angela hepworth
Bio
Hello! I’m Angela and I love writing fiction—sometimes poetry if I’m feeling frisky. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
Achievements (1)
Stories (34/0)
Why I Stopped Watching One Piece
If you know a thing or two about anime and manga, you don’t need me to tell you that One Piece is a legendary series. Deemed one of the “Big Three” alongside two other powerhouse shonen that started around the late 90s and early 2000s, Naruto and Bleach, One Piece is the best selling and arguably most successful manga of all time (to the point where there was a joke circling around the Internet that it had sold more copies than the Bible—not true, but don’t tell the fans that).
By angela hepworthabout a month ago in Geeks
Eclipses, From Afar
E verything above us in the universe is so vast, so wide, so entirely massive, and we will never see it. C ry as we may, it’s the truth—we as people will never be able to truly see the world, to understand its layers, its workings, the life beyond us—to know how complex it all really is.
By angela hepworthabout a month ago in Poets
Andyne
Laryians and humans alike shrink back when Commander Andyne rips through the main floor of the castle. The sound of her iron boots hitting the floor, clanking and clattering along with her long, powerful strides, sends the loud, ravenous hall of Freepallian soldiers into silence every time without fail. Queen Sylvia’s first in command, a warrior fiercer than any other, Laryian or human, male or female—Andyne was nearly a queen in her own right, commanding respect with her mere presence alone. Today, certainly, was no exception.
By angela hepworthabout a month ago in Fiction
- Runner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge
Mother of The WoodsRunner-Up in Whispering Woods Challenge
When Lilia listened to the woods, truly listened, the woods spoke back. It communicated, of course, not through mere words as humans did, but through ways of a more natural sort, a godlike sort, whispering sweet nothings to her through wisps of wind licking between her fingers. Its curling, giggling, lilting breeze tickled the hairs on her neck, making them stand at attention like a pack of hungry, primal beasts. The woods never pushed or pulled her this way or that; rather, the woods probed at her playfully, lovingly, as she walked past the beauty of it, immersing herself body and soul into its depths, letting the shrubs and ferns speak to her through those long, scratching traces they left along her exposed arms and legs, letting them tell her their meaning, their history. She closed her eyes and listened to them speak.
By angela hepworthabout a month ago in Fiction