/* PCD change http to https for CSRF JUL 2017 */ The Icarus Prophecy {Pilgrims of Moradaan, Book One} Prologue ;; part i (cc would be nice) | KidPub Press //
The Icarus Prophecy {Pilgrims of Moradaan, Book One} Prologue ;; part i (cc would be nice)

The Icarus Prophecy {Pilgrims of Moradaan, Book One} Prologue ;; part i (cc would be nice)

Posted February 7th, 2016 by Frostblaze

by -
in the planet sakaar

a/n: hey hey hey! this look familiar? those of you who are acquainted with my story "the icarus omen," i have made a decision to humanize the story. things may or may not be vastly different, but please enjoy c:

 

 It was strong, the urge to fall asleep to the lullaby of hundreds of cacophonous voices all clamoring together, hammering against the tall ceilings, fighting to be the dominant tone.

    The Benevolent and Esteemed King Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose, trying with all his might to ward off the headache gripping his temples with an iron fist. He blinked his eyes open, surveying the blurry scene before him, one with which he was acquainted.

    The massive meeting hall was overflowing with Heritides all sitting at the polished tables stretching out before Grayson. Their candle-lit shadows danced and sprang on the red satin walls, resembling something primitive, resembling something animalistic. The scent of wine hung in the air, the only thing that stymied Grayson from losing his grip on his sanity. He had been taking small, dainty sips of the tempting red liquid, letting it flow through his system in a way that would allow him to savor it. As a cause the Heritides’ animated antics, goblets of wine kept toppling over and dripping onto the velvet carpet. Servants flitted about the room in a fury, attempting to wipe up the messes and refilling goblets.

    “It’s not fair!” one of the Heritides cried out, his strained voice rising above all the others. He placed his hands flat against the table, knocking over his goblet in the process. His dark brown eyes bore into Grayson’s, his mouth twisted in a snarl. “We are a free people! We demand a change of governor on our behalf.”

    “Why!” came the governor of the Heritides, Wilbur Treaty. He himself was one of their race, a tall, round man with a nasally voice and a face that resembled that of a fox. “What is it about me that displeases you so?”

    A stocky woman stood up, pointing a finger at Governor Treaty. “You care nothing for your own people, you traitor! We slave away in Grayson’s streets living under his tyranny while you sit on your fat ass all the day long, eating peeled grapes and drinking cocktails!”

    A hearty cheer of agreement clashed in the air as the Heritides rose their clenched fists.

    “What have you done to free the slaves living in Raen?” an elderly man demanded, his voice low and trembling with effort.

    “The people of the Raen are a kind one,” Governor Treaty replied smoothly. “Surely, you can’t think that the Heritides have a bad life there, hmm?” He quirked one bushy eyebrow, his fingers stroking his wispy brown beard.

    “We are meant to be your equals!” someone else shouted. “We are not meant to grovel at your feet because you claim to be Senboe’s Chosen!”

    Another cheer.

    “Claim? Claim to be?” The youngest of the governors, Ashton Orwell, jumped to his feet, his high-backed chair toppling to the carpet in his wake. Governor Orwell surveyed the Heritides with a ferocious gleam in his bright blue eyes. “We are Senboe’s Chosen! Spoken from the prophetess Aramenia, Senboe planned it so we would be your saviors!” He pointed a long finger, addressing each of the Heritides. “And this is how you repay us? Eh? Had it not been for us and Senboe’s blessed prophecy which you take for granted now, you would still all be in the desert with those barbaric tribes, many of you waiting for the day on which you would be sacrificed to their cannibalistic, sadistic gods!”

    Silence crashed in on the room as Governor Orwell’s sonorous voice hummed faintly in the air.

    Grayson smiled, impressed. Oh, he had chosen well in selecting Governor Orwell for the parliament. He had a way with words, and Grayson swore that no other citizen of Moradaan was as learned in history as he.

    The children’s governor ran a hand through his long sandy hair to fix it, then seated himself, a look of pretentious triumph on his long face.

    “Well said, Governor,” Grayson said, taking the silence as an opportunity to take hold of the conversation. “I feel…that we do not get the credit we deserve. We took your people in hundreds of years ago, every single Heritide struggling for a home away from the oppression of the—”

    “Only to find ourselves suffocating under worse persecution and oppression here!” someone yelled, which prompted the other Heritides burst out with hear, hear!’s and protests directed at the governors and King Grayson.

    The king winced, furious with himself. He had let that dirty word oppression slip from his lips. He could almost feel the disapproval emanating from the governors. Panicking the slightest bit, Grayson racked his brain for a method to regain control over the argument once more.

    But he found himself drowning under the pressure and the volume of the Heritides cries and shouts.

    “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. I need a drink, he thought. He caught the dark green garment of a passing servant and said to him, “Bring me another wine.” He handed the young man his goblet. The servant bowed and rushed off to fill it up.

    “Can I say something?” someone screamed, a furious, high-pitched note that drove nails through Grayson’s skull.

    The Heritides fell silent. A small, slight Heritidess stood up, her fiery red hair spilling from her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes fastened onto Grayson’s pinning them. She did a small curtsy, smoothed the silk fabrics of her golden tunic. “Your Majesty…if I may speak so boldly, we do not ask for much. We simply cannot see why you cannot see why you must grant us more liberty, more freedom.” She paused, her eyes flicking away from Grayson’s, then snapping back into position. She hardened her voice as she continued: “We only ask that we choose our governor. That is the purpose of this meeting.” Her tone held a sharp note, as if this diplomatic young woman were reprimanding her fellow Heritides for being so unprofessional. “As you can most clearly see, we are all weary.” Her gaze turned beseeching, the hard lines on her face softening. “My king…we do not see Governor Treaty fit to be our representor. We would ask but for someone more in favor of our interests to be at your right hand, if you will allow it.

    “Lord, we do so appreciate what your sires had done for us, bringing us into his kingdom. Moradaan has granted us so many blessings. But…we want more freedom. It is in human nature to want freedom, yes? Surely you can understand that. We want our children to grow up in a world of equality. A world where they will not be subjugated to a world of harsh judgement and oppression. We want our children to grow up and pursue their dreams. And…we feel we cannot exploit that in this kingdom. My king, will you not consider it?”

    King Grayson leaned back, one finger stroking his chin. She made a good argument, she did. Her speech had filled him with something he had to admit he could get used to. A strange sensation that made him straighten up. Something in the way she had begged had prompted this.

    That’s it, he thought. She was begging. I…why, I do like her begging.

    It was power, that feeling. It surged through him, the arrogance, the pride.

    She’s begging me. Not any of those governors. Me. The King of Moradaan.

    He smirked, then put on a different face. A face of boredom, a face that suggested he was considering her words, but his decision would most likely not be in her favor.

    “So…what you’re asking,” came another Heritide, a skinny man with a beard spilling down onto his lap, “is to invoke the title Duchess Heritidess? It’s a grand idea, it is!”

    Grayson stiffened, his eyes widening. He felt the rage flow through him. As if they thought they would need any other monarch but him.

    Seated in the chair closest to the king, Governor Alistair Coulson leaned towards Grayson, his oily voice a step above a whisper: “My King, the title Duchess Heritidess would be a gateway; first it is a co-ruler, then it is rebellion. Rebellion is a dangerous thing, My Liege…especially brewing in the mind of such a powerful figure as a duchess.”

    “That’s what I’m thinking,” Grayson snapped, curling his lip at Governor Coulson. As if Grayson had even been considering the prospect!

    Spreading his hands wide, Grayson addressed the whole room as he said, “Didn’t the stargazer Ereme once state that discontent was the root of all sorrow? For hundreds of years, Moradaan has lived under one monarch. And now…now, of all times, the rebellion is rising. Why?” His voice sharpened. “What has wrought such revolt?”

    At that moment, the servant returned carrying Grayson’s goblet.

    “About damn time,” the king growled under his breath, glowering at the servant.

    Cheeks flushing red, the young man dipped low in an apologetic bow and dashed out of the room.

    Grayson took a deep slug of the wine, letting the liquid burn his throat on its course to his bowels. He stifled a belch, clenching his fist and pressing it against his chest.

    And he was willing to let the governors take control of the meeting with the Heritides. Willingly, he slipped into a trance, one he had been entering for quite some time now. A daze in which only he and his wine and his brewing thoughts existed. He eased against his chair, the hard wood digging into his back. Frustrated with the Heritides’ persistence, he thought back: When had this all begun? When had they called the first meeting to discuss their unfair and oppressive living conditions in Moradaan? One of the very first meetings, he recalled, had been about the separate school buildings for the Heritide children and Senboe’s Chosen children. Perhaps most monarchs would have given in by now, but Grayson was different. He was obstinate, he was steadfast, he was immovable. But lately Grayson had been feeling as though he was losing his place. He felt as if the Heritides would overthrow him and his governors. He did not doubt their capabilities. That was one lesson he’d learned through this whole ordeal.

    Rebellion was a dangerous thing, indeed.

    But you are the king,something in his head told him. The voice was silky, persuasive, and Grayson almost believed it was tangible.

    But this voice, it had been talking to him ever since he’d been both plagued and gifted with these trances.

    Grayson had accepted it as something normal now.

    Have you forgotten that? Have you forgotten what you are here for, Your Grace? This time Grayson was certain it was mocking him. Maybe only in good humor, but Grayson refused to take it as anything but a challenge. That was what it was, a challenge. Just like this whole meeting.

    A challenge.

    I have not!Grayson thought, speaking to the voice as he often did when it paid him a visit. You dare challenge my authority?

    You seem to have no problem with letting those…lesser humans do so, the voice retorted smugly.

    What is there to do against them? Grayson thought.

    Are you the king, or aren’t you? the voice snarled. Grayson, you must do something, anything against this! It’s madness.

    What is there to do? Grayson repeated. He could feel the Heritides’ screaming and shouting vibrating against his eardrums, but they were muffled. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. In fact, now that he paid it mind, they seemed to be moving in slow motion.

    He was out of it.

    Correct me if I’m wrong, but last I checked, the kingmade the decisions. The kingwas in charge. Right?

    Grayson was forced to agree. Yes.

    Perhaps now would be the time to act like a ruler.The voice became sharp and garbled, its words distorted with an array of varying tones. The tone dropped an octave, grew stronger and deeper. It drove bolts of pain through Grayson’s skull.

    Gritting his teeth, the king screwed his eyes shut, weakly reached up to brush his temples. How? How can I stop this? All the kingdom’s Heritides are rebelling against me. There is no way to stop what is coming.

    Oh…but there is. The voice, almost back to normal, was rich with promise.

    I’m listening. Grayson sat a little straighter, breathing a sigh of relief as the pain faded. Forgive me, but…I can’t picture. I…how can I know if you’re real? What if you’re a mere figment of my imagination? What if I’m losing my mind?

    You aren’t.

    How can I know?Grayson persisted. I want to see you.

    You aren’t meant to. It sounded like the voice was struggling to stay tolerant.

    But…I don’t think this is happening to me. How many drinks have I had?He counted on his fingers. Only two.

    I can promise you, I’m real. Maybe realer than you. Grayson could tell that the voice was losing patience, and quickly.

    Grayson was getting frustrated and even more curious by the moment. But can’t I see you?

    The voice breathed out for a while, a sigh that sent shivers down Grayson’s spine. Do you truly want to, Grayson?

    Yes! Grayson insisted, satisfaction rising in his chest. I need to know to whom I’m speaking.

    If you insist… The voice sighed in defeat, then said, So be it. Look into your wine, Grayson, and you’ll see me. But you mustn’t show fear, mustn’t draw attention to us.

    Grayson felt a twinge of reluctance, but he pulled his golden goblet towards him. Below the lip, emeralds encircled it, glinting green beauty. Grayson peered into the blood red liquid, seeing his classically handsome face wavering on the surface.

    What he saw next startled him.

    Two dark orbs appeared where his own eyes would be, and they replaced the shine of them, burning into the king’s skull. A head took shape, altering the broad angle that was Grayson’s face. His jaw almost hung slack, and his mouth merged into a large, gaping hole filled with rows and rows of bone-white fangs. Grayson wanted to scream, but his throat constrained as if someone was seizing it with a vice grip.

    But who was he to say that it was only his mind playing with him?

    This feeling was real. This feeling was wicked.

    Hush now, the voice purred. Did you get what you wanted?

    There was only silence and that ugly voice. The governors, the servants, and the Heritides were all frozen in place, expressions twisted with fury as they screamed at one another.

    Who are you? Grayson asked through his mind.

    Who am I? I don’t even know for sure, Grayson. But let us say that I’m the cold chill under your covers when you fall asleep. I am the thoughts that keep you awake in the wee small hours of the night. I am all your evil thoughts. I am all your sins. I am all your hatred, and I’m growing.

    Grayson felt a chill rush through his body, felt himself quivering with terror. That shape in the wine was moving as the thing spoke to him, its disgusting mouth moving in time to the words, weaving a horror.

    Do you want to know what prompted this rebellion, Grayson? Do you want to know what will be the catalyst of your downfall?

    Grayson nodded, the urge to breathe clenching his lungs. Black spots danced in his vision. He raised a hand, clawing at his throat.

    I think you already know…but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s HIM. The word was spoken with such meaning, such ferocity, such passion.

     HIM, Grayson thought. Do you mean…?

    Yes, Grayson, the thing replied. His only desire has ever been to wrench away what little you have. Are you going to let him?

    Never! Grayson thought, fury stirring in his chest. Ugly memories flashed through his mind of that certain Heritide with his baleful orange eyes.

    The king knew what he had to do.

    Do you understand, my darling? the voice asked.

    A plan was taking shape in Grayson’s mind, all piecing together at an insurmountable speed. Outcomes sped through his brain, and he saw himself triumphing over his perfect kingdom, free and safe once again.

    Ahh, now we’re on the same page, the voice cackled.

    And then time was set back in motion. Grayson could breathe again. The governors and Heritides came back to life, their sudden jarring shouts piercing Grayson’s ears.

    He was back in his havoc of a meeting room.

    A few Heritides were scrutinizing him.

    “Your Majesty?” asked one woman, bushy eyebrows drawn together with concern. “Are you all right?”

    “Should we summon Christopher again?” a Heritide asked, looking at the people beside him for an answer.

    “That won’t be necessary,” Grayson snapped. The last thing he wanted was for his son to come in and see what the kingdom was turning into.

    He had a new take on the subject of the rebellion of the Heritides. Grayson was king of Moradaan, like that voice had said; he’d led the Host of Moradaan into battle countless times; he’d seen gallons of blood spilled on his behalf.And that was undoubtedly a sight he wouldn’t mind seeing once more.

    He made the decisions. He was in charge. He wasn’t going to relent.

    He held his head grandly, a smirk on his face. He opened his mouth to propose a new idea, but someone apparently beat him to it.

    “I’ve got it!” A tall Heritide stood up, a wild grin on his face. He silenced the arguing Heritides and governors. “The solution.” He addressed Grayson. “Your Highness, how would you feel if you stepped down from the throne? In my opinion,” he hurried on before Grayson could object, “it would be best for everyone, including you, especially you, if you abdicated.”

    Abdicated…as in, removed from office. Deposed…as in, taken out of office. Stepped down from the throne…as in, losing control on my kingdom… Grayson thought numbly, staring down at the polished table. Once the initial shock faded, the rage came rolling through him. His fists itched to punch something. Instead, he reached over slowly and clutched his goblet, dragging it over to him. He took deep breaths, trying to rein in his fury. An outburst would be most undignified. He rolled his shoulders back and finally replied in a constrained tone, “Oh, yes? Is that what you really think, eh? Hmm.” He stroked his chin with two fingers. “Oh, wait…yes, whom do you suggest take my place? A ruler of Moradaan must have royal blood, yes?” He took a long, slow sip of his wine.

    “Why…Prince Christopher, of course.”

    Grayson sucked a draught of wine into his lungs. His goblet slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor. In an attempt to expel the drink from his lungs, Grayson hacked, his chest and throat burning as he did so. A servant rushed to his aid and pounded against Grayson’s back to assist the choking king. Blinking tears out of his eyes, Grayson shoved the servant away as he caught his breath again. Heat scorched his face as he found hundreds of pairs of eyes all on him.

    “My Liege, are you all right?” Governor Coulson asked.

    “I’m fine!” Grayson barked. He cleared his throat and looked at the expectant Heritide, still shocked that the young man had even suggested such a thing. “Prince Christopher, you say?”

    “Is he not in line for the throne?” someone asked.

    Grayson swallowed. The room was too hot, his tunic too rough. “Ye-e-es…yes, Chris is…technically in next in line for the king’s position. He’s a mere boy, though!”

    “A wise boy, though. Lots of promise he shows. Perhaps he can rule in your stead!” The young man who had proposed the (preposterous) idea gazed around his fellow Heritides. “Thoughts?”

    “I think it’s a grand idea,” a fat elderly man said, rubbing his chin. “After all, he would be a fair ruler, and he would fight against the inequality with a passion, he would.”

    The Heritides began voicing their agreement, their tones ringing loudly through the meeting room.

    Worse, Grayson could see the governors lean together and talk in low undertones. Their simple gestures and mannerisms were more than enough to give Grayson a hint as to what they were discussing. A nod of approval. A lowering of the eyebrows. A finger against the mouth. A hand cupping the chin. Eyebrows raising in agreement.

   Without warning, a tall, broad-shouldered woman jumped up, her deep voice booming above all the others. “Yes, Christopher is a terrific young man. His tutor has been bragging on him of late; he’s saying he’s never seen so much promise in a future king. We could expect equal taxes from him. Perhaps he’d even free the slaves in the city of Raen! We could be able to trust him with our lives, couldn’t we?” Passion laced her tone. Her movements were so animated, her long amber hair spilled out of her bun. “He would treat us like we are Senboe’s Chosen, wouldn’t he?” She gazed around her fellow Heritides, raising her arms.

    With those simple words, she evoked some kind of ancient voice within their souls. This time a small woman sat taller in her chair and cried, “Indeed! He would build schools for all the children of Moradaan, both Heritides and Senboe’s Chosen. He would abolish the harsh treatment many of our people face in some of Moradaan’s cities.

    A massive man stood up, his exposed biceps flexing as he pushed his hands flat against the table’s smooth surface. “He’d bring about equal rights.”

   A short older woman stood up. “He would pay us the respect and love we deserve as people.”

   The amber-haired woman spoke again: “These horrible days would end immediately.”

    The Heritides shouted their approval, their cries resonating in the meeting room. Even after they died down, the unintelligible echoes still hung in the tense atmosphere. Indistinct chatter arose from the crowd.

    Finally Grayson couldn’t stand the mutiny anymore. Throwing dignity and saving face to the wind, he stood up and slammed his hands on the table. “I will never give up my right to this kingdom. This is mine. I’ve worked hard to get where I am! I won’t give this up as long as I still draw breath. May Senboe grant me long life to rule over Moradaan, mutinous as it is!” he shouted, making a fist.

    A shocked silence fell on the Heritides. The governors nodded their approval, encouraging Grayson to go on.

    Grayson straightened up, brushed his hand across his gray tunic and straightened it. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair, then cleared his throat. “That being said...I have thought of a solution that you might find suitable.” He reached out to stop a servant woman. “Bring me a feather pen and paper.”

    “My Lord, when you say solution,” Governor Orwell said, “what do you mean?”

    Still standing, Grayson shrugged, a fluid, elegant roll of the shoulders. He tilted his head to the side. “The Heritides want independence. Understandable, is it not? Admirable. There comes a time within a people when they must be lessened upon.” He gave a benevolent smile. “If they think they’re ready for that, then by all means, let them come up and prove it, why don’t they?” The smile became a smirk. “Now, would one of you do me a favor? Who is at my disposal?”

    A red-haired young man stood up from the table and crossed the floor to the king, the buckles on his boots clinking against one another. Hands tucked behind his back, he bowed at the waist, then straightened. The pendant on his necklace resembled a small golden leaf. His dark skin was beaded with sweat, and his Adam’s apple kept bobbing up and down. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty? What can I do for you?”

    “If you would be so kind,” Grayson said, shooting the Heritides a grin, “bring in Roderick Grodle.”


See more stories by -
Without warning, a tall,

Without warning, a tall, broad-shouldered woman she-cat jumped up, her deep voice booming above all the others.

^you accidentally say she-cat here

 

as someone who has a page where my character is referred to as blonde and another where she's brunette I know your pain. 

I like this humanized! It's more relatable in my opinion :3 I think I like this new Grayson a little bit. A little bit, mind you, and I often like everyone. 

I've only created one character I hate with a passion *shudders* he is very... very... terrible. 

Everyone else I'm at least semi-okay with. 

I also like the word "Heritide." how'd you come up with it? And "Senboe's Chosen" for the dogs. Very nice!!

____________________________________________________________

Spero quod via tua est directa et quod tuum onus est levis.

Posted by *Snow* doorkeeper on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 15:40
what would i actually do

what would i actually do without you x'D thanks.

yeah but hair colors and species are a little bit different c'x man, keeping track with characters' looks and species is so harddddd

thank you! i don't remember, actually o.o i just thought about different words and stuff and i was like hey this is a cool word. 

i'm glad you like it so far C: i'm a little fond over grayson too but this might be because i keep picturing him as richard armitage? idk man

 

so

nearly

free

Posted by madelyn is a dreamer on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 15:45
oh idk what you'd do

oh idk what you'd do probably have a lot of she-cat humans up in there

oh oh oh ik ik just writing tolkien fanfiction is all like "dude wait is it the house of hador that's fair-haired or is it beor oops" and ome when you can't decide what a character looks like ;.; it's terrible. The Hermitides seem to be auburn-haired most of the time, is that a species thing?? :3

^^that there is the best way to come up with new words ever

^^^that there is the best reason to be fond of a character ever

and Richard Armitage totally plays Grayson, I mean, he's done the whole "corrupted king" thing before amirite 

I love this story, it's so much fun. Chris is the greatest guy, I can't wait to see how you do him human-style :P

____________________________________________________________

Spero quod via tua est directa et quod tuum onus est levis.

Posted by Gracithe1andonly on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 16:55
that, love, is what happens

that, love, is what happens when you copy and paste and forget to edit one smol word x'DDD

man, don't i know it...remember that teacher!maedhros fanfic i sent you? i think i was going to make earendil a student but that would be hecka weird considering elROS AND ELROND ARE HIS SONS COME ON MADIE

*heritides cx but yeah, i'm trying to come up with a specific look for them...never created a new race before o.o maybe darker skin all around? auburn hair, ice blue eyes...okay, remember moses? he's actually a heritide too because that would add more conflict for chris b/c the poor bby will always be worrying about meeting him in battle

 

yeah but then you have to google it to make sure it's not already like a small town in iraq (that actually happened)

it is, isn't it? c'x

i...actually never thought of that before o.o except fans are supposed to love thorin - grayson's just a big jackass all the way around cx

hey, thanks, man, that means a lot C: chris would prrrrrrrrrrrrrrrobably look like andrew garfield? /ihavetostoppicturinghimasbenbarnesfirstthough/

 

so

nearly

free

Posted by madelyn is a dreamer on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 17:33
oh man the

oh man the teacher!maedhros

that thing still makes me v. happy when I think about it

i was swimming and it popped into my head and i smiled so big i took in water

oh and when that happens when I'm writing fanfiction i usually make them brothers or cousins or something of the sort. 

 

oh oh heritides .-. sorry, that's awkward. I'll just have to get used to this

and i would recommend giving yourself some wiggle room on race appearances because face shapes are hard to describe. Maybe the hair should have catlike colors, like some of them have white hair that randomly decided to grow patches of brown bc tHAT'S TOTALLY BIOLOGICALLY POSSIBLE

ahem

 

i know i'll google my character's names to make sure of things like that

i had one of those things happen before

my protagonist's dad shares a name with a character in a book called "in his silks"

read the synopsis for that, compare that with what you know of my writing style, and laugh your pretty head off. 

 

yayayay picturing charries as celebrities xD not a problem with me usually but sometimes man sometimes 

my problem is seeing people who look like my characters in real life and being all like @O@

 

____________________________________________________________

Spero quod via tua est directa et quod tuum onus est levis.

Posted by *Snow* doorkeeper on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 18:02
eeee i'm so glad wait whAT I

eeee i'm so glad

wait

whAT

I ALMOST MADE YOU DROWN

WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT

I'M SORRY

 

haha, that's okay...still getting used to it meself o.o

ooh ooh that's not a bad idea. good advice...thank you C:

how awkward would that be if your character shared a celeb's name

 

yesyesyesyes i have made my decision: chris is andrew garfield.

i looked it up...and i'm not sure i found the right book? restrained series, book one? ...if so, i am concerned

 

 

so

nearly

free

Posted by madelyn is a dreamer on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 19:11
no nonono I wouldn't drown

no nonono I wouldn't drown it takes a bit more than one gulp of water to incapacitate me :P i am swimming aragorn

(well no i'm not but i am pretty tough at this point)

 

i actually have a "Gylan Anderson" but he's a guy so everything's fine

 

Chris is definitely Andrew Garfield you're right. So right.

 

i kNOW ISN'T IT SO HILARIOUS
 

BC MY ALEX FAIRHAVEN IS SO DIFFERENT 

 

listen my Alex isn't a woman-wooer. he woulda been kinda rich but stuff happened and he's the opposite now :P 

my Alex is endlessly bouncy and funny, so much so that his friends sometimes wonder if he has behavioral problems

but my Alex has depression something awful and he's tearing himself up inside

and i just want to hug him

 

AND THAT ALEX...? THAT OTHER ALEX??? I DON'T THINK I LIKE HIM.

____________________________________________________________

Spero quod via tua est directa et quod tuum onus est levis.

Posted by *Snow* doorkeeper on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 20:14
you have a vast ammount of

you have a vast ammount of higher lever diction in there, which makes it sound really good. most impressive

to be honest, my writing skills are a level below this, so I can't make any good cc, but keep it up though.

you said before that this is the more humanized version, does that mean this is kind of like a second draft of a book you've already written?

 

it's really good by the way 

Posted by Josiah on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 17:32
hey, thank you, man! yes,

hey, thank you, man!

yes, this is the...let's call it the third draft c'x i started a whole other draft to turn the dog and cat characters into humans.

 

so

nearly

free

Posted by madelyn is a dreamer on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 17:35
ah... 'humanized' makes a

ah... 'humanized' makes a ton more sense now... XD

Posted by Josiah on Sun, 02/07/2016 - 22:55
ah... 'humanized' makes a

ah... 'humanized' makes a ton more sense now... XD

Posted by Josiah on Mon, 02/08/2016 - 08:09

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