#but also! I think once she'd get ANGRY at him she'd be on that slippery slope you know? watch out girlie!!! don't think about that chest!

[typinggently]

White Knight

Annie January (Starlight)/John (Homelander) Warning: Homelander. The #Homelight situation and its implied dubious consent.

“Now that you’ve spoken out about your view on sex before marriage – do you have something to share regarding your relationship with Homelander?” Annie stares at the reporter’s lipstick-gleaming smile, a hot-pink contrast to bleached teeth and tan skin. “Our readers are dying to know – does he really land it home?” Blood rushes in her ears.

The flash of a camera reminds her to un-freeze her smile, but her stomach is in tight knots, her fist balled and hidden in the folds of her skirt. “I –“

“Excuse me, what was that?”

Her head snaps up, away from the woman and to him, right there, next to her, using that tone of voice in public. “What did you just say to Starlight here?” He’s smiling, the all-teeth smile, and his voice is light enough to make Annie dig her nails into her palms.

The reporter doesn’t pick up on that note in his voice, has no reason to. She turns her attention towards him, the same lipstick-smile now gleaming in the direction of what’s essentially a loaded gun. “Our readers are wondering about the depth of your relationship.”

“And what makes you think –“ Annie feels frozen stiff, staring his bright smile, those wolf-gleaming eyes. “What makes you think that that’s an appropriate question to ask?”

“The public can’t help but wonder –“

“No.” He shakes his head, one hand going up to stop her, flat of his red palm raised. “No, no, no. In fact –“ Raises his voice, all-American-authority that makes Annie sick to her stomach. “Everybody, listen. Stop the—No flash. I want you to listen.”

The cameras stop flashing, the reporters raise their microphones. The mass of bodies presses in, claustrophobic and unaware of its own vulnerability.

“I will not tolerate that kind of behaviour. You understand?” And his voice tips, gets cutting in a way it shouldn’t, can’t be in public. “There will be no more rude, invasive questions aimed at Starlight. In fact, there will be no more questions of any—“ Louder, colder, and she can’t let that happen. There’s not enough distance between them for her to properly use her powers and there are way too many people way too close for her to even consider that, but she has to do something.

She presses in, puts a hand on his chest. “Let’s go home.”

His head whips around and he stares, ripped from his speech. There’s a fraction of a second where his expression is empty, unreadable, and she tenses up, prepares. But his eyes widen, then his eyebrows go down, he tilts his head, his mouth opens, closes, a flicker in his lashes, a series of almost-expressions rattling by too fast for her to make sense of. Without warning, he leans in, folds himself around her, his arm going around her shoulder and his left hand to her hip. “Right, yes. Let’s go home.” His voice is a little lost, light, as if he’s just as surprised as she is to hear the words coming from his mouth, and she has just enough time to feel his grip tighten around her before they’re shooting up past the gleaming skyscrapers.

When she opens her eyes, the city glitters underneath them and the air tastes of ozone. It’s cool, the wind whips around them. His grip on her waist is tight enough to bruise and her fingers are clawed into his shoulders. “Hey, could you –“

“Yes, right. Sorry.” Absent-mindedly, he adjusts his grip, hoists her up a bit to slip his arm under her knees. It’s so quick and so gentle that there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s a routine move, that he hardly even knows what he’s doing. “Can you believe that?”

She’s resting against his chest, the leather of his glove on her bare thigh. The knot in her stomach pulses sickeningly. “That journalists ask indecent questions? Yes.”

He shakes his head, gaze lost in the depths of the sky around them. “Unbelievable. I should’ve punched my fist through her skull. Should’ve covered the asphalt in her boiling brain matter.”

Annie’s heart pounds in her chest. “Well,” she finally says, light and dry, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

He snorts at that. “Yeah, right. You know, you should be thanking me for this. They never asked Maeve those questions before she outed herself as a sexual deviant. And calm your horses, Jesus. I can hear your heartbeat from here.” At that last part, he tilts his head to look down at her, all smiles and electric blue eyes. “I didn’t save you from those vultures only to drop you to your death now, Sunshine.”

No, she almost says. She’s not afraid. She’s angry. She’s furious and disgusted and hateful. Except – She bites her tongue, hard, and kills that thought in the root. “I’d like to get home, then.”

His smile freezes. “But of course.” His voice is cutting again, haughty. “Hold on tight.”

She swallows, redistributes her weight to rest more securely against his chest. The angle is awkward, she presses her knees together and clenches her fists in her skirt.

“I said,” pressed through those porcelain-gleaming teeth. “Hold on tight, Darling. This might be a little uncomfortable otherwise.”

She exhales through her nose and puts her hand on his shoulder, turns her face into his chest. Shoulders drawn up, she closes her eyes and presses closer, pushes herself tightly against him. Then, everything is a rush of wind and ozone. It barely takes a second, but it feels like she presses her forehead into his warm-hard chest for ages, stomach in knots and heartbeat hammering, the leather of his glove skin-warm against her thigh.

Then, suddenly, he halts, abruptly enough that his cape whips around them. It contrasts with how gentle he lands on her balcony, boots barely clicking on marble.

Relief floods her, sudden and violently. She straightens a little, uses her hand on his shoulder to try and pull herself up so she can climb out of his arms, but his grip on her tightens. She blinks, turns her head to look at him.  

He meets her eye, gold and tan and ice-blue. When he speaks up, his voice is gentle and quiet, a secret. “You know, you could thank me. I mean, I did save you back there.”

At first, she’s frozen in place, staring up at him. From what?, she almost asks. From the innocent civilians doing their jobs? From a situation you put me in yourself? Anger rises in her throat, her pulse hammers against her throat.

She tries to think of Alex, of Hughie. Of the reporter with her lipstick-sticky smile. Her stomach is in knots.

She looks up into his eyes. Under her palm, she can feel the warmth of his chest. “Thank you.”

#this feels as if all it'd take would be a tad more details and it could work as a proper fic chapter #[homelander voice] hashtag homelight! #the boys s3 #drabble #starlander #in fact - it could easily be ch3 of the hoodie verse I'm working on #I even gave it an alternative ending for that exact reason #but for now it's a little standalone drabble <3 #She was so scared in the business lunch one but I feel like there's much more to her #but also! I think once she'd get ANGRY at him she'd be on that slippery slope you know? watch out girlie!!! don't think about that chest! #ALSO!!!!! important question: what do YOU think was going on in his head here?! #because it could be simple jealousy over the fact that he’s not landing it home :| it could also be pure annoyance & stress. it could be — #a GENUINE interest in her - he keeps picking up that she’s uneasy after all. but maybe it’s just wounded pride. his weird morals. etc. #super fascinating to me to think about. I’m writing something from his pov rn and he’s soooo fun AH!!!! #love my little man.

[hisui555]

Hazbin Hotel Thoughts : Alcohol, Part 2 !

Part 1 here (Hazbin Crew)

Part 3 here (Heaven's side)

Masterpost here

So, just for your information. Last post has the record of gathering the quickest notes in the least time. Now that the Vees and other Overlords (but mainly the Vees, let's not kid ourselves) are on this one, wonder how it will fare. I think I already know the answer. Now let's jump to it.

The Vees

While they're all seen having a drink in the conference room, they haven't been seen nor mentioned getting inebriated, so it's mostly speculation from there.

Vox, from his personality, could cycle between "emotional", "nostalgic", and "pathetic", ranging from a hyper, super-excited guy that tries to one-up everyone to a sobbing mess because Alastor left meeeee...! and embarrass himself - well, not much of a change from his sober self, in retrospect. He would hold it relatively well though, have a bit of resilience until the watergates open, but the more Vox drinks, the closer he gets to the "emotional" side of it. On a darker side, he could also be the "violent" and "angry" type of drunk, especially around the middle of the slippery slope : not outright trying to get into fights but sure not stopping once it has started until he has gouged something out of someone, or someone out of something. But I can also see him being the "denying" type, trying to make people believe he's way less drunk than he actually is - he'll hide it well (having practice as a multimedia CEO and colleague babysitter)... for a while. The more he drinks the more cracks in the façade appear, at which point everyone can see he's sloshed even through a blindfold but won't peep a word unless they want to provoke the wrath of the TV man. The next mornings are spent deliberately avoiding eye-contact with him and editing everything out of feed themselves as to not tip him off either, and pretending collective amnesia (or even better : "Oh I wouldn't know, Mr Vox, I was too drunk !"). Blissful ignorance.

Vox would be somewhat around a normal weight, though he could outlast Charlie by a few glasses, but like Alastor if he downs a whole bottle he's done for. The only difference between them is that they would have their hints of tipsyness inverted : Vox would be physically clumsy but able to perfectly rant like Robin Williams with almost perfect pronounciation, while Alastor can keep up no problem on the dancefloor but have his words tying in knots and stumbling upon themselves like the screwiest pretzel. Well, that, and having their gazes slightly out of focus, a looser 100-watts grin and still talking to that poor coatrack in the corner that didn't asked for it - though Vox might be able to better differenciate things from living things, he's just unaware he's asking the wrong person about his pitch sale of demonic baby powder with abestos inside.

Velvette would be the "competitive" drunk, and the "cranky" one. On normal she already thinks everything and everyone is pants-on-head retarded, so a drunk Velvette might be able to dish out so much piling up verbal abuse you'd need wings to stay above it. She'd also be the "susceptible" type : breathe one word wrong and she's at your throat, whether it's someone way more powerful than her or not. Kinda the embodiment of yeah keep your eyes on Napoleon there, she's gonna start something we're gonna finish (absolutely not my 5' arse even when sober with my 6'4" friends in gatherings. Nope. Nnnnnope.) she'll promise to destroy you on every social media platform she mans or owns, and by the time she's right as rain again only remembers half of it. But she WILL want to know what went down, to turn it to her advantage and erase every instance of recorded poor decisions on her part. What's worse with her is that, like Lucifer, you can't really tell she's boozed up : it looks so much like her everyday attitude, only worse (congrats on that) that the only evidence will be the multiplying number of empty glasses and the diminishing levels of whatever's inside the bottles. The only metric you could go by is how fast she snaps when angry - if it's something in the milliseconds instead of the centiseconds, yep, she has a few glasses in her already. She'll still be coherent and girlbossing through it like a champ, busting out moves that would lead an Olympic pro skater into the Paralympics instead, and have astounishing eye for details despite her plastered state, as if it accrued her already good sense of picking up small things (only, again, to remember half of it once the rush goes down).

She'll probably hold better than what her weight and stature suggests, possibly outdrinking Vox, though not to the point of Angel, or Husk. She'll start feeling something around the 15th glass possibly, and by 20-22 is assuredly smashed, but hiding it rather well (undeliberately, it just doesn't really show on her) but I wouldn't want to be around her for the morning after, boy.

Valentino, hoooo sweet mother of god and all her wacky nephews, now he'll be something. As a pimp who regularly uses drugs and his various aphrodisiac/narcotic powers, smoke included, he'll be rather resistant, because he built said resistance overtime, and his lifestyle very much helps with that. He'll hold his own fairly well, but when he reaches the point of being three sheets to the wind, he goes down HARD. A slurry, half-coherent mess that just lets his body do its thing on its own, with bouts of sudden energy before crumbling down in a heap again. Don't ask him to dance unless you want yourself, and everyone else around, ending up in a hospital : him and a drunk Vox could take out everyone in a 10 meter radius during a slow waltz. Given his temperament, Val would hop from "angry" and "violent" type (unlike Vox, he will seek out the fights and shoot at the slightest provocation) to "seducing" and "happy with everything", but the surprising part, methinks, would be that he'd be also a "nostalgic" and "contemplative" type of drunk, and NOBODY expected that one. He'll wax philosophical while downing his 20th glass and musing about life, one elbow on the counter, nursing the drink in his hand, before snapping back to shooting the fucking pianist dead because the tune irritates him. It's really a ping-pong game of states and you better fucking hope he doesn't get to serve, because that curveball is hard to dodge. He also loves the feeling of being fuzzed out of his mind (fuzzed. FUZZED. Two Z, gutterbrains) and riding the wave while it lasts, but he hates having to depart from it and will prolong it as much as he can. Not that his mornings are particularly bad, unlike Velvette above, but because he likes just giving into the impulse and not having to care about pesky things like thinking and managing a business.

He'll need a bottle and a half or two to get completely tanked, and will range from impossible to reason with and be let loose, to semi-casual during his contemplative episodes. Basically, he's like a tornado : you point him in a certain direction opposite to you and when shit stops flying, you hope you're in a better shape than whoever poor schmucks were around at that time. He will 100% confuse people with things, and, as the meme goes in this fandom, try to make out with a lamppost or two, then become angry that it ain't listening to get in the car for more "fun". Hey, I had to say it, it would have been a missed opportunity otherwise.

Other Overlords

Rosie isn't against a few glasses of fine wine (it goes well with liver, as we all know), and very much knows how to keep her composure, but also lets herself get loose a bit. She's the "giggling" type, finding everything charming and funny, but again, don't be fooled, that makes her no less dangerous, just jollier and sillier. Might also say hello to every bird and dog that passes and curtsy to the local squirrel if quite inebriated, but otherwise she can tank it like a boss : expect at least two bottles down, and she'll give Husk a run for his money. Careful with the chop-chop-happy attitude, though. She could also bust out cutting sarcasm that would normally be hidden behind the sober filter, a bit like Treasure Planet's Captain Amelia.

Zestial... doesn't know what getting smashed looks like. He'll stick to his tea, thank you very much, but on the occasion, does enjoy a very fine wine. He'll be the only guy still standing after everyone else is shaking the white sheet, shrug, and go on his way. This ancient and powerful being is above the turpitude of youngsters and their funny, slurry-worded games.

Carmilla, while reasonable, would be a "tired" drunk - if she ever drank herself to this point to begin with. Everything's too loud, she can't find what's so funny about the curtains' motif or the wallpaper, and just watch, trying to blink away her daze, as others make fools of themselves. She's in no mood for fancy acrobatics but might casually pop one move or two in a complete blasé way to avoid that stumbling drunkard. The main difference is that she's slower, a wee bit sloppier, but no less graceful - it's like a different type of grace, one that's more languid, applied, tai-chi like. She might also become something of a terse talker, giving out a few words at a time, expect monosyllables and vague non-committing hums from her. If launched on a topic of interest, blurts out very technical and analytic paragraphs, only to switch back to one word every five minutes once it's done. Wouldn't be very sociable either, and avoid contact on reflex : it's just not her thing.

Next part, Heaven's side !

Again, Masterpost here.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin velvette #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin vees #hazbin overlords #hazbin zestial #hazbin hotel carmilla #hazbin carmilla #hazbin carmilla carmine #hazbin rosie #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin hotel zestial #carmilla carmine

[brella-boi]

Ideas stewing in my head as I try to construct a narrative 2 years further into the timeline of current events. Keep thinking on expanding Julie's character besides 'feral little fucker with teenage angst'. Because listen listen. She's the same as Chili. He trained her for turf and league and let her indulge in every part of her xeno nature including hunting, climbing and all things heavy physical activity; even more so as she got a growth spurt. She got tall!!! And strong. And if she's any bit like Chili then she has muscle.

I imagine her being another absolute powerhouse of an agent much to the captain's surprise. She's only 16 how is she already matching this strength, if not surpassing it? Even Four would be no match to her feral self. And she went through all these lengths angry and begging for her brother not to find out. To her it's just a way to prove herself and a fun exercise.

With the sinister side of it pushed to the side, she'd not a god either. Julie is a speed demon and by god does she try to get through everything as fast as she can when she's getting frustrated- which only results in failures and clumsiness in the end. As much as I see her strong as shit and physically acrobatic, I am cracking up at the thought that she would be jack awful in her squid form.

Like- She got claws to climb, and feet to run fast as hell and pounce and grab and bite. But as a squid? You're making her manoeuvre obstacles in slippery ink? Making her parkour as a squid? Bro she'd keep slipping and falling, and getting tangled. Overestimating her jumps and ability to cling to walls its fucking hilarious how bad she is at it.

But at the same time she's 100% a better agent than Chili. Faster and stronger, and although she's hesitant to listen to instructions and directions from the captain, she does listen and follow. She'd hold her skills over him. And he'd be enraged. Not only bcos she's doing it behind his back but because she's better at it too.

Now I do go by the cannon that the females of the species are stronger and the dominant ones. Since Chili transitioned he absolutely has more strength than a normal cis guy, but also not as strong as a cis woman. Transitioning lowered the max bar for him. Which MEANS that once he DOES find out the two would get into a fucking fight. And Julie would body him into the floor.

The humiliation of that. The shame of his own sister 8 years younger besting him in what he once did best would not only hit him like a truck, but also destroy the idea that he'd be able to stop her from continuing agent work– the very thing that scarred him emotionally for years. And no one else would be able to stop her either.

#ramble #long post #i just think its neat :] #splatoon #julie #chili

[spacebookettes]

Cendiary Inn: a real goose tale

Aunty Cripplesworth was thought by many to be the second coming, and not on the side of her up there. Aunty Cripplesworth ran the pub with a platinum fist. Due to the large rings and bangles of the precious substance on her fighting hand. Many a drunk almost met their end at the end of Aunty Cripplesworth’s fighting hand. Aunty Cripplesworth loved cocktails and as you can imagine running a pub she’d had plenty of practise with them. In fact Aunty Cripplesworth was really the only person who drank cocktails in Cendiary bay. Only her and aunty Codswallop, the local uber drunk and manager of the solar powered fish distributer: many a full haddock had been wrongfully delivered to a bemused green grocer, museum manager, town haller and more, around the country because of drunk Codswallop.

Aunty Cripplesworth had a dog, Vanquish was her name... Aunty Cripplesworth also liked Aston Martins; though she’d only ever driven one once: when one posh person stopped off at the pub to ask directions. and when Aunty Cripplesworth saw the Aston Martin key fob he was holding, she insisted on personally showing him to his destination. “I’ll drive.”

The massive flock of geese was out foraging in the fields that overlook Cendiary bay. A couple new to the area are walking next to the fields totally in awe of that many geese. Their little dog isn’t so in awe and as all little dogs seem to be, angry at the mass of angry white feathers. Yes that’s right the geese don’t Get the dog at all. The dog lives a long happy life. The couple wander into a small patch of forest in one corner of the fields overlooking Cendiary bay. Mossy covered, peculiarly round rocks are scattered everywhere in the darkened under canopy. It’s damp here and cool. They hear a rasping goose call deep in the undergrowth. Earlier that day in the pub the couple had said they were off for a walk and Aunty Cripplesworth had warned them about the escaped goose said to roam the countryside around Cendiary bay. “They say it was Granny Bluntscar’s favourite bird, one she had personally trained to be a vicious little thug.” When the couple left the pub, the whole place up roared with laughter at the tale. The couple heard this and carried on their walk in peace. Peace until they heard the goose call deep in the forest funk. The little dog was off, sprinting into the moss and darkness in the direction of the imagined worse goose in existence. The couple called the little dogs name all they heard back was an angry goose bellow. Aunty Cripplesworth had paid the local kids to go up to the forest and scare the couple with a biodegradable plasticised goose whistle. The little girls enjoyed their afternoon of scares at the expense of the couple. When the concerned looking pair had come back into town saying how they’d lost their dog, only to find it sat in the pub next to Vanquish, gnawing on a giant dog treat. The locals all laughed and bought the couple a couple of stiffening drinks.

Later that night as Aunty Cripplesworth secured the pub and walked toward her little solar powered cottage: Vanquish left on guard, she was alone in the dark. Only a 5 minute walk between her and a Slippery Nipple palette cleanser. A shadow moved behind her, this shadow seemed to glow a low luminous white, tall and wide. A giant low luminous white feather was in the pathway before Aunty Cripplesworth. She stopped to look at it; massive half a meter long she had never seen such a thing. She bent down to pick it up... engine grease oozed onto her hands from underneath the feather. Aunty Cripplesworth grabbed an older woman’s tissue from her pocket and tried to wipe the ooze off of her hands, she couldn’t get it all off and stood huffing at the challenge. An uncharacteristically timed dove hooted somewhere in the distance. This made Aunty Cripplesworth look around, her eyes focused on the tall white shape that was following her. Her eyes were accustomed to the dark, but she couldn’t make out what the shape was. And then it evaporated backwards into the gloom of the night. Aunty Cripplesworth had only been scared once before in her adult life, and this second time was so unfamiliar to her she sprinted in the opposite direction full pelt towards the solar powered police station near the centre of a rebuilt Cendiary bay.

The whole town heard about it the next day... something had scared Aunty Cripplesworth. Incredible! Aunty Cripplesworth didn’t become the town laughing stock... no one dare laugh, incase Aunty Cripplesworth heard about it. But perhaps the occasional chuckle about it in their sleeps.

Aunty Cripplesworth looked down at her still grubby stained fingers and demanded a forensic test of the residue. The local police took the swabs and when an unusual for those parts forensic evidence kit was sent to the big solar powered city... and a surprised forensic scientist emailed the results to the police station in Cendiary bay (with a giggle, they hadn’t heard of an Aunty Cripplesworth.) That came back as engine oil and Aunty Cripplesworth slammed the door of the police station so hard it jammed and the local police had to be rescued by the Cendiary bay fire service. Aunty Cripplesworth had been so convinced the test result would come back as Mystical Unknown Substance. Aunty Cripplesworth got that Slippery Nipple and fourteen after it. The Cendiary Inn didn’t open for two days. And when the locals saw Aunty Cripplesworth unlocking the pub they all piled in to have a gander.

Life soon turned back to normal in the Cediary Inn, though Vanquish no longer guarded the pub after hours.

One month exactly after Aunty Cripplesworth's experience, she was securing the pub after hours. Vanquish suddenly ran off into the darkness. Aunty Cripplesworth heard an uncharacteristically timed dove hoot and quickly unsecured the pub and went back inside... this was the third time she'd been scared her whole adult life and now she was also angry. A platinum (plated) baseball bat was retrieved from behind the bar and one conflicted Aunty dashed off into the night in the direction of Vanquish. Nothing, no sound on a night with seemingly no atmosphere. Not even a slight breeze. Aunty felt insecure. Aunty Cripplesworth came back to the pub un Vanquished. Sat on the bar top was another giant white feather... no ooze though. Aunty had had enough. The forensic test had worked into her subconscious and dampened the supernatural imaginings in her brain. Aunty was fumming she smashed the bar top. She smashed a chair up. She was going to find something else to smash when Vanquish came back into the pub with a slobbery fussing for Aunty Cripplesworth. She mellowed with the relief; looked around at the mess and shrugged nonchalantly. Though Aunty Cripplesworth didn’t own the Cendiary Inn, she just ran it for someone else... it was more of a self appointed managerial position. The owners had slunk off to an unplanned early retirement.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Grandma’s bag

Grandma had Devils Food Crystalised Cherries in her bag, inside a small biodegradable plasticised baglette. The kids knew she’d at some point open the bag and give them all one each; spaced out throughout the day, they’d hear the handbag latch click and come running the little devils. Mom grinned at the sight. Have you a bag mum, mom called out. In the pantry was a large biodegradable plasticised bag filled with screwed up biodegradable plasticised bags. The transition away from traditional plastic bags was well under way. “they’re all the new biodegradable ones, what have you been doing with the plastic ones?” (wait for it) “oh i throw those old useless ones away" said grandma. Mom looked from the panty , through the kitchen and into the lounge... does she do it on purpose mother in law, mom wondered to herself.

The end

By Peter Stringer

Lady Mechanic

The lady of F1 racing they called her...

Lady Mechanic loved going fast. Driving fast. Motorcycling fast. Hand gliding fast. Go karting fast. It had been not so much roller blading these older days.

No she didn’t drive F1 cars don’t worry lads, I’ll leave you that. No, she helped design them. Owner of Mc Rarri F1 team and Slikmouth F1 race track. She liked to tinker with the racing technology of the future. Of course once the driverless cars started competing and literally lightning reflexes made F1 even ‘more' exciting; there was less need for human racers. The advertisement deals became more electronic focused. In fact F1 teams also design for other industries, the prestige has quite a premium in the eyes of the more technological people's of the future. Lady Mechanic made the fastest F1 cars. Lady Mechanic was a celebrity. Lady Mechanic was sort after.

By Peter Stringer

Bee Light

Bee was an B student, but she got a Z for a dad. Her younger siblings thought Bee was A*. It was fathers day. Bee should be getting the presents. Her extra time with her siblings meant she didn’t have time to study for A's. Here’s to all the busy Bee Lights!

By Peter Stringer

Peak London

 A cocoon of many towers, 3 of which near the clusters centre, inner facing; with fluorescence and brightness, an infinity of light boxes... Cascading in both vertical directions and a peak between of distant London. ‘Amazing’ a lawyers brain went off.

The lawyer travelling through the freshness and brilliance of west London. White buildings. TREES. Tasteful phosphorescense. The lawyer who couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting. Well the stop at some underlings office on the wrong side of the tower. That view. The others had offices with a different brightness and long views. But the lawyer felt the real business was the supposed lesser view of a science fiction dreamscape at the beginning of the 21st century.

The lawyer had heard of the young billionaire’s idea. A gargantuan city sprawling upwards and a planet left to nature. The lawyer had had a glimpse of it. An environmental lawyer who though, had a fondness for skyscrapers. How to do it??

 

By Peter Stringer

#short story #art #creative writing #spooky story #horror novel #comedy horror #thriller #goose #geese #flock #solar powered cottage #coast