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XME: Shadow Of The DayThe weather in Bayville was impulsively threatening to rain but the grey sky did little to warn or verify if it was going to do so or not. So everyone who was traveling on foot had little to no chance of knowing if they were going to get wet. Still, it did seem to cast an uneven and gloomy atmosphere nonetheless, making everything less exciting and more depressing. Weather had that effect depending on the person or the mood of that person. Frankly, the weather was bothersome in Todd's opinion. Ruining what should have been a rather interesting afternoon of free time. A luxury that he and Chase simply didn't get very often, if at all in most cases. He had, over a long period of time, figured out she had spots all over the city in which she tended to go if she wanted complete and utter privacy. A lot of these places were, funnily enough, outside. Chase never struck him as outdoorsy type of girl, at least not going outside unless she had or needed to. Todd wasn't sure if he should add <i>
Mischievously Complicated: Ch. 12
The sun's bright glare awoke me with a start. Was it morning already? I breathed a sigh and rubbed my eyes. Slowly everything seemed to come into view and with a very confused expression, I slowly sat up. It was like trying to recall what happened the night before despite the fact I hadn't blacked out nor had been drunk. Staring down at myself I noticed I was still dressed from the night before and I was laying in my bed. I squinted in a frown and got up from my bed, throwing back the blankets as I move. How...? My heart seemed to beat faster and faster as my brain seemed to be slowly putting the pieces together. I didn't remember a thing except falling asleep on the couch and I hadn't exactly gotten teleportation powers over night either and I know for a fact I wasn't a sleep walker. As calmly as I could, I grabbed clean clothes and went off to the bathroom to shower, hoping to clear my head.
After showering and getting dressed, I proceeded to hurriedly go up to
Mischievously Complicated: Ch. 11
Realizing it was too early for bed, I turned on the TV. But was disinterested in anything that was on, even the James Bond movie marathon going on one station was hardly getting my attention. I felt guilty for acting like I had in front of Loki. The more I had thought it a date of some sort the more insecure I felt. How could I possibly be worthy of a god? Especially one such as him? I realized the more I wanted him, the more I tended to push him away. I had several complicated feelings on the matter but they were feelings nonetheless. I just ignored the TV and curled up on my side, staring at the back of the couch. One of the couch pillows clutched in my hands.
"I get angry and hurt whenever I think of him as more than just someone I took off the streets because he wanted my help. I always thought it was because he annoyed me and maybe that had been it in the beginning. But then he left and I did miss him. And I was glad when he came back. But there was someth
Mischievously Complicated: Ch. 10
Tony glanced up from working to see Steve enter the tower. And why not? It was the Avengers tower now after all. Though technically everyone was still scattered and doing their own thing. But the tower was still open for use if all the little birdies ever needed to come home.
"Cap! Want a drink?" Tony asked, getting up excitedly.
Steve looked at him seriously, "No", he stated, "Look, I ran into that girl you mentioned from a week ago and I don't know", he trailed off.
"Oh you met Mere?" Tony asked, making himself a glass of rum with ice, "How'd you like her?"
"She's pretty", Steve answered, coming and slowly sitting down in a chair.
"And?" Tony wanted to know, coming to sit with him.
"And nothing. All I know is she's pretty and", he sighed, "Why are all the good ones hard to catch? Every time I go near her, she's always running in the other direction", he said this more to himself, turning his head slightly.
"Yeah, she does that. She has relationship issues", Tony ma
Walking Dead: Signal Fire: Ch. 8
Chapter 8: Three Days Out
My heart was racing so fast I could just barely hear the wind in my own ears. Though who could really think about that when you were stuck in the middle of a herd of walkers. I remember running. Running for cover. I was positioned behind...well...no...I was actually in the dumpster I had seen to hide behind. My hand gun was down to it's last twenty rounds. Shane had the bag but we had gotten separated when the walkers had come through. All I had was two bottles of water, my gun and some sense to keep quiet and still.
"It was only supposed to be a supply run", I thought to myself, listening against the metal wall of the dumpster, "We were only supposed to be gone a few hours".
I just pressed my ear to the wall of the dumpster, hoping against hope that Shane was alright. He had yelled at me to run so he could distract the walkers. I closed my eyes, remembering the last time I had seen the farm, the group. I had been talking to Daryl,
TC: Lucky As Hell: ProloguePrologue
The desert's sun looked picturesque and faraway as dusk settled out on the horizon. A pink hue and dark purple melded together to look like a disappearing torch off in the distance. The winds of the sand seemed calmer than usual since sand storms were common now and again. But tonight seemed to be a different story or maybe it was just the calm before the storm. Nobody could predict the weather, even out in the middle of nowhere. It was night's like these she liked to be outside the walls of the Pyramid. But it made her sad for some reason. The growing night air made her feel more lonelier than usual. Somewhere beyond the dunes of sand that covered the word like water was the town she used to call home. She wondered briefly how her brothers were doing. Were they fighting over the last piece of fish? Did Rigby remember to wash behind his ears? Did they remember not to go to bed angry? She furrowed her brow a little as though trying to concentrate, trying to remember what it was
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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