#fiction Tumblr posts

  • A short Shadowrun fan-fic I’ve had in-mind and been slowly adding to. Will try to flesh out and finish the rest later today or in following days, but I’m comfortable with what I’ve got so far as an opening. Since the nature of fan fiction is that one writes it for love of a fictional world by being part of its fandom, this work has been an effort for pleasure.

    A dual-rotored vertical take-off and lift helicopter, the flag of the American Confederate states displayed on either side of it behind the cockpit bubble, ascends from the flattened pad that is the uppermost segment of a sleek naval vessel, where other aircraft remain dormant, the lower segments of the military-grade boat forming an arch that meets a pair of skis upon where it floats over the dark night-time ocean. As soon as the aircraft is beyond a small distance, before the vessel even begins to diminish in-size, it abruptly disappears from sight, where it was only waves uninterrupted by the craft floating calmly in-place.

    One heavily armored mercenary, an American Confederate flag upon one shoulder pad, looks out the open side of the helicopter to witness the sudden disappearance, taken aback in surprise. He knew of the Russian mage aboard, maintaining a spell to shield the Pacific Prosperity Group’s vessel from direct sight as already the design and technology aboard kept it undetected from radar and sonar to be the staging grounds for operations run off of the Western coast of Aztlan, but he had rarely experienced such powerful magic himself. Lower level maintenance and cleaning staff, as well as grunts stuck with guard-duty, were told that the invisibility is the result of groundbreaking stealth technology from the Yamatetsu Corporation, headquarted in Vladivostok, Russia.

    But higher level officers, and offensive special forces mercenaries, were advised of the elf mage due to the risk of running into the sorcerer in compartments maintained for personnel above a certain security clearance level, and as a warning to practice respect for contracted individuals still holding a racist bias towards meta-humans. A rarity lately in the world of private affairs, due to the increasingly known benefits of magic in the eyes of big business and the interconnected world dominated by currency unconcerned with race, but of which there still remained a few stubborn close-minded souls yet to be replaced as their years of experience rendered them valuable.

    Recently contracted mercenary Micheal Long was born in the Free Californian State, having formed part of the coalition of forces from the entities divided within what was once the United States and Canada to defeat Aztlan’s military incursion, a personal witness to native American Ghost Walker’s transformation into the latest ascended dragon to defeat feathered serpent Quetzacoatl. A surprise come-back after Aztlan forces armed with experimental arms provided by Aztechnology, numbers bolstered by their own mercenaries, and personally led by Quetzacoatl, since you’d better bring your dragon if you plan to fight the United States as he once-joked, had left North American Coalition forces so decimated defeat was considered a certainty.

    Yet, now empowered with a dragon of their own to lead them, Aztlan was beaten back from all the territory it had acquired, deposed from their brief rule over a strip of land that reached up to Denver, Colorado, until the border between Aztlan and the powers of the former United States once-more appeared what it had been since the era of Mexico. A man, with no discovered supernatural powers, but capable of all the abilities military physical training allows.

    Constant battle, and an ever-present fear of death during the campaign against Aztlan had left his formerly open-minded liberal soul callous, and lacking in enthusiasm before the world’s many surprises, turning him an outcast from the more libertine culture of the Free Californian State. Besides him, his only friend and mentor in private military operations so far, George Stone, is calmly tucked into a row of seated heavily-armed men, rifle between his thighs, both hands upon it. African-American skin hidden beneath the visored helmets they all wore, integrated with nocturnal optics, shielding from concussive blasts and audio exceeding levels safe to the human, and meta-human ears, as well as integrated video recording.

    A few more mercenaries occupy the space before the seats, on the floor gripping handles to avoid sliding into the open air, at the booted feet of a commanding officer and his subordinate assistant standing overlooking the group, between them and the cockpit ahead. George was an outcast himself, similarly condemned to life as a man in a world of transhumans and metahumans, of New Orleans deep in the American Confederate States still divided by racial tensions. And a fellow veteran of the conflict against Aztlan.

    He spots a second dual-rotored aircraft suddenly pop into existence as it leaves the radius of the cloaking field, the hollow central compartment almost entirely occupied by a sole hulking troll, wielding an autocannon usually only fielded by armored vehicles, and his two accompanying ammo bearers, before a commanding officer’s bark turns his attention towards the front of the cargo space within the aircraft he rides in. Clearly audible over the constant near-silent hum of the dual rotor blades maintaining the aircraft’s thrust.

    ‘So, for anyone who fell asleep in the briefing room, objective is to capture a member of Yucatan Rebel forces in the operating area, some rural dump in Chiapas, lotta jungle making satellite surveillance useless in finding their hiding place. Extra payment for the capture of a field or commanding officer. Pacific Prosperity Group wants a witness account to a believed collusion between Aztechnology, and the Yucatan autonamous region led by feathered serpent Pobre funding militant activities beyond his borders. Since these groups do not allow Aztlan to harvest resources from areas yet to be vacated of indigenous savages, it is believed Aztechnology has been equipping them with modern weaponry to keep other interests from operating there in competition, even when some foreign companies claim land rights under ownership bought from alleged land owners seeking to rid themselves of territory they can’t use. Since no rebel terrorist shithead has willingly given him or herself up for interrogation, we’ve got to go extend them an invitation ourselves, so that Aztechnology can be taken before the corporate council on more than just an assumption. Should be plenty to grab in this area, Aztlan mostly just lets them be since support for rebel groups still remains high among artsy types, Catholics yet to convert to the state religion, and the poor idiots nostalgic for the shithole that was Mexico among their citizens.’

    He pauses to glance over the group, before continuing with confidence to their undivided attention.

    'I don’t think the American Confederate State banner needs an explanation, but before anyone gets curious, some would-be slaver from Mississippi got scammed out of his plantation dreams when no one would help him vacate some squatters on land he bought. And we’re only here to pluck one, not to engage in war against a heavily armed insurgency within foreign borders. So he can go fuck himself, doubly if we’re caught and someone comes to the idea a Confederate citizen is behind this.’

    Announces the man standing at the head of the group, obscuring the pilots from view, similarly hidden beneath a visored helmet but with an Eastern European accent to hint at his background throughout the speech as it comes to a conclusion with a small cackle, before adding, 'Now, any questions?’

    George’s deep voice booms in response, amplified by his helmet’s external speakers, 'Yeah, if Aztlan already wants the land, why not use say, the Aztlan banner, or the Aztechnology logo, over the Confederate banner?’

    The more slender armored woman standing besides the commanding officer responds in his place, with an Eastern European accent of her own, 'Lengthen the investigation, no one of Aztlan’s forces will have seen any movement at the nearest garrison, nor authorized it, and will be quick to declare such to avoid war with Yucatan. Aztechnology likes to activate a hidden cell of Guerreros for even copyright infringement of images, so it’s just swamp hicks playing out a Rambo fantasy, quickly disowned as private actors by their own Confederacy as trigger-happy rednecks using the flag out of nationalism while they liquidate the perceived financier of the operation’s assets.’

    She coolly explains, as the Western coast of Southern Aztlan enters view below a starry night sky in the horizon beyond what’s visible of the cockpit past the two officers and pilots ahead.

    'Now, questions regarding terrain, expected amount of rebel troops, or their arsenal?’ She asks, letting the question hang to a moment of silence.

    The group of mercenaries awaiting deployment remain hushed, staring ahead at the two officers as they remain confident they’ve seen anything possible, much to the officer’s annoyance.

    The higher ranking C.O. speaks next, with an irate tone, 'Okay, we’re running out of time, and you illiterate fucks clearly aren’t here for your accomplishments in the classroom. Expect roughly 200 rebels, they patrol the perimeter jungle in groups of 4 to 12, known assets lotta old FN Fal, AKM rifles somehow still not rusted and other small arms, maybe an old RPG-7 or two left-over from the days of FARC, indirect fire support in the form of mortars, some armed technicals with aging anti-tank tubes or heavy machine guns along jungle trails, one was spotted by satellite entering the area by night recently equipped with an old anti-air flak cannon on the truck bed at some mechanics shop in the nearest town, can’t pronounce the name of whatever they call those shacks, doubt any of you can, so after drop-off our birds will be avoiding flying over the area.’

    A pilot interrupts this second speech to confirm distance to landing area, the Pacific Prosperity Group’s private security officer simply glances over his shoulder to look past the cockpit at the dark jungle terrain before looking back without an answer, to continue the briefing.

    'Since these groups tend to draw Amazonia lovers, and receive support from the South Americans for it, expect some magic. And whatever the hell Aztechnology’s been gifting them, you’ll be dropped off about 50 kilometers West of where intel believes their operating base in the area is. Pure jungle between the landing field and there. Try not to attract heat just after drop-off, it’s also your exfil point. Kill witnesses if need-be. Exfil crafts, the ones your asses are already tainting, will be on stand-by in the sky until oh-500, unless satellite surveillance detects some inbound Aztlan military aircraft. Given that, or the operation extending beyond 0500, expect rescue to take longer if we can determine reaching you is still worth it, which will be if you’ve got a juicy terrorist for us or some piece of Aztech weaponry, otherwise expect yourself on your own and shit out of luck, Confederate hick. Drop-off’s in 5 mikes.’

    By Manuel Ignacio Mier Aguirre, Jr. 31st of May, 2020.

    View Full
  • All About Us by Tom Ellen

    This book is almost like a modern day version of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. Don’t let that put you off this book, because this book is funny, romantic, heart warming and magical. Plus there are no visits from the ghosts of past, present and future.

    I really enjoyed reading this book, I felt as though I connected with what Ben the main and character was going through. I got drawn in to his journey of discovery, when he magically goes back in time to relive parts of his life. Only to find out that in reliving some of these events not everything was quite as he remembered.

    Ben isn’t in a good place, his career as a writer just hasn’t turned out how he’d expected it to. He also feels as though his marriage is going from bad to worse, so much so he’s starting to wonder if he chose the right woman.

    It’s Christmas eve and Ben’s wife Daphne is getting ready to go to her annual works Christmas party. As she’s about to leave she ask’s Ben if he’s sure that he doesn’t want to go with her. He reiterates that he doesn’t want to go, and that while she’s out he’ll put up all of the decorations so the house is ready for the next day. Before her family descended on them as they were hosting Christmas.

    However Ben ends up phoning his best mate and they spend the evening in the pub. At one point during the evening when Ben is left alone while his best friend goes to the bar. A scruffy old man comes up to Ben trying to sell him a watch. In the end the old man gives him a watch saying it’s any early Christmas present. Ben put on the watch and comments about it not even working.

    After leaving the pub and a little worse for wear, Ben goes up into the loft to get the Christmas decorations. While he’s looking for them he knocks over a box and things fall out all over the place. When he looks at the items he sees that they are keepsakes starting from the first night he and Daphne met to other memorable and important events in their lives together. He’s surprised that Daphne had kept what she had as he didn’t know she was sentimental like that.

    Ben obviously falls asleep in the loft, but when he wakes up the next morning he finds himself back in his bedroom at university. When he gets up he looks in the mirror and sees that he looks just like he did in the past, the only thing that he has with him from the present is the broken watch on his wrist.

    This is the beginning of Ben’s Journey of discovery. Will he still think he chose the wrong woman to be his wife? While he relives certain parts of his past he notices things that he never noticed first time round. Then when he lives what his future could turn out like is it how he thought it would be? Had he chosen the right woman from the start?

    With some humour, heartache and magic along the way. This is a really good modern day book.

    Pages: 400, Publication Date: 15 October 2020, My Rating: 4 Stars

    View Full


    Summary: The plan? Take down the most notorious mob family from the inside. Sounds easy right? Not if emotions start to play a role in it. 

    warnings: (mentions of) smut, violence, drugs, alcohol, guns

    Chapter One: Through the Sangria Hallway 

    Chapter Two: The Man in the Red Jacket 

    Chapter Three: New Cherry Lipstick (coming soon)

    Chapter Four: T.B.A.

    to be continued 

    #BAIF fic#tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland mob au #mob au #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland angst #tom holland series #fanfiction#masterlist#fanfic series#fiction#fanfic#fic#imagine #mob!au #enemies to lovers #?? #possibly#who knows #read to find out
    View Full
  • God I wish I could draw…

    View Full
  • image

    Gemma’s masterpiece. It has taken her months to scout out all the islands in the world. One day she will uncover the treasure behind the pirate island, but there may even be more islands to discover.

    // Translations 

    • hela världen = the whole world
    • Danmark = Denmark
    • tvilingöer = twin islends
    • hem = Home
    • enhörningö = unicorn island
    • mål = goal
    • piratslottet = the pirat casle
    • skat = tresure
    • fogelö = berd island

    // read more about ‘Gemma and the Thousand Isles‘

    #writeblr#map#fiction #songbird and gemma
    View Full
  • Concept: YA book where the friend group finds a magical land yada yada tyranical leader yada yada complicaitons yada yada. HOWEVER, and hear me out on this:

     the group are half-competent, well coordinated friends who know when to act and are aware of each other’s weaknesses. 

    The main issue arises not from them being complete fucking dipshits, but from an actually intelligent and even more competent villain, who fully exploits their advantages and knows when not to overextend.

    #book ideas#reading#fiction #so fucking done with idiot plot
    View Full
  • image

    Photo by @dhelentjaris

    “Yes, he will,” says Judah. Everyone turns to him because this is the first time he’s spoken in a while. “Mr. Thibodaux is a gun collector and a doomsday prepper. He will definitely call the police.” 

    “Judah!” David says. He glances at the two ghost men, and pulls Judah aside a little. “We need to get to my dad…” 

    “Your dad won’t understand what we’ve seen, will he?” 

    “I don’t understand what we’ve seen!” David says. 

    “If we go to your dad, he will tell the police, Mr. Jackson will know we’re still alive, kill us, and take over the town.” 

    David throws his hands up and walks away, like, aw hell no. 

    Buddy Red approaches Judah, and extends the lovely antique gun. “It’s got to be you.” 

    “David is bigger,” Judah says, glancing helpfully at his panic-attack-having-half-brother. 

    Buddy Red squats to his level, which makes Judah flinch. He flips the gun around so that the shiny dark wooden handle is right in front of him. “You are the only full-blooded Danielson. He needs you dead more than anybody in the world. I think that will give you some extra…” He turns to Marcus, who is looking bored hovering over in the corner. “What you think?” 

    Marcus nods. “As a ghost, you should know that your ability to stay in the world it tied to meaning, Red. The Danielson boy with the gun he was originally killed with–that should be plenty of meaning.” 

    Buddy Red turns back to Judah. “Take it, then.” 

    Judah hesitates. “Why are you so solid, Mr. Red?” 

    Buddy Red sighs. 

    “Red is remembered around here more than us because he is a war hero for the South,” Marcus says derisively. 

    “Like I say, I was just fighting for my kids and their freedom,” Buddy Red says.

    Judah looks between them. “You fought with Mr. Jackson?” 

    Buddy Red sighs again. 

    “When Mr. Jackson died in battle, Red here took his flag and led the men onward,” Marcus says. “A traitor to his own cause, in the end.” 

    “I was protecting my friends,” Buddy Red says. He holds out the gun, and Judah takes it. 

    “This is too much!” David says. 

    They walk out on the grounds, and they see lots of translucent people milling around the grounds. “Why didn’t we see them when we came in?” Judah asks. 

    “Y’all are getting more sensitive to the world of the dead, I suppose.” 

    Judah looks up at Buddy Red, who looks as solid and alive as any man. “Will I always be able to see ghosts now?” 

    Buddy Red remains stately and tired. “It fades away for most adults,” he says. “Sometimes people take a second look at me and could swear someone was there, but they can’t see me.” 

    “Seeing my parents die made it easier to see, too?” 

    Buddy Red nods. “You got a long road ahead of you, kid.” He finally looks down. “My boys… struggled. When I was gone.” 

    David finally composes himself enough to join them. “Well, he’s got me.” 

    Buddy Red nods and adjusts his hat. “Yaw sir, he does.” 

    Judah is holding the gun, and David takes it out of his hand. “I’ll hold it for now.” 

    They get back into the car. Marcus watches them with arms crossed. “So, what, Judah just goes to school and shoots him? Sounds like something you’d hear about on the news,” David says. 

    “We gotta makes some plans,” Buddy Red says. They drive back through town, and the people sitting on the porches seem much less aware of his shabby little car.

    View Full
  • It started out as an ordinary day at school, but then the girl with the notebook and beret walked in and beamed at us. She alternated between us, the students, and the teacher, until we started giggling. The teacher wouldn’t stand for that, so he was about to inquire. She pre-empted him.

    “Hello, my name is Norah. I’m here to sketch the class in progress?”

    The teacher had several questions. Norah had several answers. She had her permission from the headmistress, and it was written and signed and everything. The teacher had to hold it up to light, for some reason.

    “Okay, please sit,” he said at last, eyeing Norah one last time, too uncertain to be suspicious.

    Norah sat at the desk right next to mine. She didn’t just smile, she glimmered. Seeing her there, in her sewage-coloured dress and her dark red beret, it was hard to believe I was in class. It felt more like a dream.

    “Ishika, please,” the teacher said, knocking his chalk on the board a few times. I turned to him. “Pay attention.”

    That’s okay, I told myself. I didn’t need to look at the new girl to be cool. It was cooler to not notice her presence. Obviously.

    I almost did forget she was next to me, sketching the class. That is why I did not notice it when a crumpled ball of paper landed between my arms on the desk. I turned to Norah. Her eyes were looking at me, even if her face wasn’t.

    The ball of paper, when opened, was full of black strokes that only made sense when I flattened the paper with my palm. The writing was in a script I hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since my notebook had been stolen. The one with the script I’d invented.

    “Ishika,” the note said. “It’s you, isn’t it? If it is, then I will be able to tell when I look at you reading this.”

    I turned to look at Norah. She smiled at me, politely, and resumed sketching. I went back to reading, even as the teacher stroked the board with his chalk.

    “You left so much of yourself in the notebook. Can it be called a diary? Perhaps it was more than a diary. It was a part of you that you left behind. Like cells, dividing and become two. When you wrote in that notebook, in the script that you came up with, there became two Ishikas.”

    I realised that my scalp was flashing hot and cold. The other students looked dangerously on the cusp of looking at me. Laughing. The teacher could ask me a question at any time, and he’d realise I hadn’t been paying attention.

    “I became friends with one of those Ishikas. I was friends with her for years and years, until I started to think… maybe this Ishika will never grow up. But the other Ishika will. And just after I made that realisation, the notebook was stolen from me as well. I did not go looking for it.”

    I took a deep breath.

    “What would happen if both of those cells met again? Would they merge? You know they won’t. They’ll reject each other, violently, even. So maybe it’s best that I don’t have the book with me now, to show you. There’s no memories, good or bad, that I have to offer you. No nostalgia to trigger. I just have me. A friend you never knew.”

    I looked at Norah.

    “Ishika, please,” the teacher said. He was about to say more, but Norah got up from her seat instead.

    “Thank you so much, sir. I’ve finished my sketch.”

    The teacher looked at her incredulously. “Already?”

    Norah lifted her notebook and showed everyone the sketch she’d drawn of our class. It did not look very remarkable, so there wasn’t much of a reaction from anyone.

    “I still have to work on it, paint it, turn it into something really good,” she said, never breaking her smile.

    “Will you show us when it’s done?” the teacher smiled at her.

    Norah turned to me. “Of course,” she said, and shut her notebook. Just before she left, I saw her mouth “Not”.

    View Full
  • Sharing 

    by skull53


    Kara never share her food ever. Alex would know this since they grew up together.

    View Full
  • Corporate Miscommunications 

    by ohnice1


    Months after rekindling their friendship, Kara and Lena have a misunderstanding because sarcasm isn’t the only thing that doesn’t come across well over texts. Post-season 5 one-shot.

    View Full
  • Hey guys!

    So I’m realizing that I really haven’t read a lot of books written by POC, so if you’ve got any recommendations, pls drop them down below. Also POC musicians would be amazing. Thank you 💛

    View Full
  • i spend HOURS building my story in my mind and not once sit down to write. that’s how i know i’m a fake bitch, do not trust me.

    #it’s good ideas good characters perfect plot point but nothing on the keys #im a fake one not gonna lie #writer#writing#fanfic#fiction#fanfiction#thoughts
    View Full
  • from ‘Rosie’

    “Why did the packaging matter so much? The best men she had known, …the ones with whom new languages were invented, had chipped teeth or pockmarks, were fat or sixty or….”

    [Anne Lamott]

    View Full
  • #the priory of the orange tree #the priory of the orange tree spoilers #books#fiction#wlw fantasy#samantha shannon #ead x sabran #eadaz x sabran #areloth beck#meg beck#itcameuponamidnightqueer
    View Full