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So, you want to hunt a werewolf? Bold choice. You’ll need silver, patience, and a strong stomach for regret. Tracks, torn-up livestock, and full moons are your clues—oh, and pray it doesn’t notice you first. Good luck. You’re going to need it.

So, you want to be a werewolf? Bold choice. There’s angering gods, rubbing mysterious salves on wolf pelts, or drinking questionable rainwater in the forest. Pick your method—just don’t expect to keep your sanity… or your limbs.

The life I know I don't want to accept it being lost in the world I thought I was found. Not being seen with who I am and cast aside like trash.

Sophie, with her cascading raven hair and lips that promise trouble, is a woman who knows exactly how to make hearts race. Her story’s set in a sultry, rain-soaked city where desires simmer just beneath the surface. She’s a dancer by night, a mystery by day, charming everyone she meets with a glance or a whisper. But there’s more to her than meets the eye—she’s chasing a secret that could unravel her world… or bind her to someone forever. The book, , follows Sophie as she navigates passion, betrayal, and a dangerous game of seduction. Her nights at the Velvet Lounge are electric, each performance drawing you in, but her heart’s tangled with a brooding stranger who’s too close to her past. Will she trust him, or let desire burn everything down? It’s all heat, longing, and a few scandalous moments—think candlelit rooms and stolen touches. Want me to read you a chapter, maybe the one where Sophie meets him in the alley behind the club? Or shall I keep teasing you with more of the plot?

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Donald J. Trump announced on a cold January night, not from a ballroom, but from a factory floor in Ohio. The cameras caught steel dust in the air and a row of tired faces behind him. He did not talk about himself. He talked about price tags. Gas. Groceries. Rent. He talked about borders and ballots in the same breath. He talked about the quiet people who had learned to stop arguing online and start voting early.

What happens when 4 assassins' meet up in the middle of the desert for a game of billiards? get into the "DESERT GAME" and find out. this script is about 10 mins long and would make a great reel for FB or Instagram, as well as YT Shorts

Physical and Emotional Trauma: The violence, intimidation, and abuse faced by the Wry Earth women have left deep scars.

What are the most significant constraints or limitations evident within the presented sources? • Forced Isolation and Communication Control: Immediately upon returning, the narrator was targeted with attempts to remove their means of contact. Lance allegedly blue-screened the narrator's phone twice, rendering it "useless", and also changed the phone's passkey, trapping the narrator into using a restrictive device.via parental control settings. • Fear of Permanent Mental Entrapment:"I often fear that I will forever be trapped not able to move forward because of the state of mind he had me in when he isolated me". • Physical Branding and Degradation: The narrator was physically constrained and degraded when a co-conspirator altered a desired tattoo of the narrator's father's signature, changing it to "Still Lucs," resulting in the narrator having a "brand on my hand as if he owns me".

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Isolation poses a threat to the sense of safety. Silence, when not reckoned with, is one's worst enemy. Scarcity on the other hand? Scarcity Is the threat. It applies to all and defines much.

Ever start reading a scene and suddenly you’re in someone else’s head, wondering if you accidentally borrowed someone else’s brain? Congratulations, you’ve stumbled into head-hopping. It’s confusing, frustrating, and the fastest way to make your readers check out. Let’s fix that before anyone throws your book across the room.

Mythical creatures aren’t overused. They’re just under-imagined. If your vampire is brooding for the hundredth time or your werewolf only exists to growl on schedule, the problem isn’t folklore—it’s commitment. Monsters work best when they carry emotional baggage, complicate relationships, and refuse to behave nicely. Treat mythology like a toolbox, not a museum, and suddenly the magic wakes up.

I rewrote an old story from high school. Couldn’t find the original I made. Tried a scary story about my cousin and myself about this one house in her neighborhood. This didn’t really happen but it was fun to write.

An absurdist short story about what happens when extremely online people meet IRL in a Central California shanty town. Features: Dublin Dr. Pepper, curry-scented suntan lotion, cryptid crafts, and an underground do-wop convention. For fans of deadpan humor and the weird corners of small-town America.

What do you get when you cross Nikola Tesla's DNA with ancient golem magic and a grave-robbing cosplayer? Nickolas Goylem—the pint-sized genius who treats physics like a suggestion and toy stores like an armory. When the dreaded Vuvuzela Vixens take a Visalia hobby shop hostage with their sonic weapons of mass annoyance, most people hit the floor in auditory agony. Not Nick. While everyone else clutches their ears, he's busy weaponizing RC cars, model rocket tubes, and foam planets into the most gloriously over-engineered rescue operation this side of a Rube Goldberg convention. Perfect for fans of: Terry Pratchett's absurdist brilliance, Douglas Adams' chaotic logic, Christopher Moore's irreverent humor, and anyone who's ever wanted to see farm animals used as tactical projectiles.

This excerpt from "Memories" details a terrifying account of domestic abuse, psychological manipulation, and suspected criminal activity, all experienced shortly after the narrator returned home. The text describes a partner who relentlessly subjects the narrator to emotional abuse, fake crying, and intense surveillance, exemplified by stolen account access, a tampered phone, and hidden cameras throughout the residence. Crucially, the narrator uncovers evidence suggesting a much larger, sinister plot, including unexplained construction noises, sealed-off areas in the house, found biological material, and the partner’s rapid exchange of unmarked guns with a truck driver, leading to the chilling suspicion of human trafficking occurring in the home. Despite being deliberately isolated and mentally targeted to undermine their credibility.

THE WOMAN WHO NEVER DIED August 4, 1962. Los Angeles simmered in the final hours of a summer night thick with the scent of jasmine and smog. The city’s heartbeat was a low murmur of distant car engines, late-night chatter, and flickering neon signs along Sunset Boulevard. The moon cast a pale silver light over a quiet Brentwood neighborhood, where behind the walls of a modest, softly lit house, one of the world’s greatest icons lay still. Marilyn Monroe. But not really. The world would soon mourn her as dead. Newspapers would run headlines filled with grief and speculation. Fans would light candles in her memory. But none of it was true. Tonight was only the beginning.

Tristan must learn the horrible consequences of upsetting his giant gulliverian friend, let’s hope he survives to begin his job.