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On his way to Titanic Park, Dan played with Betsey. He pressed buttons to see what they did. One turned her upside-down, and he gasped. “Wicked!” Dan switched to right-side up and pulled into Lot A of Titanic Park. He parked under a large pine and punched another button. At his command, three wheels popped out of Betsey—two in the back, one in the front—and hit the cement. “Even cooler!” Dan declared, hearing them. A coughing fit found its way into his good mood and lasted for a minute. His chest burned, and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “Whoa, what the heck?” Dan asked, pushing off the wheel. He rubbed his eye and opened Betsey’s door. “That was weird.” He never had a fit like that with his colds. Regardless, it was nothing a little cough syrup couldn’t fix. Dan could take some when he went home. Right now, he had to find Molly. Once outside, he said, “Betsey, lock!” and she obeyed. His cheerful mood returned, and his legs

The Raptorman was masked suit supervillain who's been predator to everyone that see him. His maximum speed was 120 mph. his claw was the light energy beam. He's pretty great at hunting. He was expert at brawling. He could be serial killer in disguise. He could be thirst for blood. He could be very scary guy.

Peanut: Ahh, what an amazing morning! I get to enjoy some tuna pancakes! (Peanut walks upstairs to PB&J's room, but hears snoring coming from inside, which is actually Jelly that was snoring soundly and sleeping) (Peanut thought of an idea on how to wake Jelly up. He thought about tickling Jelly, which makes her laugh) (Peanut goes to his, Butter's and Jelly's room, and jumps on Jelly's bed) Peanut: Get ready, Jel, cause you're gonna be waking up with laughter! (Peanut gets ready to tickle Jelly, which made her giggle and wake her up) Peanut: She's waking up! Jelly: Who's tickling me? (giggling) (Peanut then started to blow raspberries on Jelly's tummy, which made her laugh harder) Jelly: You wanna tickle fight, Peanut? It's on! (Jelly and Peanut start to run out of the room) Jelly: Get back here! You started it! Peanut: Catch me first! (Ernest and Opal are in the kitchen, chatting as usual.) Peanut: Can't catch me! Ernest: Who's Peanut running from? Jelly: Get back here, Peanut! You

Story Title- Meddlers and Monsters Pt. 1: The Case of the Devouring Beast PAGE ONE-PAGE TWO Panel 1: At a high angle long shot of a van driving on a highway to a city. CAPTION (TIME/LOCATION): Summer Grove, California October 14th, 1970, 2241 Local Time… Daphne Blake: Is that it? Fred Jones: Yeah, Summer Grove, California. Shaggy Rogers: Like, it looks like L.A… Hope they have any five star restaurants there Scooby-Doo: Uh-huh. Panel 2: Cut to a POV shot, a young woman looking at her laptop. Velma Dinkley: Looks can be deceiving… As you can see, the EMF is off the charts. SFX: beep, whirring Daphne Blake: Jeepers… That is alarming. I guess that means our hunch was correct. Panel 3: At a close-up shot, viewing from the side, as Fred’s hands were on the steering wheel. Fred Jones: I guess it was a good thing we were in the area, eh, gang? Daphne Blake: For sure… Right there, Fred. See that parking lot. That should be a good place to pull over. Looks like it's about the

“Editing and Criticism” I do editing for my literature. I am a critic of my own writing. From editing, I must be a critic of my own writing. This is the real nature of every good writer. To be a good writer, you must be willing to criticize and edit your own writing. Unless you are willing to criticize your own writing, you will never do editing. Criticism is a requirement for editing. Criticism is a requirement for every editor. Without criticism, there is no editing. When there is no criticism, there is no editing, and there is no writing. Every author must be his or her own critic and hear other critics. Or else, authorship will be impossible. There is no other way. Sure, you need a lot of writing skills to be an author. But, to be an author, you must be willing to hear criticism from yourself and others. Without that criticism, editing is impossible and writing is impossible. Criticism is a requirement for literature. Teachers are critics in schools. They must be

Fight the desire Resist the have to, Need to, want to, Chain vices to the tree, Smoked but never burning, Parasite of temptation, Guide not my hands astray Or my heart Stoke the new flame Embrace the dry Submit to withdraw Reborn Phoenix anew.

Mystery Lake [18] Exit Roxanne's legs remained shaky as she helped Jake tidy up and organize everything. Whenever she felt like she needed it, she would lean against him or grab the wall for support. She cheerfully suggested that she fold everything neatly, something Jess had reserved as her job back at the dorms because... Well, while Joel had exuberance and strength, he couldn't figure this stuff out. Looking down at the items to be consolidated, Roxanne concentrated her determination, poised her small hands, and grabbed the garments to perform just as professionally as her former girlfriend. A few minutes in, it was clear that nothing so far had granted the poor girl a coordination boost. She pouted and laid everything out as neatly as possible for Jake to complete properly. Watching Jake, same as Jess, flip, fold, and stack together all the clothes they just changed out of into a perfectly neat pile literally rivaled magic. She pantomimed the movements, but it didn't help. Joel

“Habit and Record” You can get a habit. You can get a record. But, without a record, it’s difficult to prove habit, maybe impossible. For example, observe the high school degree you probably have. You graduated from high school. It’s your record. It’s not just a long past. A business may require workers to graduate from high school first. A high school degree is a requirement for so many businesses. For a business like that, you need a high school degree to work there. You cannot just walk into the business and say, “Well, I do not have a high school degree, but I read a lot of books!” This quote would never work out for the business and you. They need a worker with a high school degree, not a reading hobby. You do not likely have any record for your own private reading hobby. Your high school degree is the record, not your own private reading hobby. The business needs your records. Sure, you can “read a lot” of books for personal hobby. But, for the record, the business needs

He only sings behind closed doors. He thinks his song lacks magic. He thinks he’s made of rock and coal. Burned and cold and hardened. But in that rock live veins of gold. They twist along his spine. And at his core - a golden god. He is indeed divine.

Ch. 1 Religion Nathan saw him from a mile away. The pretty scars that scolded the lower half of his face only served to make him unforgettable. He was hard not to notice with the blonde, bouncy curls that he had for hair. Shoulder length, he noted. Not to mention his eyes. Blue eyes that seemed to be out of focus and not paying attention to the crowd. “Nathan, pay attention. This is the only chance you’ll get at getting off parole.” A stern voice ordered as a nudge interrupted Nathan’s admiration. “They could’ve picked something else for me to do other than this boring God shit,” Nathan said blatantly, following his outburst with a rude groan. “Only thing I can focus on is Father Mallory's scars.” “That’s enough,” The man to Nathan’s right, Officer Wilder, replied in annoyance. “I bring my family to this church. We get enough looks as it is, with me bringing your people in here after you commit such heinous crimes.” Wilder

She was unafraid, for he was unaware of her presence. She was resolute in this belief. Across the vast expanse from her village to the fern grove, she trailed him like a shadow. How she loathed him… yet her fear for him was even greater. Countless times she was tempted to turn back, admitting the futility of her mission. Yet the bitterness and anguish of her loss consumed her. Revenge— that was the sole antidote, the only way to reclaim the life she once had. To rise with the dawn, to wash in the river beside their cottage, to break bread with her family, and then to join her father in the fields, assisting him with the harvest, sowing, reaping, sowing... But her family was no more. Her father was gone. And the architect of this tragic fate now treaded on, shadowed by her, spreading death wherever he ventured. "Just like now," a thought darted through her mind. Indeed, in the path of her quarry stood an imposing figure of a man, clad in what seemed like sturdy and formidable armor.

You're birthday party wishes; the first time I danced in the rain, the flavour of vanilla, on the tongue, from Ginsberg's poetry, your kiss tastes of ocean foam hitting the beach's sand, like a force of nature... Doesn't even know it. Its own strength -It can't acclaim. Would you be afraid? If I said, that if you'd tell me you donned me my first breath... I'd believe it. And on the pews, you're a force like the mass; the priest, the bible and leader. Because I was alone In The Dark, until your eyes pierced through. I was hungry for everything, cold to everything and I cried, for midnight became my noon. You painted my walls with your flames and made me come out where all around was alive. You are all that is living, all that is beautiful, all that can bloom and breathe. And when it was needed to thrive, to birth the warmth and light, when it was absolutely necessary to revive -fire was the prayer, The boy is not the God

“Death and the Future of Literature” Authors will pass away when they’re old enough to go on. They will die. But, their literature will be permanent records for all eternity. Let’s talk about something important. Let’s create science fiction for ourselves about dead authors. Authors from the past are often gone into the afterlife. They are not living here with modern people from today. Modern people remember the past with so much confusion. Readers will probably think their dead authors are still living. Of course, this is not possible. The dead authors are gone. Let’s create science fiction about this idea. Let’s say this: Let’s say, we bring a dead author back to life. We bring a dead author back to life. We can even call him Frankenstein. The dead author comes back to life after death from so long ago. We bring him back to life. And, we tell him the truth about modern society. We give him general information on the truth of the day. We give him modern evidence. We give him

Chapter 11: Schemers at The Music House It had been a week and a half since Navix had left for his job request, Ivan had begun to grow a bit restless, but managed to hold onto his sanity and subsided his worry as their younger sister, Navi, would keep him busy with having him help her train her magic. Ivan had grown to be very impressed with Navi’s natural ability to master magic, and he would praise her for her quick learning pace that she showed. She then would chuckle and appreciate the compliments her brother would give to her, but would also redirect the compliments to her instructors, Gin and Edward, as she began to take extra tutelage under them to further expand and learn new styles of magic. “You sure are covering ground with your studies Vi.” Noted Ivan as he took a seat on the floor to catch his breath. “I guess studying under two extremely well trained mages has its perks.” “Yeah, both Ms. Gin and Professor Edward have been helping me in understanding how to use

Koda looks at his own feet for a moment. “I- No. We can handle it.” He says like he's trying to convince himself more than Jae or Penn. "How, Koda?" Penn questions, giving his fellow Rad-Giant an inquisitive look. Jae also glances over to Koda. Koda laughs nervously. “Well… We’re Rad-Giants.” He says simply. "What, you're gonna eat everyone?" Jae says sarcastically. Penn continues to look at Koda as well. "What do you mean by that?" Koda chuckles awkwardly. “No- I mean.. We could…” He tries to explain. “Penn, we’re Rad-Giants. We’re bigger and stronger and more durable. We could eat humans if we wanted to.” "You've made your point." Penn says blankly. "But sadly, being able to doesn't help us, unless we want to be monsters." Jae is silent, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not-... That’s not the point.” Koda argues. “It’s about… Proving a point. Being in charge.” "So that’s your plan?!" Jae asks incredulously. "Just eat some people?! Rule through fear and death?!" Penn doesn't

[Author's Note: Hey, guys! Today is Friday, and I felt like posting something! This is yet another project I've been working on behind the scenes for a while now, as well as yet another story based on the works of GHOST! In particular, this story was based on two songs: Honey I'm Home and Entomologists. This story was also based off of some mythology stories I read WAY back in the day as a kid! As usual, if you spot any sort of errors with my writing or wish to give me criticism, please tell me in the comments! With this out of the way, please sit back, relax, and enjoy the story!] The sound of buzzing and humming awoke Mothku from her dream as she released a yawn from her mouth. Okay, maybe “dream” wasn’t the right word for what Mothku saw in her recent slumber. The correct term would be “vision”, as the things Mothku saw when she was asleep seemed all too real even for a dream. What did she see? Insects. Lots and LOTS of insects. However, they weren’t your typical creepy crawlies

“C’mon, you know you gotta do it man.” The young kid let out a defeated sigh, combing his hands through his hair, from the corner of his eye he spotted Angela. Her dirty blonde locks glistened in the morning rays, peaking through the leaves. His eyes were locked onto her, noticing her tan skin all the way down to her jubilant smile that melted his heart. He felt his stomach already fluttering with butterflies at the thought of asking her. “I don’t know,” He recoiled in pain as a hot pain left a red handprint on his nape. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know?! This is your last chance, after this, we’re all going to who knows where for college. We get to finally leave this bum fuck of a town!” Nathan rubs his neck, attempting to massage the pain away. “It’s not easy, Eric! What am I supposed to say, oh hey, I know we’ve been friends but I wanna know if you and I alone can go on a summer trip before we both go to college.” Eric stared slack-jawed. “Yes! Exactly that!”

I trudged through the blizzard and fought against the raging ice and snowstorms. "Red sun, red sun over paradise," played in my mind as I drove my body against the storm. Despite the raging hail's onslaught, I fought against it with every step, each sending shivers of pain through my legs as my weak bones took the brunt of my steps. On top of that, the snow we trudged through reached much past my legs and halfway up my long legs. I grunted in pain as my leg armour did little to support my balance; keep going, I thought to myself as I channelled Guard to my legs to support my frame. However, doing that required me to focus on maintaining it. Course Guard was the style I had the most practice in as I had been using it ever since I broke one of my bones as a kid, and I never wanted to go through that agony again. The Leg had to be cut off and regenerated using potions; I grunted in pain as I remembered it took a whole month to regenerate cell by cell. I cursed the fact that I was a