shorty mac and shane diesel

Shane Crowfeather is a young human living in a world of orcs, elves, halflings, dwarves, and every other kind of fantasy folk under the sun. Here he tells the story of his life up to a certain point, uncertain of what the future holds.

Imagine the Knights of the Round Table in a Diesel Punk world. After the murder of his father Uther, Arthur Pendragon escaped to the east with his Godfather, Sir Percival Gifford. Raised with the best education, both martial and Academic, He learned the ways of the world far from his homeland. Years later he returned to take back the throne that was his by birth. In so doing, destroying the dark and murderous reign of his Uncle, The Duke of Gloucester. With the prophesized return of the true born King, Arthur must take up the mantle and lead his loyal troops to victory. Follow Arthur as he battles to reclaim the Diesel Throne. ________________________________________________________________ I have rejigged the story with shorter chapters and more accurate editing. (Hopefully) If you have some constructive critisisms, or just thoughts and ideas, you are very welcome. Please Enjoy

A spreading of short stories on a book binding sandwich. ;D Hey everybody, Good to see you all again ;P Glad you enjoyed my writing enough to check it out, anyway, my main story is 'Beautiful me,' which will at the very least have something new each month. The other two, 'Poem me Pretty,' and 'Shorty short shorts,' are not my main focus, but are fun :) thank you. ^-^

A young, brand new truck driver learns the ropes of the trucking industry and lessons on life as he treads the roads of the United States with a series of misfit trainers and co-drivers. Getting into misadventures and omnishambles while dealing with outrageous dangers and hazards on the road, Andrew struggles to reach his ultimate goals: to drive a million miles, and a make a million dollars.

Choi Sujin hated it when people talked about her height. Seriously, if she could choose, she would also want to be as tall as those models whose long legs always made her green with envy. Because of her short body, people teased her almost all the time. She had tried to ignore them, but a certain person could always irritate her. Lee Minho was one of the tallest students in class. He was usually the loudest in class and had many friends. He was usually gentle towards women, but this girl seemed to attract his mischievousness. Teasing her brought a delicious sensation for his dull heart, so he made sure to tease her more and more each day. Hwang Jaejin was the typical of cool and charming prince. He was the man many girls were dreaming of. He had a crush on a girl ever since day one in college, but he couldn't say anything to her. Both of the men were the stars. Many people loved them, worshiped them, and dreamed about them. But, they only had one girl in their hearts... ---------- "Minho-ya, why is this side empty?" "Haven't Jaejin told you? I save it for my future wife." "Oh..." Choi Sujin nodded. "Is it your beloved noona?" Chuckling, he said, "Do you want to try it?" "Try what?" "Filling this side with your clothes?" "..." He was smiling dangerously, but she could see seriousness in his eyes, which made her heart thumped painfully suddenly. ----------- "I've been craving your kimchi fried rice since for a long time. I've tried to make it myself but the taste was different." "Well, now that you're here, you can ask me anytime you want it." "Hahaha... There's no way I could make a superstar like you to cook for me every time I want it! Your fans will curse me for sure!" "No. There's always a way for you. Well, if you don't believe me, there's one absolute way to make me do it without you having to worry about them." "What is it?" "Be my wife." "..." If those words came from other people, she might not feel like this. But those words came from her old crush! Joking or no, she was blushing crazily! -----------

One of teenage boy dies under our famous god of death called 'The Truck'. He met a goddess who is embodiment of all punk genres. She says to the boy that, he is chosen 'randomly' for a coming contest, called the "MultiPunkVerse". She said to him that you will be given 1 gift, two wishes in one form. MC was thrown in the diesel punk world. Where he will experience daily struggle of apocalyptic, dystopian, diesel powered machines, and unknown diesel creatures. He also will experience our so called every day royal fight, noble fight, hierarchy fight, love rivals, secret organizations, cults, cannibals, etc. So if you're interested then just give it a glance. By the way, real story will begin after chapter 10.

They say beauty lives in the patience for the unknown, and tomorrow’s promise outshines yesterday’s ghost. When Sheila unknowingly signs off an internship to supervise her ex, the past surges back with dangerous whispers. Old wounds threaten to reopen, new ones wait to be born, and fate forces her to face the question—does time heal, or does it only teach us how to hide the scars?

When Dr. Intelligent seeks revenge on a fellow inventor that stole his idea of using macaroni to power the world, he must face off against Mac Boy as he tries to destroy the world's supply of macaroni.

"Kenapa dia selalu menurutimu? Apakah dia menyukaimu?" Teori macam apa yang dia katakan. Tapi bukankah itu kadang masuk akal?? Ketika manusia dipermainkan oleh hati. Kekhawatiran dalam diri untuk terus mencari dan memaknai cinta sejati. Namun ada yang terlupakan, bahwa ada sesuatu yang tidak dapat terulang, waktu. Cinta dapat terus di cari, tapi waktu tidak akan pernah kembali. Melupakan apa yang sudah lama hilang, tidak berarti tidak meninggalkan luka. Hidup adalah tentang berjuang, dan tentang apa yang diperjuangkan. Cinta tidak pernah salah waktu. Tapi hati yang salah memaknainya menjadikan semua kisah kadang tak berjalan sebagaimana mestinya. Melupakan mesti tetap ada. Merindu setiap berganti tahun. ~Remember to forget~

It is well past midnight and sleep evades me; my very mind feels heavy and painful inside of my own skull. Even as I write this, I must rely on a machine to type out the words for me as my hands are not steady enough to hold a pen. Sweat paints my forehead despite the chilling night air wafting in through my study window. I realize now that this is the only way I can find any form of solace or peace. I write this now not as a last will and testament for the encroaching end I know is just lurking in the shadows between dusk and dawn. My body is aged and withered, but not beyond what my own arts cannot restore. Truly I could live beyond the years of this physical form if I so chose, but my end is not in my own hands I fear… no, my death will come to be; soon. So, I choose to write this as a confession of my sins.