BreatheSPOILERS FOR SH2: A GAME OF SHADOWS!Summary: He silently cursed himself at the thoughts going through his head as he was trying to prevent his best friend from dying. Never had he thought their lips would meet in this way. | What should've happened in the movie. Light slash, Holmes/Watson.---"I know you can hear me, you selfish bastard!"One, push. One, push. Come on Holmes, don't you bloody die on me! One, push.He still wasn't moving.Trying his best to fight the panic that overcame him he bent down, putting his cheek to his mouth. Not even a ghost of breath.Holmes wasn't breathing.Holmes was going to die.Perhaps he already did…"NO!"His hands were getting sweaty from the quick, vigorous movements, but the adrenaline surged through his system, allowing him to keep going.One, push. One, push.Trying to make him exhale wasn't helping. What could he do?Was there anything he could do?
AudiocideIt isn't how I remembered it.The waiting. The hard return--the strike of something alive, twitching under a stratosphere at the bare edges of flickering displays and drifting starcharts. Days of First Contact drills in the ethereal holographic range of Sim-Deck Two. Three mission briefings, a twinge as my scouting unit is tapped for deployment. The hiss and rasp of rebreathers in the eternal dawn of Jump Airlock One.I know it isn't right.The drop. The plunge, ripping at the Helldiver's midsection. The tearing, it burns. Throws the shrieking of the stratosphere and the whining of stabilization jets and the ringing of alarms into a distant second place on the priority scale. Methane and phosphorous lick at my boots. The slipstream drags the limb appendages upright--It's just what I remember.Cloud cover evaporated in minutes, hot-white and searing blue. Landfall is scheduled in nine minutes minus. A sea of green-grey s
PTSD NightmareThe sound of gunfire awoke Frank from his uneasy sleepwalking. Over the sound of gunfire, Frank's commander began screaming for the men to run from the enemy was gaining fast on their heels.There was so much confusion, too many bodies surging forward, too little air to breathe, all snatched away by the terrified soldiers' pants and gasps. Because of all their gear and the humidity, sweat soon licked Frank's armpits, neck, and groin before moving onto the rest of his body. The air reeked with the stench of the mens' body odor and mixed strangely with the smell of wet vegetation. The sound of their pounding boots hitting the hard packed dirt was all Frank heard along with the not so far away gunfire. Adrenaline screamed through his veins, tightening his throat to the point of nearly suffocating him.At some point Frank was pushed from the middle of the group, the safest place, to the edge. "Let me in! Please!" he screamed desperately, trying to claw his way back in - he was drawing bloo
Mary-Sues: Part 2Mary-Sues Part 2: How Not to Write Like Your Character is a SueAfter reading Part 1 many, many times, I decided that another part would be helpful in that extra step. In Part 1, I described what a Mary-Sue/Marty-Sue etc. are, what they are not, and how to develop a proper character, in addition some of the reasons why some Suethors would create them (more or less on accident). This second part will go into more detail and give you tips on what not to write in your story that will tip your readers off that your characters might be underdeveloped, even if the character will be developed.MS don’t have specific physical, behavior, cliché traits, but in combination to impossible physics laws in the universe, along with underdeveloped personality especially with other characters, they come out to be boring and annoying to readers. Unlike Part 1, I failed to mention that it also depends on how the writer writes the story itself that their beloved characters can
My Brother, the Good Man Snow falls from the black sky, dancing in the moonlight. The soft crystals caress the girls porcelain skin, delicately balanced on the lashes that cover her frosty blue eyes. It is here that she sleeps, sleeping for the rest of eternity, never to wake again. That girl with the porcelain skin and the auburn hair had never been a normal child. She had no parents to belong to, and no true home. All she had was a man she called Brother. Now, there she lies, her body cold, her heart never to beat again. How do I know all of this? Once upon a time, I was that girl. My life, when I had one, was not the happiest life you could have lead. I traveled, alone and lost, seen but not found. I left my home at five years of age, being unable to handle it anymore. I stole for food, I scavenged for water. Never could I stay in one place. It was too risky. By the time I was eight, I had