Unseen-Authors

There is an old adage that you can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies. This is not something that has ever vibed with Milkman. After all, idiocy attracts idiocy. Just look at politics, for fuck’s sake. A truly great hero would fight dangerous villains, not random people he meets in the street and assumes are actually supervillains despite all evidence to the contrary. As a point of fact, Milkman has spent more time than is possibly healthy wondering why his own personal rogues’ gallery consists of a single deranged performance artist, the former special adviser to Boris Johnson and his own social worker; yet not for one second entertaining the idea that, as the common denominator, he could be the problem. The story that follows illustrates this. For it was in The Year After The Year After The Year of The Three Prime Ministers that Milkman found himself locked in a multi-storey car park, armed with nothing but his wits, while facing a terrifying hoard of weirdness. The

"H. I. M. 'M' as in man." With a sigh, Beryl finished reading the vision map. The optometrist pursed his lips and removed a pen light from his crisp white coat. He watched the dark circle of her pupil shrink to a pin point within the deep blue of her iris. "I don't know what to tell you, Miss Alderton. Your eyes are perfect," he said. Beryl fished around in her purse. She was a petite woman with blond ringlets framing an unlined, heart-shaped face. The size of the black Nike bag and the way her sneaker-clad feet didn't touch the floor made her look childish. She pulled out a wrinkled letter and passed it to the doctor as she strained for the right words. "I can't read this." The optometrist unfolded it with care. He moved his lips as he read, saying phrases like I think of you, never forget, always think of you when seeing tulips and I'll always regret out loud with clinical precision before he folded the paper back up. "As far as I can see, there's nothing wrong with the ink or the

Hi Everyone, Here is Part Two of Circle in the Sand for you all to enjoy. Me and Makarov hope you enjoy the chapter and seeing what Akira and Nathan are heading into come Liar's Dice. Thanks very much Kind Regards Akira and Nathan, having enjoyed their meals at the restaurant despite some twats from JLB Credit trying it to hit on her before seeing Nat and scrambling away, and gave their farewell to Maya and James, and made their way through Aberdeen. They strolled through the teeming streets of the city, its bustle a tangible entity that clung to the fringes of their solitude. There, nestled among the urban tapestry, was a poster - bright, unabashed, and festive - but carrying a message far beyond the yuletide sentiment. The poster was a tableau, a vibrant echo of the nations of England, Scotland, and Wales in their proud individuality, yet collectively robust. A united Ireland, too, lent its strong presence to the canvas. Representing each land were their soldiers, stoic

A Rose; From the Black Petal Man’s Garden Ho, now, thru and true, I stop thee, fair maid, on whateverthoust may descend upon thee that would have you rushing at this late hour; and thru my fields no less. Pray not thee warrant a fear, for what else could fields be made for if not for trampling about. … Pardon me, your Grace, but it would seem upon fair look of thee I recant my previous abrasion and see now to give you the proper respect you deserve. So fine a Lass could only flee in such tumultuous haste and fury if she were being pursued by foul wickedness of Ideals or the corruption that spawns in all our Kind. Pray that we not see corruptions sludge on one of the Kindred, for we may have to slay both an ideology and a friend. Nevertheless, my dear lady these moments are but common concern to our kind, as I recognize thee as a thing of beauty, regardless your haste. Pray, let me offer you refuge in my hidden home, it would be of most taking to a Lady of your stature, I assure

An hour later, as the door to Mida's room opened, she was expecting lunch. That was the routine in the hospital after all. Torture shot, and then lens soup, bread and cheese. A virus might have whipped through the world and changed most everything, but there was still garlic flavoured nan bread. But instead she found Shirin standing in the doorway. The younger girl was eyeing Mida as if she wasn't really sure she could trust her eyes. She had to look past the ruin of her face to see her friend, but once she did, she was seeing Mida and she opened up her arms. Shirin was fifteen. She was tiny and soft with thick, black hair that fell in waves around her shoulders and unblemished skin white as milk, the most beautiful thing Mida thought she'd had ever seen. Not even the stars in the Bollywood movies were as lovely as Shirin. Shirin didn't utter a word until she'd climbed onto Mida's bed, on her left side so she doesn’t hurt Mida's leg. There she curled up against Mida, who cuddled her

The battle of the gods continued. Here Weiss, Nora, and Cinder all zipped around so fast, space continued to further warp around the entire planet. Widening the cracks in the atmosphere that were already there, creating spatial fissures in the air that ruptured all things everywhere at the same time. Uprooting trees, shattering the barks, lifting up heavy stones, burning away lakes and large parts of the oceans alike, all to vaporize them down to their last atoms. And yet, the speed of the Maidens continued, catching up to Weiss – the Superman. The faster they got, the faster she also adapted and adjusted. But what was also a big concern was the collateral damage. With Weiss still trying her best to coat the planet in her immense pool of Aura, protecting it from the godly shockwaves. With energies enough to destroy the entire universe ten times over, all contained here on this very planet. Nora lifted her hammer once more, slamming it straight down toward Weiss, only to see her

The destruction of the October War and its aftermath had claimed the lives of over sixteen million French citizens, six million of whom perished in the destruction of Paris. Lyon, Marseilles, Nice and other major settlements had been outright destroyed alongside major military bases such as Brest naval arsenal. The largest surviving city proved to be Bordeaux, although the town had suffered heavy damage from a megaton-range detonation fifteen miles offshore. By early 1966, exploring parties from the UK, Ireland, Spain and Italy had effectively liberated the country from any remaining criminal bands and Soviet-backed fiefdoms, with attention turning to how to provide for and govern the 31 million surviving Frenchmen. It was determined by the European allies that the Fifth Republic constitution would provide the best way forward, albeit one with a few tweaks. Bordeaux would be the seat of government until such time that reconstruction and decontamination of Paris could allow governance