A Celestial Heirloom: The Princess (Prologue) by GrandSACHI, literature
Literature
A Celestial Heirloom: The Princess (Prologue)
The man leaned against the crenellated parapet of the small turret of the staircase. This narrow turret rose more than two fathoms above the large tower of Nesle to which it gave access, and which itself overlooked the Seine with its fourteen fathoms in height. Thus, at over sixteen fathoms above the ground, the man had an unobstructed view of Paris and the Louvre that stood proudly on the other bank of the Seine. However, his gaze was not directed towards the royal palace; instead, he was watching a young woman dressed in red and white who had just come out of the grand hotel of Nesle. After a brief hesitation during which she glanced at the roof of the hotel, the young woman entered a small mahogany carriage to which were harnessed two chestnut mares who pawed the ground in anticipation of departure. A few moments earlier, two other figures, a man and a woman of a certain age dressed in the rich attire of nobles, had taken their places in the coach. But it was not these two that
RWBY: TAS Ch.30 - The Hand of Fire by S-P-O-D-E, literature
Literature
RWBY: TAS Ch.30 - The Hand of Fire
The battle of the gods continued. Here Weiss, Nora, and Cinder all zipped around so fast, space continued to further warp around the entire planet. Widening the cracks in the atmosphere that were already there, creating spatial fissures in the air that ruptured all things everywhere at the same time. Uprooting trees, shattering the barks, lifting up heavy stones, burning away lakes and large parts of the oceans alike, all to vaporize them down to their last atoms. And yet, the speed of the Maidens continued, catching up to Weiss – the Superman. The faster they got, the faster she also adapted and adjusted. But what was also a big concern was the collateral damage. With Weiss still trying her best to coat the planet in her immense pool of Aura, protecting it from the godly shockwaves. With energies enough to destroy the entire universe ten times over, all contained here on this very planet. Nora lifted her hammer once more, slamming it straight down toward Weiss, only to see her
RWBY: TAS Ch.29 - A Story of Superman by S-P-O-D-E, literature
Literature
RWBY: TAS Ch.29 - A Story of Superman
The scythe and the sword clashed, with echoes of their Aura fragments flying off as crystal birds of freedom, freed from restraints, no longer hiding in the dark, for they both now could show off the true extent of their powers. Despite being trillions of times faster than Glynda, Rubio knew that this woman’s Aura was too thick to just pierce with ordinary means. The Aura was permanently coating her skin after all. Only a godly amount of force could truly penetrate through and cause damage. Elsewhere, far in the distance, the foreign Valean army began flooding into the Academy’s ground. Many wore similar uniforms to this universe’s version of the Valean army, with slight variations here and there. Sharper leather, a several officers wearing service caps and golden epaulettes on their shoulders. Several of the men shot their Dust rifles off, blowing the Academy soldiers’ heads off, leaving them in a bloody pool as others trampled over their lifeless corpses. To aid in their school’s
One leg less 1. Hospital by minuit-author, literature
Literature
One leg less 1. Hospital
Every time as Mida closed her eyes, she dreamed about the time before everyone she loved were dead. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her eyes open. Over and over was she taken back to when her worst problems were in calculus and wars was something that happened in old history clips. They had her so doped up that she was sliding in and out of sleep like falling off a cliff and then being yanked back up again when she needed more of whatever they pushed into her veins. Before her surgery, there had been a shot of something that burned like acid through her veins. That was impossible to forget as a new injection came every day. The dreams weren't that bad. It was the waking up. Before the pain hit her, there was just enough time for her to situate herself back into reality. Then she was grateful for the pain because it was so intense she couldn't think of much else. They had taken her right leg at the middle of her thigh. None of the people who took care of her looked
RWBY: TAS Ch.28 - This Photograph by S-P-O-D-E, literature
Literature
RWBY: TAS Ch.28 - This Photograph
Universe 1938… There was an island located somewhere east of Argus, the port city built at the northern region of Mistral, acting as the trading center between the Atlas Empire and the Kingdom of Mistral. Argus here, to the surprise of a lot of Maru’s troops, were not his target for this side mission he had to ask permission from the Chancellor for. No, rather what he was interested in was that nameless island, half covered in snow, and half covered in the light of the sun. The island in question had no natural resources to speak of, and it had always been strangely inhospitable even with the awesome might of Atlas’ military and technological powers. It was not a matter of Grimm or even the grueling cold. Both of those could be conquered by the power of man. It all seemed ordinary somehow. Some travelers, both Mistralians and Alesians, had tried to conquer the land in the past. Only to be thwarted by what could only be described as supernatural means. “In 897 AA,” Maru told his
DEAD GODS - ACT I: Shortcut by tidsoptimeest, literature
Literature
DEAD GODS - ACT I: Shortcut
ACT I: Shortcut Your name is Banastre Alister, and you live in dream-land, where human souls go when they sleep. Dream-land is best described by the following inflammatory terms: garish eyesore—quirky by mandate—trying too hard—Burtonesque. The cops measure giant mushroom caps to make sure they’re big enough. They’ll ticket you if your fence doesn’t have enough pointless wrought iron curls. If you were in charge, you’d issue citations to anyone found growing a topiary animal out of a barrel-sized teacup; to gentlemen who tip their top hats at ladies, revealing a smaller top hat underneath; and to the sun for lighting up the Day-Glo colors of this psychedelic hellscape. You claim beige is your favorite color, that you like filling out forms and standing in queues. You wanna quit your job as a dream theater usher, so you say, run away to Earth, and go work in a cubicle. In your exotic and farfetched cubicle, you’d spend the day straightening the items on your desk, using the label
WC: The Beast Under the House pt. 4 by writeddreams2reality, literature
Literature
WC: The Beast Under the House pt. 4
Title: The Beast Under the House Written by: Danni Lynn Commissioned by: @Zeroth17 Word Count: 8,500 words April 5th, 2023 Rating: PG-13 for violence, language, verbal and physical abuse, and scary moments. Wiping down the counters in the kitchen, the contractor is double-checking over the house as bright sunshine pours in through the windows, and he taps an anxious song out on the counters, cabinets, and everything he touches. After spending two days setting up little traps and filling any hole he could find in the house to dissuade the fur beetle infestation to the best of his abilities, he is pretty sure he got everything covered. He better have. The living room where he slept is still a mess, but the areas he renovated are in tip-top shape. Whipping his cloth over his shoulders, the contractor opens all cabinets, makes sure there is no residue dust from installation, and checks over the bathrooms where thick white lines of caulk are all now perfectly dried where he previously
Toulon, southern France. 0730 CEST (0530 GMT); 6 August 1965. There was a feel of inevitability in the air. Well, that or terror. For over a year, ever since Brezhnev and Shelepin had embarked on the frankly insane Operation Chastise to cut the West off from Arabian oil and seize a warm-water port in the Persian Gulf, there had been Soviet “advisors” in France. Their orders had been simple: keep the Red Dawn lunatic fringe in control of the multitudes of local fiefdoms that had cropped up in the south of France since the collapse of central government. These lunatics would be supplied with Soviet weaponry and instructed to keep sticking the knife into any American or British forces in the region and thus distract them from the USSR’s true plans. Andrei Stepanovich Stakhanov was, on paper at least, a colonel in the KGB. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he was in effective exile in France, tasked as the senior advisor to the self-proclaimed Bountiful People’s Democratic
Palace of Nations, Geneva. 25 September 1965. It had been a slog. There was no doubt about that. But after almost a month of swearing, recrimination and idle threats, the people sat around the table had finally hashed out an agreement on the future of the world. Geneva had been Denis Healy’s idea. The failure of the peace talks in San Francisco the previous year resulted in the British PM making the suggestion that a neutral site and change in negotiators might see the rump Soviet government agree to make compromises that went beyond the late Alexander Shelepin’s threats and demands. Sure enough, progress had been made. While the formal re-establishment of the UN would still be some time away, there was at least a blueprint for how to go forward. An official cease-fire and non-aggression treaty had been signed by the UK, USA and USSR on behalf of themselves and allied countries, but that was not the main issue. The summit had resulted in an assurance from the Americans and the