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#ItsHappeningAgain #FanFilm #QueenOfHearts #Sequel #BlackRose
#TwinPeaks #Continuation
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#Continuation
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Posts tagged #Continuation
#BlackRose is preparing to launch.
I won't spoil the story, but if you loved #QueenofHearts, you know the depth and detail we’ve been building.
#TwinPeaks fans… prepare to be obsessed. 🔥
This one's for you!
#FanFilm #Sequel #Continuation
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The #BlackRose read-through continues on. 📖
This will determine if I want to move forward with this #TwinPeaks fan work, and so far, so good. 🔥
#WritingJourney #ScriptEditing #Progress #QueenofHearts #Sequel #Continuation
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Bump!!
www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/li...
#LightbringerContinued
#webcomic #webcomics #webtoon #webtoons #oc #ocsky #Lightbringer #art #artist #writer #superhero #superheroes #superherocomic #indie #indiecomic #continuation #story #storytelling
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Michelle Allot Michelle grew up in Shoreview, Minnesota, living there for most of her life while she tried to discover what it was she wanted to do with herself. As such, she took up writing and painting while she attended college, trying to get recognized. During that time, she fell in love with the Romantic Period of literature, which told stories of nature, heroes, and chivalrous deeds. As such, her love of the subject was reflected in her artwork and writing, particularly her poem "The Unconquered," which won her a few hundred dollars in a contest. To reinforce her free spirit, she changes her hairstyle on a daily basis. She moved to Pharos City hoping to use the desolate environment as inspiration and reaffirmation of her beliefs in heroes and white knights coming to the rescue. She took up a job as a salesperson -to help pay tuition at Delta College- when Carter was looking for people to work at Grand Furniture. Meeting her through an attempted social experiment for her psychology class, Michelle decided to act in a chivalrous manner and take in Hannah Ments as her roommate, hoping to find a kindred spirit and ally in her beliefs. While Hannah has not shared Michelle's passion for the subject, the two are inseparable best friends. She now knows about Carter and Hannah’s operation, and runs cover for them in their personal lives, despite misgivings– particularly a persistent grudge she has towards Carter for not telling her about his hero identity, amplified by the fact that she, before learning, harbored a crush towards Lightbringer.
Michelle Allot! Bio in alt text :))
www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/li...
#LightbringerContinued
#webcomic #webcomics #webtoon #webtoons #oc #ocsky #Lightbringer #art #artist #writer #superhero #superheroes #superherocomic #indie #indiecomic #continuation #story #storytelling
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Hannah Ments/Osprey Never knowing her mother and having her father run off at the age of two, Hannah managed to survive on her own for several years, moving from city to city and living off of charity and homeless shelters. Eventually finding herself in the harsh life of Pharos City at the age of 15, Hannah promised to herself that she wouldn't end up like many of the other girls she'd seen get kidnapped off of the streets of Pharos. As such, she began daily exercises used to increase her strength. She met Michelle when the latter began conducting research and polls for a social experiment in her first year of college. The two stayed in contact after this. She survived mostly on the kindness of others, including an electrician who taught her everything she knows about electronics. When she discovered that Carter was the Lightbringer, she offered her services as his backup and technical support should he need it, also providing Carter with someone to talk to during his lonely patrols at night. She is best friends with Michelle, living as her roommate in an apartment that Michelle has refused to allow Hannah to pay for. She's also addicted to coffee. She currently operates as the hero Osprey alongside Carter (as Lightbringer), using gear reverse-engineered from the mercenary Power Glove to give her an edge in combat. Coming from a disadvantaged background, she gives Carter some perspective balances out his strict commitment to the letter of the law.
Hannah Ments!! Bio in alt text
www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/li...
#LightbringerContinued
#webcomic #webcomics #webtoon #webtoons #oc #ocsky #Lightbringer #art #artist #writer #superhero #superheroes #superherocomic #indie #indiecomic #continuation #story #storytelling
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Carter Granholme/Lightbringer Carter's parents, devout pacifists, always tried to instill their beliefs on their young son, trying to keep him away from reading or viewing anything that would encourage violence as a solution to any of life's problems. Carter continued to read comic books in secret, even after his parents were murdered by a gang member mugging them. He almost felt ashamed to continue to read even after their deaths, but he never stopped. Carter devoted himself to following the pacifist views of his parents... until the harsh conditions of Pharos City finally drove him to determine that Pharos City would never be saved unless he took action. Born with unusual powers to manipulate light, and thanks to sewing lessons from his Home Ec classes taken in high school, Carter designed his Lightbringer outfit and began the fight to make Pharos City a better place to live. He still did not understand the source of his powers, which were heralded by a blinding light that plagued photos taken of him from the age of seven, before they finally manifested in proper at age nine after he was nearly hit by a car.
Carter portrait! Bio in alt text
www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/li...
#LightbringerContinued
#webcomic #webcomics #webtoon #webtoons #oc #ocsky #Lightbringer #art #artist #writer #superhero #superheroes #superherocomic #indie #indiecomic #continuation #story #storytelling
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Black background with white text reading: "Great," Leo said, slowly releasing the tension on the mat. "Now, let's go finish the coffee before Peter decides to make a break for the window?" He stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. He looked at the cactus, and then back at Clara, a fresh wave of understanding washing over him. "You know what?" Leo said, nodding his head. "I get it now. He’s not judgmental; he’s just demanding. He's going to make us earn this stability." Clara smiled, relieved the damage was minimal. "Maybe. Or maybe he just needs a better coaster." She added, looking suspiciously at, and poking, the skewed bamboo mat he was sitting upon. “A flimsy mat? Clara, he needs a dry dock! If he rolls again, I'm calling the Coast Guard and the UXO Team” "Then…," Leo suggested, stepping out of the bathroom and pulling her back toward the kitchen, "maybe we should just move the next kiss somewhere Bartholomew can't see us?" The long haul was going to involve a lot of plant management, but Clara suddenly found herself looking forward to every demanding, messy minute of it.
Part 23
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #WildWalkPrompt #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove
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Black background with white text reading: Together, they heaved. Bartholomew was a surprisingly dense specimen. He, and his pot had a heavy, water-logged weight that required them to put their backs into it. As they hoisted the mat, the cactus shifted, his bronze hooks snagging the fibers of the rug with a series of tiny, aggressive rrrips. For a second, the weight shifted entirely toward Leo. He braced his feet against the base of the tub, his biceps tensing as he steadied the malignant mine. Then they swung him upward, a coordinated, if graceless lunge that ended with the heavy ceramic base thudding back onto the tiled tub ledge he called home. Bartholomew, settled back into his spot, his spines gleaming under the vanity light, appeared entirely unharmed, yet infinitely more grumpy. They didn't let go immediately. They stood there, hunched over the tub, both still gripping the corners of the bathmat like they were holding a captured beast in a net. Leo was breathing a little harder, and a stray lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. "Stable?" he wheezed, eyeing the cactus. "Stable," Clara breathed, looking not at the plant, but at the way Leo was looking at her; triumphant, slightly disheveled, and completely unfazed by the absurdity of the last sixty seconds.
Part 22
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove
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Кінець — у ...
Семюел Беккет
Tá an deireadh ...
Samuel Beckett
buymeacoffee.com/valdeloir/ta...
#початокікінeць #екзистенція #безперервність #сенсжиття #філософія
#beginningandend #existentialism #continuation #meaningoflife #philosophy
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Black background with white text reading: But seriously though, doesn't he actually look like one of those spiky naval things from old war films?" He crouched beside her, squinting at the dense, barbed spines. "One. Wrong. Move – and the whole bathroom goes up in a cloud of potting soil and tetanus…” he whispered. "Just help me lift him," Clara instructed, rolling her eyes. "But don't grab the body," Clara warned. "If you hook a spine, it's not just a little prick; he doesn't like to let go." Leo hovered his hands over the cactus, looking like a man trying to defuse a bomb with his eyes closed. "...Right…?" "The bathmat," she pointed, as a plan formed, "We can use it as a sling? Grab the far corners, I’ll take these. We lift on three?" They knelt on the tiles, faces inches apart as they moved the thick, plush fabric under the curve of the Ferocactus. Leo’s shoulder brushed hers, a steady, warm pressure that made the danger of the plant feel like a secondary concern. "One," Clara counted. "Wait!" Leo cried, locking eyes with her. "If he rolls toward me, tell my mother I died doing something remarkably stupid." Clara huffed a laugh. "Two?" "Three!"
Part 21
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #PlantLove #Bartholomew
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Black background with white text reading: Clara was already looking past him, down the hall toward the source of the noise. The bathroom door, which had been left slightly ajar, now stood fully open. Bartholomew, apparently, had rolled. The massive, indomitable Ferocactus had somehow tipped itself over and tumbled straight off the edge of the tub, landing with the heavy thud on the protective plush bathmat. He was now lying on his side, his bronze spines pointing forlornly at the baseboard, looking less like a dignified sentry and more like a spiky, disgruntled beach ball. "Oh. My. God," Clara gasped, rushing past Leo. "Bartholomew! Are you alright?" Leo followed, stepping into the bathroom. He took in the scene – the enormous, tipped-over cactus, the perfect imprint he was leaving in the bathmat, and the slightly dislodged potting mix and small stones around his base. "Stones! I told you." Leo said, his voice laced with mock fear and genuine awe, "I think he's trying to lodge more than a formal complaint." Clara knelt beside the fallen giant, gently checking the spines. "He's fine,” she said, relief evident in her voice. “Just dramatic." Leo approached slowly, cautiously circling the fallen cactus. "No, Clara, I think this is a protest. We just had a perfect, stable kiss in his general vicinity. He's throwing himself off a cliff to register his disgust with the sudden shift towards commitment.” He paused for dramatic flair.
Part 20
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove #Bartholomew #StrongFeelings
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Black background with white text reading: Leo’s eyes softened, a look of profound understanding replacing his usual playful glint. He didn't rush across the counter or make a grand gesture. Instead, he simply reached out a hand and lightly touched the side of her face, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Neither am I, Clara," he said quietly, "No off-switches. No running." He then leaned slowly toward her, closing the final, terrifying distance between the chaos of the past and the careful, hopeful possibility of the present. The second first kiss wasn't anything like the first - it was deliberate, stable, and carried the faint, clean scent of fresh coffee and gritty potting mix. When Leo finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing out a small, quiet laugh. "Optimal humidity achieved?" he murmured. "Still an awful line" Clara agreed, feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced since she last tossed out a dead relationship, rather than a dead leaf. Then, a sound broke the peaceful domestic moment. It wasn't the distant hum of the city or the gentle bubbling of the last drops of water in the Chemex. It was a sharp, almost violent thwump from the hallway. Leo immediately jumped back, nearly knocking his mug off the counter. He spun around, his eyes wide. "What was that? Did I knock something? Peter!?"
Part 19 🌵✍️
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #LongHaul #PlantLove
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Black background with white text reading: Leo grinned, picking up the Chemex. "A refill, then," he said, moving to the coffee maker. "And maybe after that, we can discuss the optimal humidity levels for a successful first kiss?" “That… was cheesy. A God awful pick up line”, a wry smile spreading across her face. "Leo," she reminded him gently, leaning back against the counter. "We've already done the first kiss. Several, in fact. Usually involving too much tequila, bad lighting, and once with the distinct possibility of being thrown out of the bar before 4 AM." He paused, the Chemex suspended halfway over her mug. "Ah. Right. Yes… the chaotic first kiss. Or kisses. That's a different thing entirely. I'm talking about the second first kiss. The one that happens when we're both sober, rested, and fully aware of the long-term emotional implications." He finished pouring the coffee and set the glass apparatus down with care. "And," he added, turning back to her, his gaze steady and warm, "the one that happens when we've properly secured our root systems." Clara took the refilled mug. The warmth of the ceramic felt grounding. The difference between the dizzying shots and this stable, measured moment was immense. She met his challenge, the confidence fueled by the fresh coffee and the honesty they’d just shared. "Good," she said, taking a deliberate sip, the rich flavor a pleasant jolt. She set the mug down firmly. "Because I, for one, am not planning on being the one who chickens out this time." The words hung in the air - a confession, a promise, and a bold move that acknowledged the pattern of self-sabotage that had defined her previous interactions with him.
Part 18 🌵 ✍️
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #PlantLove #WildWalkPrompt
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Black background with white text reading: Clara laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that crinkled the corners of her eyes. The idea of the massive, silent cactus vetoing Leo’s emotional availability was ridiculous, and yet, completely understandable. "He does set the terms of engagement," Clara agreed, playing along. "He commands respect.” He met her gaze across the gleaming counter, his hands resting on the smooth ceramic of his mug. "You only really know me as…," he admitted, his voice low. "The bartender. On the surface, the flash and the intensity." He glanced down at his hands, the same hands that had just handled the fragile roots of Peter with meticulous care. "But when you get down to it, the only way I survive working those crazy hours, the only way I handle all that noise and all that disaster, is because I do have a quiet, solid foundation, somewhere? I just don't tend to show it often." He looked up, his blue eyes holding hers, raw and honest. "It takes a lot to sustain that, Clara. More than you know." Clara felt the last of her emotional armor fall away. He wasn't giving her an excuse; he was giving her the architectural blueprint of his life. He was asking her to trust that the unseen, necessary part of him was strong enough for the long haul, too. "Good," Clara whispered, pushing her mug toward him for a refill. "Ahem, because Bartholomew is rooting for Peter, and I need a strong root system if I'm going to survive the neighborhood gossip when Sarah gets here tomorrow.”
Part 17
#CreativeWriting #PastPrompts #Cacti #Story #Continuation #PlantLove
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Black background with white text reading: When the creature suddenly moved lifting it's arm, Toran flinched, his breath hitching, but the strike wasn't aimed at him. An obsidian claw instead sank into the heavy timber of the Nightfish's gunwale, carving deep, jagged grooves into the wood. The creature worked with terrifying precision, the sound of splintering oak echoing across the water. When he pulled away, a sigil remained, a spiraling, ancient mark that somehow seemed to draw the light into itself. The trill shifted frequency, into a low, resonant vibration that settled in Toran's stomach. Safe passage, the feeling suggested. Claimed. But then came the second strike. This one a phantom. Toran didn’t feel a claw on his skin, but a sudden, searing heat erupted beneath his shirt, directly over his heart. He gasped, staggering at the rail, clutching his chest. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, he knew the same spiraling sigil was scoring itself into his flesh. It wasn't an injury; it was a brand.
Part 9
#WritingPrompt #CreativeWriting #Toll #FaeSense #Continuation #SeaFolklore #DarkFantasy
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Black background with white text reading: Clara watched the message status flip to 'Read' instantly. They didn't have to wait long. Her phone immediately exploded with a chain of notifications from Sarah: SARAH — I'M SCREAMING. I see Bartholomew! 🧐 🌵 — He looks like he wants to file a complaint with the HOA! 🤣🤣 — AND LEO IS IN YOUR KITCHEN WITH COFFEE?! — 🤯 CLARA. COFFEE. — THIS IS THE MOST COMMITTED THING HE'S EVER DONE. IT'S HAPPENING. — Don't mess this up 🤗 But… seriously. Is he staying? Clara looked up at Leo, the mug warm in her hands, the chaos of the outside world momentarily held at bay by the quiet order of her home. "Well, Leo," Clara said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “What do you think?” Leo's casual posture evaporated. He fidgeted, suddenly looking less like a confident mixologist and more like a nervous teenager. He was about to answer when his eyes darted past Clara, back down the hallway. He could clearly see the formidable, spiky mass of Bartholomew still presiding over the bathroom door, framed in the soft gloom. "Um," Leo started, clearing his throat and shifting his weight. He took a long, steady sip of his coffee. "Look, Clara, that's a great question. Like, a truly foundational question. But you know, I feel like... like I'm being watched right now." He lowered his voice conspiratorially, leaning in close so only she could hear. "Bartholomew…? He's radiating those intense vibes. If I commit to 'staying' right now, I feel like he's going to find a way to make me trip over his drainage pebbles later."
Part 16
#CreativeWriting #WritingCommunity #PastPrompts #Cacti #Continuation
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better-experience.blogspot.com/2026/01/aepi...
#CLOSURE #CONTINUATION
aepiot.ro/advanced-sea...
#THE #INCIDENT
multi-search-tag-explorer.allgraph.ro/advanced-sea...
#FEAR OF A #BLANK #PLANET
multi-search-tag-explorer.aepiot.com/advanced-sea...
headlines-world.com
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Toran didn't answer. He was already moving away, across the dock. His stride, no longer a stricken heavy land-plod, but a fluid, swaying motion that anticipated a swell that wasn't there. He reached the jetty and jumped onto the Rusted Nightfish. Now, his feet didn't stumble. He landed with the grace of a predator. The boat felt like an extension of his own limbs. He didn't need the whiskey to steady his hands anymore.. He slammed the engine into gear, and as the harbor lights receded, he felt the claustrophobia of the land lift. He wasn't going out to fish. He was going out to wait for the red-glowing scales to rise through the foam. At exactly five miles out, the Rusted Nightfish idled, drifting in a sea of liquid glass. The engine silenced, yet the boat felt alive, thrumming with a frequency, an anticipation, that made the salt crystals on the deck dance. Then the water broke, without a sound. Without so much as a ripple, the Dark Neptune rose, his bright obsidian eyes no longer wide with the stark panic of the net, but alive with a heavy, ancient and terrifying curiosity. The crimson scales - the ones mended by Toran’s stolen warmth - glowed like dying embers racing against his indigo skin. As the creature leaned against the hull, a soft trill bypassed Toran's ears. It wasn't just a sound anymore; it was a flood of imagery: the crushing weight of the trenches, the reverent singing of the whales, and a sudden, sharp flash of the "Nightfish" as a tiny, flickering spark in a vast, cold desert. The merman was grateful. Toran could tell that much. Not just for the healing, but for the will it took for a creature of the shore to reach back into the dark. Entranced, Toran reached out. His calloused fingers brushed the new red scales. They weren't cold like fish skin; they pulsed with a low, feverish heat - his own heat, returned to him in a different form
Part 8
#WritingPrompt #CreativeWriting #Toll #FaeSense #Continuation #SeaFolklore #DarkFantasy #SeaStory
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Black background with white text reading: "Worse," Clara warned. "We’re going public with Sarah…" She opened the messaging app to find a flurry of breathless replies already waiting. Sarah was demanding more details, using *far* too many cactus and devil emojis for a Thursday night. Thinking, Clara flipped the camera to selfie mode. “Come on,” she sighed, “Might as well?" He happily complied, leaning his head close to hers. The frame captured Clara, looking rested and slightly stunned, Leo looking annoyingly handsome and slightly smug, and in the foreground, held carefully between them, was Peter, the newly potted Bunny Ear Cactus with his absurd Sharpie nose. Clara shifted the phone slightly, aiming the shot down the hallway, toward the bathroom. Click. The background of the photo was perfect: the soft, receding gloom of the hall, and there, perfectly framed through the partially open bathroom door, was the unmistakable, rotund, spiky silhouette of Bartholomew, perched on the tub, appearing to glower in silent, magnificent judgment over the entire domestic tableau. Clara quickly typed the caption: "Proof. Found a very nice distraction. He passed the soil test, and Bartholomew is currently reviewing his credentials. Wish us luck. 🌵" She hit send. Leo peered over her shoulder. "Wait, you got Bartholomew in the shot? You mad woman." He shook his head, a joyful laugh rumbling in his chest. "I’m going to need a copy of that. That's the photo that will haunt me forever."
Part 15
#CreativeWriting #WritingCommunity #PastPrompts #Cacti #WildWalkPrompt #Continuation #StoryADay #PlantHumour #SilentJudgement
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SARAH: — OMG OMG! Did Leo make it to yours? I saw his car not far away! What did he bring? — Tell me not tequila 🫣 — (OMW if he did! 🥂) — Don't keep me hanging! Send me the deets! 🫨 Is he staying? — Girl, you know he better be! 🌵 😈 Clara laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand. The outside world was catching up. Leo leaned over her shoulder, reading the text with ease. He raised an eyebrow, picking up the Bunny Ear Cactus (Peter) and holding it next to his head. "Tell her I brought a friend," Leo suggested smoothly. "A highly demanding, spiky lil’ guy called Peter, who requires optimal sunlight and Bartholomew's emotional stability… And tell her I'm staying until the coffee is gone, and the Ferocactus stops judging me." Clara typed quickly: "He brought a Bunny Ear Cactus named Peter. He's currently making coffee and is terrified of Bartholomew. Update later. And no, he's not staying… Yet." She hit send, looking up at Leo. The possibility was no longer a frantic, chaotic high; it was the slow, warming, stable comfort of the excellent coffee in her hands. "So," Clara said, taking a slow sip. "About the long haul, Leo..." Leo waited, leaning against the counter, his attention focused entirely on her. His relaxed posture made him look less like a bartender ready for a sprint and more like someone settling in for a marathon. Her phone buzzed again, Sarah’s reactions to the update. Clara smiled, reaching for her phone. "The long haul requires our documentation, apparently." "Our? Oh, God," Leo muttered, though his eyes were alight with amusement. "We're not going public on Instagram?"
Part 14
#CreativeWriting #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Continuation #Cacti
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Black background with white text reading: "Nah, not today, Miller," Toran said. His voice was steady, but it lacked his usual gravelly warmth. It was flat, like the surface of a deep pool. "Suit yourself," Silas grumbled, squinting at him with a weathered, suspicious eye.. "You’re looking... Rougher than a bear's arse, Toran. You catching anything out there? The Nightfish looked empty when you came in last night." "Just enough to pay the harbor toll," Toran replied. His eyes didn't settle on Silas or Miller. His gaze drifted past them both, drawn toward the horizon as if by a magnetic North. Out there, five miles and fathoms deep below, he was waiting. Toran could feel the weight of the silver bit he’d dropped into the dark, a weighted anchor that tied him to a mind that wasn't human. The two men exchanged a silent, uneasy glance. Although there were no physical signs - no visible scales, no silver webbing - but they both unknowingly shifted half a step away from him, with some hidden instinct drawing them back. Toran gave off a different atmosphere than he had just forty-eight hours ago. He didn't smell like a fisherman anymore; he didn't smell of sweat, stale tobacco, or the copper-sour booze he’d fought for years. He smelled like the air before a lightning strike: cold ozone and the sharp tang of petrichor. He smelled like the deep; something vast, indifferent, and other. "...Right then," Miller muttered, his hearty tone dying a sudden death. "Guess we’ll see you in the slip, then." Toran didn't answer. He was already moving, his stride no longer a stricken heavy land-plod, but a fluid, swaying motion that anticipated a swell that wasn't there.
Part 7
#WritingPrompt #CreativeWriting #Toll #FaeSense #Continuation #SeaFolklore #DarkFantasy
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Black background with white text reading: Toran slept fitfully, after that. Every time he closed his eyes, he was plagued by dream-like thoughts; either of gasping and drowning in the air, or being parched and suffocated. Each time he jolted awake, his blanket was cocooned tight around him from his restlessness, with the soft cotton wrapped like a death shroud against his salt-hungry skin. When he finally gave up and dragged himself to the kitchen for a strong but bitter black tea, the gulls' raucous morning calls had devolved into manic laughter as the fish carts had set up for the day. He ventured out that afternoon. The winter sun piercing through the clouds felt like a spotlight, far too bright and harsh. Toran moved through the small harbor town like a man walking through a museum of a life he used to own. As he approached the old slipway, he saw Silas and Miller, both men he’d shared a thousand grunted greetings with, and heartfelt putting-the-world-to-rights with in the tavern. Often, they’d invite him for a quick one to take the edge off a rough night or a bad haul. "Toran!” A hearty voice rang out. “Ha, looks like you fought a gale and lost, lad!" Miller called out, leaning against a pile of lobster pots that were haphazardly stacked.. "Come on. Slow Old Silas is buying. A wee dram’ll put the color back in those cheeks." Toran stopped. He looked at Miller’s face, reddened by sun and drink, and full of the simple, messy warmth of humanity. A week ago, the temptation would have been a physical weight, a craving that made his throat itch and hand tighten. But as he stood there, he felt the tether give a soft gentle tug - a reminder. A pulse of cool calm flooded his chest. The craving for whiskey was then gone, washed away and replaced by a much more terrifying hunger for the salt and the unknown.
Part 6
#WritingPrompt #CreativeWriting #FaeSense #Toll #Continuation #SeaFolklore #DarkFantasy
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Black background with white text reading: "Exactly," Leo agreed, his gaze softening. He clapped his hands together, “Right! Now that Bartholomew hasn't actually impaled me… what does the Master Gardener require for sustenance? I saw a Chemex setup, have you got the good stuff?" Clara felt a profound relief. There was no pressure for a drink, no expectation of escalating passion; just the simple offer of competence and care. "Just a strong pour-over," she managed. "And yes, it's over on the top shelf. Fortuna?" Leo expertly ground the beans, the rich, earthy aroma filling the kitchen; a scent that was a direct, peaceful contrast to the harsh cocktail of boozy fumes from the bar. He moved with the quiet efficiency of a man who spent his life on his feet, focused on precise measurements and flawless execution. Clara leaned against the counter, watching him. This version of Leo - more focused, making something beautiful and warm - was far more dangerous than the one who offered tequila, she was growing to realise. He broke her reverie by presenting the finished cups. He had reached past the genericly plain visitor stoneware and found the most aggressively "novelty" mugs he could find in her collection. He set her mug before her; a stout ceramic piece reading ‘I’m surrounded by pricks’ adorned with a happy chibi cacti; the steam curling perfectly. "Great blend, and perfect execution," he announced, raising his own mug - a grumpy green cactus cat labeled ‘Cattus’, in mock toast. "No bitterness.” Just as Clara raised the mug to her lips, her phone buzzed relentlessly on the counter. It was Sarah.
Part 13
#CreativeWriting #AStoryADayKeepsTheBoredomAtBay #Continuation #Cacti #Coffee #NoveltyMugs
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January arrives pretending something was wiped clean—but the truth is quieter, heavier, and more honest than that.
Read now at wrightspoetry.com
#TheThursdayLantern #NewYearsDay #Poetry #ModernPoetry #Reflection #StillHere #Continuation
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Black background with white text reading: As the creature drank in the warmth, the jagged tears in his flesh began to knit together. The new scales that were forming didn't shimmer with indigo or emerald sea green; they shone with a low, ember-red heat, a stark brand of stolen humanity against the freezing darkness of the deep. "Rest, Little Anchor," the trill hummed, a terrifyingly tender vibration that bypassed straight his ears and manifested directly in his head, and soul, in perfect clarity. "The tide will return for you, with my gratitude." Toran reached out, his fingers brushing the new, warm scales. He felt a flicker of his own childhood, the heat of a summer sun he’d never feel again, the taste of fresh bread - all of it bleeding away to mend a god. But he found, with a flicker of passing horror, that he wanted to give more; and yet, he wasn't entirely repulsed by this notion. He wanted to be empty, if it meant being here. Toran woke with a gasp, his skin dry and feverish. The candle had long since guttered out, leaving the room in pitch blackness. He reached up a hand to his chest that was strangely aching, almost half-expecting to find just a hollow, where his heart had once been; but instead there was only the damp, salt-stiffened fabric of his vest. Yet, as he breathed in the stale, dry air of the cottage, he felt a crushing disappointment. The safety of his home felt incomplete and all wrong; And the wood smoke outside, a funeral pyre, for a man he no longer recognized. He didn't want this unyielding rock beneath his feet. He wanted the line to pull again. He wanted to go home, and home was around five miles, and fathoms deep, out to sea.
Part 5
#FaeSense #Toll #Continuation #WritingPrompt #CreativeWriting #SeaFolklore #DarkFantasy
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Continuation cuts straight through the illusion of sequence — of past turning into future, of cause dragging effect behind it.
It tests whether you still believe in the momentum of stories, or if you can sense the stillness that never continues yet never ends.
#Continuation #Stillness
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It’s not over btw. NPCs thought they won. The glitch gods of the Verse had other plans for me👊
#StarCitizen #clip #round2 #continuation #ImmortalGlitch
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