, because even though he is a man deeply arrogant and ignorant, his favorite topic is war, something he extensively reads about.
“I will admit your speech is quite moving, in fact if I had been any other man I would’ve admitted myself wrong, and humbly accepted your opinion and moved on from there. But I am not any other man, and I have no intentions of settling this with my admittance of being wrong, so before the end of this night, I will have put myself into such a position as to where I can show you the superiority of my philosophy and subsequent metaphysics. You say how could such a thing be a necessary evil. Well, it is of necessity due simply to the fact that no matter how hard we try, people will never get along, something will always stand in the way of true peace. Before I continue you must remember this fact, if not everything I say you will think is utterly preposterous. But do you agree with me Wilmer?” Wilmer nodded in agreement. “Now that I have your full understanding I will begin. The subsequent reasoning of war is due to the fact that men can get along only to a certain degree before conflict arises, there we all agree on. But what to do when said conflict arrives, and the two leaders cower in fear? War, a contest between two countries’ strength to assert dominance over one or the other. Now may the scale of the war be toned down, such as the best hundred soldiers fighting the other hundred, maybe, but then it would be fair wouldn’t it, and war is not fair, war is that of treachery and tricks and stratagem, not just men fighting against one another. So despite war being that of a horrible mess filled with the deaths of thousands, what else is there to do? You say that you feel a darkness, a guilt of such that fills you, that consumes you. But for what do you have to feel sorry for, you did an honor defending our nation, a nation of freedom and pride, and by engaging in such warfare and even killing those scum, you served an honor to this nation and don’t you ever forget that! You think that in war you should feel guilty but no! War is that of defending what you love, think if you hadn’t done so, if the millions who didn’t do so because they thought they would be consumed by guilt hadn’t defended this nation with all they had, we would no longer be living this America we know today, we would be in control by people who go against what we so valiantly stand for! So don’t you ever say you feel guilty by killing those men, they put themselves out there, not you, they are paying for their mistakes, there is no guilt there. And If I hear you crying like that again, I will beat you so ferociously, you won't remember what happened, and that is not only a threat, but a promise I will make sure is carried out by my own two hands! Now where are we? Ah yes, we were discussing how war is necessary. Yes, it is and everything I have said so far we know to be true, so what else is there for why it is necessary, that is my next point. War is necessary, not only politically, but also because the instinctual nature inside of us so consumes us with violence, that outbursts occur. They may happen in any way, but with very important people, leaders, war happens, tensions rise, and war begins. So we men who have such pent up aggression must find a way to relieve ourselves, similarly like how we do sexually. We fornicate with those we love, or maybe with those we don’t even, to release that pent up aggression, this time only in the form of passion, heat, and love. But sometimes so may it be, that we can’t do so, we can’t let our aggression free, so it builds, until war breaks out, and we fight and kill each other. Yes, you may be thinking, ‘but there is no way this could be true’. But think, really think very quite hard and try to remember if what I’m saying is true,” Hugo got up from his chair, his gesticulations becoming more and more erratic, his pace increasing, and his voice growing. “‘Yes, you are right, I do remember such a thing happening’. You may be thinking this to yourselves but are too ashamed to admit it, I’m not, but all of you here know I’m right. You know what I say is with truth. It is now in the hands of Wilmer to try and counteract my claims, but who knows, perhaps this could be my first philosophical victory since I became an adult man.” he concluded his statement by grabbing a glass of whiskey and sipping it in one go. Thrice more he did this, and only until then did he finally sit back in his chair right across from Wilmer, a fifth glass held steadily in his hands. His eyes gleaming like an apex predator hunting down a small prey, a glint of insanity filled those green damnable eyes. A slight smirk covering his pale cheeks, something that made people want to wish him pain, and a very good tactic for making those he despised filled with anger without ever knowing why. That face looked at Wilmer, his face sweating, his hair matted against his wet face. Thoughts filled his mind, but it seemed that only one thought stood clear within such a jumbled mess, the only way I win this is through aggression.
“How can you say such things and feel nothing,” Wilmer said, a deep sadness filling his voice, “When someone like I has gone through what I’ve gone through, is it not to be stated that when you say something so horrendous, it seems to me no dissimilar then you spitting in my face-”
“Oh stop it with the emotions! You will convince no one here if you try to use your emotions to gain moral support. We all know what you said to be lies! You never participated in the Great War, I did, and what I experienced was glorious!”
“How dare you accuse me of such a thing as lying about that! How could you possibly ever think such a despicable thing as truth?”
“Because when you said that, your brother over there had an expression of such confusion, it seemed you were saying you were Jesus Christ, and the only that could ever have elicited such a response was if it were that of being fake and untruthful. You villainous wretch, how dare you lie about something as historic as that! If you lie about one thing again bad things will happen, misfortune at every step in this gala we have here, and maybe if you're lucky, I’ll have been hauled away to jail before anything too bad happens. So tell one more lie, I beg of you.”
Rayners face sunk down, and remained there for a few moments, but soon it glowed once more, although he knew there was an inevitable fate that he didn’t like, he still had to try. “I will admit what I previously stated about my trauma in the war was fabricated, but for a reason I will explain now. Is it not so that people develop trauma from war, so then why couldn’t I perhaps bend the rules just a bit in order to get my point across? Is that really so wrong of me? No, it isn’t, and you know why, because everyone here has at least once fabricated stories for their personal benefit, so could the same courtesy not be granted to me? Some will say no, but really what matters is, did it convey what I needed it to? And to that, yes it did, and although some may judge me for it, nobody in this world, and especially at this gala, is perfect. When it comes to arguments, does one really care if someone makes up their personal stories, only meant to further their argument and conviction? No so why isn’t the truth malleable when it just is meant to be there simply to get my point across. I know I may be redundant in what I have just said, but is what I say not true? Yes it is, and nobody here can say otherwise! ”
“Wilmer, when is it that war has served benefits for countries? Do you know? Do you seriously think that war could not be beneficial to a nation? They are often waged as I have stated before, for prestige or dominance, but also most often for economical reasons. Countless wars have been fought since prehistory with the purpose to subjugate and force other people and nations into submission and to exploit their wealth and resources. One only has to look into the Opium Wars of China, where after the war of one year, Britain managed to secure a favorable position, an extreme sum of money, land, and extraterritoriality making the British exempt from Chinese law. Other colonial era wars with the losing nation being exploited for the winners’ benefits. In some cases of speciality, like the Dutch East India Company. Despite being a private company founded to engage in trade, it had the right to wage wars if this was thought to be necessary to protect its interests. The Dutch, the British and many other nations have benefited quite lavishly from the inequality of nations and the wars they had fought to uphold this political situation. Your speech filled with such emotions, even though you never experienced them, is of such idiocracy, it is almost incomprehensible. War may sometimes be that of a nightmare, but you are missing one piece, war is tragic, but it is necessary. You talk about the horrors of Borodino, that men in the trenches come back home, like they had seen death itself, but you, so unable to recognize that this only furthers what I have been saying. The world, ever so vicious and brutal, is built on conflict, and no amount of idealism shall ever change such a fact. Nations rise and fall, all because of war, the only constant happening in history has been conflict, it is not a flaw in the system, but rather the system itself. Remember history’s greatest empires, the Romans, the British, the Mongols. All were built through war, conquest, and bloodshed. And what did they bring? Civilization, order, trade, stability. The world we live in today was shaped by war. You say war is gambling with lives, but every great advance in human history has been a gamble. The soldiers at Borodino, the men in the trenches, they weren’t wasted lives, they were the price paid for progress!” his eyes flared, seemingly covered in the fires of hell. “War is the crucible that forges nations, refines cultures, and separates the strong from the weak. Without it, there would be no balance, no deterrent to tyranny, no mechanism to defend freedom. You lament the pain of soldiers and the darkness that haunts them, but let me ask you this, what is worse, the temporary suffering of a generation, or the enslavement of an entire people? I fought in that war, and you made up your experience, but we both know the truth. If men hadn’t laid down their lives for their country, we’d be speaking German right now, honoring dictators who would crush every ounce of freedom you claim to hold dear in this beloved nation we hold dear. And don’t even get me started on your so-called emotional plea about guilt! Do you think guilt changes the outcome of war? Guilt is the luxury of those who survive, those who benefit from the sacrifice of others. But guilt doesn’t feed nations, doesn’t protect borders, doesn’t secure the future! The sooner you can realize this fact, the sooner you can understand how you are wrong.”
“How can you say such things as that? Maybe you are right in the case that war causes progression, but the costs of that progression is of too much value to be justifiable. That the cost of progression is that of men's souls, their minds twisted and fatefully doomed. No! That is not justifiable, and nor will it ever be!”
“Oh stop it with the sympathy you lousy bastard! Nobody cares about your precious little feelings, when war is occuring, do you think people want to think of how sad they are? No, they kill and kill, and they will do so until the war is concluded. Nobody here feels pity for such statements you say, all your emotions being that of fabrications, perhaps you don’t feel anything, and it is just one big lie, akin to when you falsified information to try and be more convincing. Do you remember that? Maybe you don’t even care about war, and just want to not lose our little discussion.”
“How dare you!”
“How dare I? You really ask that of me, I’m not saying anything false, you are but not me.”
“Oh you sick bastard.”
Wilmer Hamm, a man of composed ideologies, is also a man of such vulnerable sensitivity, akin to a child with an adult's philosophical mind. As such, Wilmer, no longer being able to handle the stress and pressure from such a debate, not being able to handle the gazes of all those watching, quickly fled to the bar and grabbed multiple glasses of vodka, specially imported from Russia for such an occasion. He quickly poured three glasses down, and slumped into a chair, far away from everyone else, a corner of such little illuminance, that it seemed he was basking in darkness itself.
Hugo was quick to smile, knowing that he had essentially demoralized, and won in a battle of wits against a well versed philosopher, it soon came to that people started clapping, including Joseph, slightly impressed at the way that Hugo had so effectively crushed a man like Wilmer.
Soon after, conversations on what had unfolded before them filled the party, all that anyone would talk about was how amazing what they had just witnessed was. It seemed everyone at that moment could only think and talk about one thought, Hugo Everst, and his domination over Wilmer Hamm in such a display of superiority. Hugo could make out each distinct voice uttering his name, and he was enjoying every moment of it, bathing in his glory, not dissimilar from Wilmer, bathing in the darkness, trembling covering his body. It was not more than two minutes later when the guests would not let up about Hugo did Wilmer finally reach the limits of his emotional fortitude, and promptly rushed out the grand oak doors, akin to those seemingly in hurry to deliver a horrible revelation.
Hi everyone.
Writing is important, and a sub that is dedicated to one of the three Rs shouldn't be left for dead.
It was recently one of the many subs that may find itself in the hands of reddit admins, usually when mods abandon a sub, or get suspended, or go completely inactive in moderation - and they search for users willing to step up and help. I was the only legitimate user that offered to help.
This sub is 16 years old. It has had a fair share of people pass through, from mods to regular users. I don't want to mess up what users find is working, and I want to help fix what isn't - but I need users on here to let me know what that is.
I'll sticky this for some open feedback.
Une absence, une ombre
Une soirée pour se laisser porter
Un instant quand se cacher
Mais le moment d’après, c’est pour tout abandonner
La tête droite, menton relevé, mais surtout l’esprit noué.
Je n’dirais pas que je veux y passer,
Et si mon corps ne voulait que s’envoler ?
Après tout, pourquoi ne pas jouer les lâches ?
Ça n’en sera qu’une de plus, où t’évitera les coups de hache.
Alors oui, on se sent vite en sécurité, vite aimé
Ne crois pas que ça va durer
Au premier moment où tu ne verras plus la lucidité
Les ombres s’empareront de ton absence
Qui deviendront une évidence.
Je cherche le meilleur moyen d’aller nager,
À éviter qu’on ne me voie me noyer à chaque cm².
S’il vous plaît, je ne cherche pas de réponses ou un moyen d’exister.
J’aimerais juste pouvoir passer, peut-être même briller, sans jamais vriller.
Une fois pour toutes, j’aimerais être vidé et sans pitié,
Pouvoir enfin passer une belle journée.
La couleur morose de mes nuitées
Ne fait que s’additionner à mes écrits mortifiés.
SingletD
Le ciel reflète mes yeux
Un jour aride et sec,
Un autre gris et pluvieux.
Mon souffle s’éteint, j’m’étouffe avec.
Mon Dieu, que c’est beau.
Ta rencontre a fait de moi un nouveau.
Comment te remercier ?
Un nombre perdu de fessées,
Ne plus savoir me concentrer,
J’aimerais me recentrer.
Mais putain, qu’est-ce que c’est beau !
Vivre enflammé,
Attentif au moindre détail,
Prêt à vriller.
C’est une déclaration,
Une décla d’admiration.
Je vis en touchant le fond,
Tout en frôlant le ciel.
Reste à côté,
Je saurai apprécier.
Pars loin,
Et je serai enclin au chagrin.
Lorsque la perfection s’invite à votre porte,
Rempli d’ambition, vos rêves vous emportent.
L’océan en un regard,
Me donne envie d’écarts,
Si j’aperçois cette jungle blonde.
SingletD
Hello everyone. I am a young writer who has been writing for a wee 4 years. In that small time period I managed to get one of my short stories published in an anthology and even became the youngest editor of a now defunct company's internal magazine.
However, like everyone, I have faced many challenges big or small. From unfair manuscript swapping to lack of good feedback to not making it despite having good content or simply a lack of a good platform where publishers and writers can meet, I believe the world of writing is riddled with many unsolved problems. Problems that no one cares about. Instead of solving it, they all beat the old system of leaving to chance.
But I wish to change that and my aim is to develop a solution that can solve at least one problem that the world of writing faces. I am researching issues that need attending to and I was wondering if you all could help me by telling me your personal experience.
Consider this the top of a mountain. Scream your heart out about the problems you have faced.
You may write your concerns here or fill this form https://forms.gle/WsLnqfHcRLi6qrhA7
There will be no violation of privacy principles.