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adik ipar yang menggoda

Romansa Fiksi Ilmiah
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What is adik ipar yang menggoda

WebNovel で公開されている、Bambang_Setiawan_1766 の作者が書いた adik ipar yang menggoda の小説を読んでください。...

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Heal The Hate With Your Love: I’ve Lost My Memories!

“I loved you. I gave my heart to you. But you had to take out your knife and stab it exactly at my softest spot.” ∙ Amaya Woods woke up from a coma to realise that she had lost her memories. Adapting to a life with her adoptive family, she is set to make them feel like their precious daughter is still alive and will be successful. However, things took a turn when she bumped into a man named Zachary. People say it only takes two seconds to make a first impression and that chance is wasted horribly by the man. All she felt for him was hatred as he kept bothering her. However, he slowly changed his ways and courted her properly making her heart melt time and time again. Just when love starts to bloom between them, a dark tragedy came causing the flowers to wilt again When Amaya’s memories came back, she stilled herself and set her heart in stone, vowing to hate this man forever. But when he jumps in front of her as her shield, would she pull him closer or push him further away? Do find out in Heal The Hate With Your Love: I’ve Lost My Memories! ... No rape Some misunderstandings (but none too major) Strong FL Hateable Villain Criticism Welcomed (and appreciated) I’ve tried to avoid cliches but some scenes just can’t escape from that. Thanks for stopping by! Please support me if you could. That’ll definitely boost my confidence! Rightful credits to the cover’s artist.

Christinne_Teal · 若者
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To Sleep In The Sea Of Time

This is a story of a guy who loses everything, and then gets it back. Same old new world story, just a different kind of story teller. *** They took away our hunter tags. They had us grow our hair. They gave us a new brand, when we were over there. They staged us out of Dragur, East of the Olim Horn. I guess they call us Slaves, but no one calls us much anymore. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. Karn brought Sorrow. Pookie brought Fear. Milk brought the fly boys. They did work in Undia. I worked mostly clandestine. Some Legends I should not say. We played with better wands. I could use the extra pay. Did Mara give the order? Did venom pay the way? They said we were slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. This was before HALO, and Codex was king. Hej atop the rider, he never felt a thing. When our rider caught a spell, and both the mages killed. It pitched us over sideways on some cold Sylph hill. My back felt like it was broken, my legs I could not feel. I kept on slaying demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I never did heal up right from injuries sustained Officially in Torin, unofficially we train. I remember all their faces. They dream about me still. I guess I'm slaying demons, but it's kind of hard to tell. There no fun in killing. I don't want to do it anymore. I speak the cold logistic, that old boys speak so well. Veni, Vedi, Vici. I'll see you in Hel. Maybe it's bravado, or an unspeakable guilt. That village, they were demons, but it was kind of hard to tell. There is no fun in killing. I don't wanna to do it anymore. I've done plenty. What is one more? -Corb Lund *** Come guess me this riddle. What beats shire leaves and fiddle? What is hotter than pleasures touch, and whiter than cream? What best wets his whistle? What is clearer than crystal? What is sweeter than honey and stronger than steam? What will make the lame walk? What will make the dumb talk? What is the elixir of life and philosopher's stone? And what helped Pookie-Baba dig up a tunnel, that runs from Shalamanda to West-Torin? When you are digging a crater, It is the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys. Sometimes I wonder, if lightning and thunder, is made out of the plunder, of the reddest hiski and oils. *** If you can keep your head when all about you, are losing theirs and blaming it on you. If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise. If you can dream, and not make dreams your master. If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim. If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same. If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build them up with worn-out tools. If you can make one heap of all your winnings, and risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss and lose, and start again at your beginnings, and never breathe a word about your loss. If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew, to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you; Except the Will which says to them ‘Hold on!’ If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, nor walk with Kings, nor lose the common touch. If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you. If all men count with you, but none too much. If you can fill the unforgiving minute, with sixty seconds worth of distance, run. Yours is the World and everything that’s in it, and which is more you’ll be a Man, my son. - Rudyard Kipling

man_of_culture3030 · ファンタジー
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