okay so! this is a sharing thing where you post at most 600ish words. After you have your writing, you then put at the bottom something like "I am looking for help with syntax in the middle!" or "I need feedback on the flow of this section!" and if you don't really need help and just want to share, you can just say something like "any critisism/compliments are welcome :) "
So you answer what the previous person was asking for, put in your own writing, and then ask for a specific type of feedback!
Does that make sense? eh, anyways alkfj
I'll start us all off!!
The sun lingers, hanging desperately on the horizon as if it could save itself from being dragged into the ocean. It taints the sky red, an omen for the approaching blood moon. A full moon. Like the tide, the criminals flock to the surface to trade their boxes of steroids and cases of hallucinogens. It's far too light for the dark knight to dare rise, but that leaves the stage wide open for one of Gotham's various, secondary vigilantes.
And nobody's thinking of the newest Robin. Nor are they predicting a purple-clad Spoiler or the shadow-driven Orphan. Nightwing, Red Hood, Cardinal–the main ones. They're all only exclusive to the night.
The dusk belongs to the unaffiliated Maw.
She stands tall, the harbor warehouse beneath her boots threatening to give with every creak. The docks sway with the tethered sailboats. Gravity claws at the sun, pulling it closer and closer to its watered grave. No matter how temporary its death, the sun still fights. Every night it fights to shine for a few more meager minutes.
It's the sun that saves Maw from having to wait for the more moral vigilantes. The sun, as stubborn as it is, holds and the goons she's been trailing for hours finally decide that it's time to move out. Their deadline is approaching and they can't stand to dally. Whomever their buyer is will not be a patient man. The roof–tattered, groaning, thin–hosts a skylight–broken, dusty, filthy. Maw places her toes just over the edge as she stares into the false sanctuary below. The men are speaking in low tones, the obvious Jersey accent familiar in Maw's ears. Hanging from her wrists and forearms, chains clink softly together. Their weights, coated in luminescent fluid, are already beginning to grow a soft green as the sun begins to lose its nightly battle. There's a thud, a curse, and a hissed lecture from an unseen superior. Maw looks from the scene below to the scene in front of her. A singular empty dock amongst a line of a filled dozen. Suspicious. She knew that it was vacant for a reason. Waiting.
She won't have to wait much longer. Silhouetted by the drowning sun comes a small yacht. It shouldn't draw attention, but Maw's attention hadn't needed to be drawn. She knew the boat was coming. After all, her informant wouldn't lie to lovable, hospitable, chatty Nemona Farro. The activity below shifts, Maw's head snapping right back to her previous focus. A large roll-up door slides into the ceiling. Forklifts transport palettes of metallic cases. Maw's jaw, the one behind the weapon, grits. The yacht draws closer.
Without hesitating, she edges forward, dropping through the brittle glass and onto the cement floor with a crash. Before she can blink, there's gunfire, but nothing that can penetrate her kevlar suit and titanium maw. She flicks the chains at her sides, ensnaring ankles and wrists and yanking them off balance. A gun clatters to the ground and a man's head cracks against the floor. Her maw falls open, but closes with a snap around nothing. Those who are smart drop their rifles and run. Those who thought they could take the Maw stay.
The warehouse is wiped within moments. Maw's eyes lock onto the yacht, everything shaded violet or lime through the lenses implanted in her mask. She steps over an unconscious goon, his blood squeaking beneath the rubber sole of her boot.
i'm just looking for any sort of feedback! if you don't have anything for me, just tell me how epic of a writer i am /hj kdlajsdf yes this is a batman fanfic,,, maw is my precious oc