Hey, did you know moving 3,600 feet of stuff into 2,200 feet of house is like a game of Tetris From Hell? Move one thing to slide in a box in it’s place and wedge the dresser just behind that and… oh! Your contractor is apparently bipolar so that remodeling is going to take a LOT longer because he’s out by your husband’s truck putting firewood in a little circle around it as a “safety spell.”
I always hate it when writers give a laundry list of excuses about why they’re not updating their stuff and here I am, doing… uh… that.
Anyway! Here’s six sentences from the next chapter of Blood and Music with our delicious and deadly Bodyguard!James Conrad.
Chapter 7: Lips Like Sugar
Amsterdam.
You were busy watching the people navigating the narrow streets behind the darkened windows of the SUV while Nigel and Billy prattled on about their favorite cannabis bakeries and their plans to immediately visit De Wallen after checking in to the hotel.
“You won’t be doing that,” Conrad said, eyes scanning the streets.
“I will certainly-” Billy huffed, ready to begin a diatribe about Continuing His Legacy as a Rogue when he was cut off.
“You will not-” Conrad was eyeing the manager of the Conservatorium Hotel already stepping up to the SUV to greet them, “-expose yourself to danger via countless windows and a street I cannot secure. I am sure we can find you alternate entertainment.”
Your brow rose as he opened the door and greeted the manager briskly, ushering Billy swiftly inside as Tommy followed closely, giving you a wink. Really? Alternate entertainment? How full service does this close protection agent stuff get?
@caffiend-queen bold of you to assume I’ve written anything at all…
Ok, I might have something for your Six Paragraph Weekend thingy.
From Love is Hel, chapter 11:
“The Norns’ throne room was a big, echoing chamber with an amber crystal floor that looked down on the Tapestry of Life, and the only seats were three what looked like easy chairs where the Norns sat, one with a massive basket filled with every kind of string or thread or yarn, in enough colors to give anyone looking too closely a headache, a second chair where different sizes and types of needles were stuck through it, and a third that had a side pocket holding one plain, utilitarian pair of metal kitchen shears and another holding a golden knife.
Woven across them was a thick cable of everything in the form of strands and strings. On its own it snaked out of the basket, plunging down through the crystal floor as if it were not there, where Nora could see it weaving its way through the Tapestry. Here and there strands of every type surged upwards again towards the second chair where many of those needles, without hands guiding them, interwoven some of them, picked some that were already connected apart, and in other cases did nothing at all.
After that they again spilled downwards, through the floor, rejoining the rest of all living things while others rose for a third and final time where the shears or the knife did what shears and knives did. Once cut, the threads faded and thinned and fell, disappearing entirely before they reached the floor again.
“I thought the Norns had more to do with the, you know, process.”
Before Loki could answer, Verdandi spoke from the doorway, “If all we did was sit here and spin and weave and cut all day we’d most surely go mad.”
Nora, after a few days in Nornheim, had thoughts about that which she knew were smart to keep to herself. Hours of Urd and Skuld talking about everything in the past or future tense, hearing them reminisce or anticipate terrible events because at least they were different, at least they were something to see, had left her no less disturbed than when she first saw the Tapestry and more than a little disgusted by the whole set up.”
Open tags for anyone who has something to share with the class.
sorry but i wanted to give up the moment i had to choose between gilan and cassandra as my favourite character
“Your Result: Ulf – You’re protective of your loved ones and would jump into danger for them, but it’s not always obvious. Your funny nature hides a more serious one and you are always trying to figure out how to make a situation better. You like to play pranks on others but aren’t willing to deal with the consequences. You react quickly to things and always have a comeback, even if it doesn’t make sense. You might have one of those faces that people mix up with others.”
Not where I thought this was going but it doesn’t feel wrong DJKASJ
Hal
You are the leader of your friend group. People of all ages look to you for advice and leadership. Keenly aware of people’s feelings, you often take up the collective burden on your shoulders. While maybe you don’t necessarily have skills to invent things, your love for your friends is very much one of gift-giving. It took you a long time to find your place in the world, but now you’ve left a mark.
Austrian photographer Inge Prader recently recreated Gustav Klimt’s masterworks for Style Bible, a part of the Life Ball Charity Event in Vienna, Austria. A team of over 50 professionals worked on the demanding photography project which raises funds to help those with HIV/AIDS. Makeup artists, costume designers, set designers, lighting specialists and many others worked with models and fully ornamented props to bring to life the fascinating, erotically charged work that Klimt is known for during his “Golden Phase.”
sometimes I get one of these in my DMs or whatever and I don’t like it, but I can understand how the algorithm pointed the bot in my main blog’s direction. but I was curious, so clicked to see which post had gathered this response and
It doesn’t matter when you fall, my sweet little pawn. You will fall, and I will be there to devour you.
an alternate blood of olympus scene (concluded)
Percy wakes in darkness.
He comes to consciousness slowly, silt dredged from a river bed, troubled dreams clinging to the corners of his mind. Images of crumbling earth and violent storms linger briefly and then fade to nothing.
When he opens his eyes Percy sees reflected light dancing on the ceiling above him, hears the gentle rush of running water, and he sits up in his own bed, in his own cabin, feeling strangely like a visitor in someone else’s home.
The world was full of reminders, and he made sure it was abundantly populated. Every facet of her existence had been touched by him, somehow, and now she could see naught but him, every little piece of the world tied to some synapse in her memory, something to draw up something to remember him by, something to remind her of what he’d done, what he would do.
The blinds of the window made her think of the way he’d glance through them, two fingers slyly spreading the shades to create an opening, like he was in a Chandler novel. The orchids on her shelf the same colour he made her skin, a subtle purple shot through with a darker indigo. They bloomed as she had, and they’d fade just as powerfully as her skin had healed.
The problem was with all these reminders she wasn’t allowed to languish in them. There was no happy remembrance when every one of them was tinged with the subtle longing of the absent heart, knowing that he was away from her, a few miles south, a ways north. Wherever, it didn’t really matter, because he was not there. She was forced to bring him to mind by all the things he’d done, all the things that made him him, but none of them brought him any closer to her door.
And that, she considered, was the greatest tragedy of it all. It was the contradiction that created a tension who’s only payoff was the enormous, beautiful relief upon seeing him again, being able to revert back to the giddy girl and wrap her arms around his neck, swing about a bit if she was feeling particularly nubile. But, as with every other thing, that was not there for her, in this moment.
Instead, she was mired in longing, lost pining for he who was not there. So why did every little reminder make her feel a little better? Why did every memory make her smile, an absent thought giving her a moment of happiness with a long draw as it receded? She wasn’t one to question life’s little generosities.
My characters Day and Sol, dressed for some swanky party on Coruscant.
Day is dressed in an ostentatious way, as is common with homeworlders and their fashion choices. While her cousin Sol chooses to adopt the style of her Coruscant dwelling countrymen.
