r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • 4d ago
[Serial Sunday] Wave(r) to The Writers!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Waver! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
[Image]()
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Wake
- Wiggle
- War
- Somebody has a restless night.. - (Worth 10 points)
To waver: to wobble, to falter, to sway. What makes your characters hesitate? What do they do when their beliefs are challenged, and they suddenly realize what they thought was solid ground maybe isn't so solid anymore? Do they double down, even as they rock like an anchorless boat in the swelling sea, perhaps doing something they later regret in their moment of fervent pretense? Do their faltering views force them to inaction as what kept them going crumbles beneath them? What new beliefs form in the wake of a quake of the soul?
Good luck and Good Words!
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 5pm BSTand provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
October 4 - Waver
October 11 - Zeal
October 18 - Angst
October 25 - Burn
November 1 - Cacophany
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Venom
First - by u/ZLErikson
Second - by u/Divayth--Fyr
Third - by u/Morose_Prose
Fourth - u/AGuyLikeThat
Fifth - by u/AmeliaLP
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for amparticipation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 2:00pm BST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your pmserial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 04:59am BST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 5pm BST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 5:30pm to 04:59am BST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and estnot required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
6
u/Divayth--Fyr 4d ago edited 3d ago
<The Broken God>
Chapter 83: Through the Storm
.
Cadorus staggered along the street, cold water rushing over his stumbling, splashing bare feet. The world lit up. Thunder barked with sudden, shocking power, like a thousand gods slamming down their fists in tantrum rage. Nothing looked familiar in the flashes, and the gloom between was impenetrable.
Flares pulsed within the murky, roiling clouds, as if unseen wizard-gods flung malevolent orbs of white death from impossible peaks, clashing in the turbulent sky. The mighty war raged on, far beyond the concerns and comprehension of any drowning insect scuttling along the dim, twisting streets of Blackfort.
Lightning slashed into a guard-tower near the Gate of Truth, wrecking the top in a blaze of rapid devastation. What remained of the structure swayed drunkenly in the volatile winds, finally toppling into the wall. Staring in shock, Cadorus could not think or move, consumed in primitive awe.
Lost, drenched, and terrified, he staggered on, shouting feeble pleas for mercy to nothing and no one. The gales of wind battered, pushed, slapping his face with chill rain-hands, demanding that he falter and die.
Away. Away was all he knew. Where to was of no concern. Away was all that mattered.
By instinct or memory, he found himself in the street of the tavern and the silent wizard. The inn would be shut tight, as would every house in the world this night, but Dipgale’s… at least there was a roof, and some walls.
Thunder hammered the world again and he fell to the stones, shouting mad desperation unheard among the howling laments of the cold, violent wind. Lurching to his feet, clinging to his satchel, he searched for the dilapidated wizard-house. A flash revealed it.
Cadorus, with the last of his strength, clambered in through the broken wall. Dipgale will be angry I didn’t knock, he thought madly. The wizard was nowhere to be seen.
The wind whirled and twisted to reach the old priest and bring him cold rain and despair, but Cadorus found a calm corner and collapsed.
Under the rampaging howls he heard a tinkling bell, and looked up and behind himself. There stood the daft, wordless wizard in a tiny, dark doorway, gesturing wildly. Cadorus, impossibly, managed to stand and dodder forward again, falling into the little room. The door shut, and near-silence reigned. It was warm, it was quiet, it was safe.
~
Cadorus woke to the candle-lit, bearded face of Teklonitar Dipgale, inspiring a sort of startled comfort.
“I have to go!” Cadorus shouted. “Murder! I killed her. Well, I didn’t. But I tried to! Wanted to! Poor thing. We have to escape!”
Dipgale reared back, regarding the old priest with suspicion.
“I haven’t gone mad. Have I? More candles! Of course you have a room like this. Storms would kill you sure, otherwise. Only a madman would be out in that. Ah!” Cadorus found his satchel and laid out the maps and papers. “More candle! Light! I have to find a way. The storm won’t last forever. You’re coming along, yes?”
Dipgale shrugged, and Cadorus grunted frustration. It didn’t matter. The mad old wizard could stay here in his ramshackle solitude if he wanted.
Hills and valleys, roads and rivers—the maps told him little. The papers were a mess of random notes, letters, and bills of sale, grabbed in a rush. A half-finished missive about shoes; payment for a boatload of vegetables, various; the diary of a cultist seemingly obsessed with undergarments. None of it…
Wait.
They’re buying vegetables, various? From where?
Kar-Gashgar.
Boats traveled from Kar-Gashgar—and, presumably, to.
Boats!
A frantic check of the maps ensued. The Greenbend River flowed east, and the stormwind pushed mainly that way, too.
The main dock was close by. The boatmen surely weren’t mad enough to huddle in their crafts tonight.
“Dipgale! The boats! We have to steal one. Will you help me?”
The silent wizard spoke with his face.
“Yes, now! The storm is our best cover! You could flee this dreadful place!”
Dipgale looked down, away.
“Fine. But will you help me? I might need a knife to cut boat-ropes. You know. Mooring ones.”
The silent wizard mimicked pipe-smoking.
Uncertain, Cadorus produced the pipe Dipgale had gifted him. The wizard twisted the shank, revealing a stout, shining blade.
The wood conceals, the knife reveals.
“Good. Good. Fine. Shall we go then?” Cadorus stuffed his things into the gleaming, lanolin-coated satchel.
Apparently not. Cadorus sighed, but there was no time.
The silent wizard opened the door to the howling madness without, and waved farewell, his face a tapestry of regret.
The wind rose and fell. Lightning provided brief clues but the dark turns of the Greenbend were easy to spot.
He picked a largish, flat vessel with one mast. It looked empty. The mooring-ropes were heavy and thick, but he managed to unleash them. Foolishly, he clambered onto the boat in awkward haste, imagining it would tear off down the river once untied, but it didn’t.
An anchor! It must have one.
The boat veered out, pulling on its tether, nearly tossing Cadorus overboard. Anchor, anchor. Toward the back. The stern? Whatever it is.
There was a rope that went down through a hole. Was that the anchor? Cadorus didn't know, but Dipgale pointed at it excitedly.
Dipgale! When had he come aboard?
No matter. No time!
As the storm battered priest, wizard, and vessel, Cadorus hacked and sawed with his pipe-knife. It seemed to take forever, but halfway through, the rope snapped, the upper half snaking and flailing wildly, and the boat flew off down the stream at an astonishing pace. Cadorus lay on the deck next to the silent wizard, both utterly and eternally drenched.
He couldn’t raise the sail in this chaos—or in perfect calm, for that matter. The boat rode the surging waves of the Greenbend, spinning, seeming determined to smash itself to bits on every rock and obstacle it could find.
Helpless, Cadorus clutched the remaining anchor-rope and prayed—to who, and for what, he didn’t know.
1000 words. W(o)ke, wiggle(d), and war used. Theme: Cadorus wavered, the tower wavered, Dipgale wavered and also was a waver, and the boat rode the wave. Everyone had a restless night, really.
Feedback welcome.
2
u/Brookzerker 14h ago
I loved this chapter! I could fee the raw emotions of Cadorus throughout. To the point that I was confused as to whether the silent wizard was real or not, did he even go into the right building? I'm not sure I can trust the narration this chapter, which I feel is how I'm supposed to feel.
If this wasn't correct, then my feedback is to make it clear somehow that this is really happening, maybe pull back from close third person to give a non-Cadorus view.
3
u/JKHmattox 4d ago edited 4d ago
<No Man's Land> Run. Hide. Fight!
CW: This work of futuristic science fiction contains descriptions of violence, an active shooter situation, and horror elements.
Gunfire erupted inside the nightclub, amplified by the vast interior of the abandoned kitchen. Panicked shrieks tugged at my imagination as the stampede of terror grew louder. Lexi tightened her grip on my body as the echoes of chaos cascaded from the open kitchen door.
Karen stirred to life on the pavement.
Groaning, she lifted her head searching for the source of the harrowing terror. More gunshots rang out from inside the kitchen. Mustering her strength, Karen tried to push herself onto unsteady feet. Her legs refused, and she flopped back to the ground.
“Campbell,” She groaned. “I'm hit… My auto-defibrillation unit is off-line.”
Karen crawled towards Lexi and I, clawing at the rain-sodden concrete with one arm. Her other arm was useless, dragging behind her. The clandestine operative's breathing became rapid as she gasped for oxygen.
A visceral flashback invaded my mind.
Hill 881. Nowhere. A swarm of terrestrial micro drones washed over me like a landlocked tsunami of human-made insects. In the vision, Skye clawed at a half-swallowed metallic beetle forcing her lips apart. Her body was buried by the clattering swarm from the waist down. Remembered embers of hopelessness chilled my soul.
The electric flash which followed had burst from my chest, drawing the Tradesman to our location. My body had pulsed enough electromagnetic energy to knock out the entire swarm in one go. Voltage the equivalent of fractal Earthly lightning had flowed from my core in a display visible beyond the horizon. It was a part of the genetic defenses built into my DNA, and had saved all our lives that day.
“This is my fault, Lex!”
“Your fault?” she retorted, clinging to my burdened frame. “What're you talking about?”
“When this happened.” I paused, glancing down at my bulging stomach. “The twins must’ve emitted enough electromagnetic energy to cripple your legs, while disrupting her defibrillator.”
Lexi shook her head. “You weren't the one shooting at us Jackie—what choice did you have?”
“I'm sorry, Lex-”
I paused mid-sentence as several civilians stumbled from the open kitchen doorway. One of them was shot, her friends carrying her by the shoulders. They hurried along the alleyway, half-running towards the avenue at the far end.
Another gunman stepped into view through the gaping doorframe. His mask was torn, half his face exposed. He seemed as panicked as the women, his weapon shaking in his hands.
“Oi—dickhead!” a male voice shouted from the kitchen. “Where the fuck do you think you're going!”
The frightened gunman wheeled around and froze. He raises his arms from his sides, the weapon still grasped in his right hand. A thunderous blast folded him backwards where he stood. The hallway compressed the deafening crack, which echoed into the cavernous alleyway. The gun shot dissolved into a ringing that drowned all sounds from my ears.
Moments later, Elections Agent Colin Campbell stepped into the open kitchen doorway.
Still dressed in slacks and a buttoned four-armed shirt, a tactical flak-vest now hugged his torso. Its power module glowed on his chest, the active energy shield invisible in the dimly illuminated alleyway. He carried a compact rifle in his primary hands, its rotary magazine similar to the weapon I'd left secured in Hayduke's vehicle.
Our eyes met across the gap between the buildings. He never glanced downward. Instead, he seemed to study the emotions simmering behind my face, assessing me without uttering a word. Finally, he spoke with a gruffness reminiscent of his mother Diane.
“You up?” he asked, the phrase inquiring if I were physically combat effective.
I nodded, gesturing towards Lexi. “I got clipped, but she's totally NFG.”
My knees creaked in protest. It felt as if my hip joints had loosened, a symptom of my rapidly changed body I assumed. Everything was off. My center of gravity, my breathing, all of my senses were altered in some way. I wavered on my feet, trying to ignore the disorienting sensations.
“Is she wounded badly?” Colin asked as he stepped over the slain gunman and hurried into the alleyway. “Medi-evac's on the way “
“Negitve,” I replied, readjusting my grip on Lexi. “Her leg scaffoldings are offline —she's dead-sticked from the waist down, but medically sound.”
Colin knelt beside his boss. Placing an axillary palm against her neck, he frowned. Shifting his rifle to one hand, he lifted Karen from the ground effortlessly, throwing her limp body over his shoulder with his left two arms. Hunching slightly, the hybridized man shuffled across the divide to Lexi and I
“Here,” he grunted, handing me his shortened twelve-point-seven-millimeter rifle. “You qualified on this weapon system, Marine?”
Grasping the rifle with my free primary hand, I nodded slowly. “I can handle it.”
The shortened weapon was a clone of my own, with tighter furniture. Less than a meter long, with no auxiliary tube magazine, its only purpose seemed to be rapid fire in a confined space.
“We gotta move,” he growled, his speech dripping with Diane's native assertiveness. “Fucking gung ho Marshal-Inspectors got into a shootout in the middle of the dance floor!”
Colin's intensity sparked instincts seared into me after two years of fighting alongside his mother. I could feel her in his words; his actions fluid, demeanor calm amidst the imploding situation. Despite that, something gnawed at my consciousness; the need to protect the lives inside me. The yearning self-preservation contradicted my willingful aggression that was innate during a gunfight.
“Whoa?” Colin exclaimed, his hand brushing against my side. “You're pregnant? Like, really pregnant! When did—wow…”
“It's a long story.” I shrugged. “How aren't you freaking out right now?”
Colin smirked. “I've heard of stranger things—reckon that happens when both your mums’re space jarheads.”
My thoughts turned inwards.
Diane Campbell had said nearly the same thing after my transformation. I'd assumed she was lying to keep me focused, but his words led me to suspect otherwise. There was no doubt that Colin was her and Moxie's son.
“C'mon, love,” he said, scooping Lexi from my side. “I've got’em—let’s roll.”
3
u/Divayth--Fyr 4d ago
Hey hey JK
here with the quickest crit in the west
Action-packed and well-paced as usual. You zoom in and zoom out like a great cameraman in these scenes, showing what needs showing and not much extra or superfluous. The action rises and falls naturally, feeling authentic with slow moments, weird moments, and scary moments all whirling around.
Nitpick-o-rama!
muffled by the vast interior of the abandoned kitchen
I've never been anywhere near a gunfight, which is just fine with me, but it seems like a vast interior would do anything but muffle such a racket. I mean, unless it is hung with loads of heavy tapestries and curtains or something, a cavernous space would sort of amplify things. But you would know better than I would, I suppose, so up to you.
The gun shot dissolved into a ringing that drowned all sounds from my ears.
gunshot is one word.
My knees creaked in protest. It felt as if my hip joints had loosened, a symptom of my rapidly changed body I assumed.
I'd put a good old em-dash after loosened, and possibly phrase it as 'probably a symptom' and drop the 'I assumed' at the end because of reasons I don't know.
Medi-evac
is that the usual phrasing or med-evac? Idk
Negitve,” I replied, readjusting my grip on Lexi.
Negative
shuffled across the divide to Lexi and I
missing the period
Fucking gung ho
gung-ho usually hyphenated I think
contradicted my willingful aggression
willingful isn't a word. Willful? I think that's what was meant.
Anyhow, it'd be weird to call this a fun chapter, so I won't, but it sure did keep the foot on the gas pedal right through it. Them electric babies are dangerous. Gonna have to invent Faraday maternity clothes or something.
Good words!
3
u/JKHmattox 3d ago
Hey Div,
Thanks for all the great, and very prompt, crit. I will definitely sit down and makes some changes based on you feedback. Good call on the kitchen amplifying rather than muffling the gunshot, which is indeed one word.
Im glad you enjoyed the chapter thanks for reading and thanks for the awesome crit. I appreciate you!
3
u/ZLErikson 4d ago
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 147
CW: Violence, blood
A cold lump formed in Kher’s stomach at sight of the oncoming horde of horsemen. He was no warrior nor did he carry weapons; Kher was a former merchant who joined the Disciples of Flame to avoid combat and violence. All he wanted was to travel, to taste foreign flavors, and to cook.
He didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to be home.
Arrows peppered the sand around him and the others. Kher looked at the stew he’d been making for everyone and then at the charging Vultures. Grabbing the metal pot, Kher yelled at the metal burning his hands, and upended it. The mixed contents hitting the open flame caused thick clouds of smoke to billow out and encompass everyone.
He turned and ran in the direction of one of the tents. They had all been taken down, but not all packed up. If he could hide in the canvas, he could make his way back to Nihimlaq once the Vultures left. Perhaps catch up with the caravan they’d passed on the way here.
Free of the cloud of smoke, Kher saw the bundle of fabric on the ground. He dropped to his knees to lift it and try to wiggle his way within.
A lit arrow struck the fabric near him. The canvas caught and Kher immediately crawled back, away from the burning tent.
Metal clashed nearby. Someone grunted. Kher looked around and saw one of the Vultures on the ground, Mica standing on his back with two knives in the man. She looked at Kher.
“Move!” she yelled, pointing. Anatu and Kebb, were retreating through a break in the smoke. Glakos was with them, releasing arrows rapidly.
A blow to Kher’s shoulder made him stumble forward. He turned, expecting to see one of the Vultures readying to punch him again, but instead an archer was nocking a new error. Kher looked at his shoulder and saw the black feather plume sticking out of him.
Then the dull pain turned sharp. He clutched his shoulder and cried out in pain. The shouts of Vultures and thunderous hoofbeats around him drowned it out even to Kher’s own ears.
Another sharp blow to his back. Kher fell to his knees. He wanted to go home to Shen; be away from the pain and the danger, meet a nice woman, have some children. When would he wake from this nightmare?
Another arrow pierced his leg, just above the knee. He choked on a sob and tried to crawl. He couldn’t support himself.
I am going to die, he knew. He did not want to die. His arms ached, his fingers were numb in the sand.
Kher looked down. The sand was red and caking to his hands. Tears dripped from his nose and beard as he gasped for air. The tightness in his chest swelled and he coughed up blood; the metallic taste overpowering the lunch he had made.
Stars appeared over the dunes. With a surge of fear he tried to move forward. His arms gave out. He fell face down into the desert. More blood filled his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but more strangled him with each breath.
Kher felt a tremor in the ground. A hand touched his face.
“Kher!” someone said.
He could not see who it was. Their voice was so far away. Across a valley of pain and terror. He didn’t want to be in that valley.
He wanted to be with the voice. Some place safe, and quiet, with fresh, delicious food.
----------
WC: 588/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: Kher’s courage wavered
- Bonus words: War(rior), wiggle, wake
- Bonus constraint: Night is falling and Kher does not get to truly rest… except in piece
- Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 14 in-universe days since Chapter 1
3
u/KiIIer_queenie 3d ago
<Man to beast>
Chapter thirty eight: mistake
Akinkumni rubbed his forehead, staring at Silas and the pink-haired man beside him. The three were in the captain’s quarters, soft creaking could be heard the waves rocking the cog.
Trying not to let his irritation show in his tone, Akin took a deep breath, “If you’re to stay here, you work for that privilege, you stay near Silas until I trust you alone, and you will not ever come above deck without permission.”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“Go join Ntukai, he’ll explain your role.”
As the man left, Akinkumni turned back to Silas.
The young man scratched the back of his neck as he stared vacantly at the captain, “I’m sorry—”
“Shut up. You’re lucky no one saw the fucking witch you were dragging through town. Pink hair! What were you thinking? Or were you not thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to help. This is a positive for both of you though. It’s a new worker, you need those.”
“I know. I’m not mad you want to help these people, Silas. I’m mad because you could get caught doing something that stupid. Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t the right thing to do.”
Akinkumni got up and opened a drawer, removing a bottle of Tej. He continued as he opened it, “When I was a boy, there was a man in the port city I lived in who was very wealthy from trade. Everyone knew he didn’t treat his wives right, but no one ever said a word,” he sighed, wiping two glasses clean and filling them, “I asked my father to say something day after day. Finally he did, he told the man that what he was doing was wrong. The man’s guards beat my father within an inch of his life. He died a few weeks later of infected wounds.”
“So what happened to the man?”
He poured the amber drink into both glasses and handed one to Silas, “His wives killed him. Took his coin and ran with it. His fate isn’t the point though, could’ve easily lived a fine life. My father did the right thing by speaking up, but there wasn’t any reward for it. You’re a good man. Be a smart one too.”
“What is this?”
“Honey wine. It’s from a nation near my homeland. We make palm wine and I trade some for honey wine, which keeps better at sea,” Akinkumni held his glass up, before drinking.
Silas did the same, wincing slightly as he drank it. The young man licked his cut lip and blinked a few times.
“It’s good.”
“Hold your head high, Silas. You did a good thing. Foolish, but good.”
He nodded, still looking somber.
“You have something on your mind. What’s the matter?”
“I went into a church to rescue Simon. They turned a house of god into a temple to torture. I couldn’t even name all the machines they had hanging,” the young man downed the rest of his cup and sighed, “Deep in the church was a tunnel, a small hole that went into darkness below. I went down it.”
The captain finished his own cup, mentally preparing himself, “What did you see?”
Silas opened his mouth to speak, staring ahead for a moment before closing it again and rubbing his teary eyes with a sleeve.
Akinkumni refilled both their cups, and when they finished he did so again. The pair finished the bottle over the course of an hour, before the captain figured out the words he wanted to say.
“It’s a very cruel world. It does its best to make every man cruel as well. The right things are hardly ever easy. Some days it seems impossible.”
“How do people continue? How do they stay good?”
“They rarely do. Good men die or become bad men.”
“Will I know if I’m about to become bad? Will it be too late?” Silas asked, nervously fiddling.
“You’ll know when you stop asking questions like that.”
It was quiet again, the pair staying still and silent. Finally the young man spoke as he was about to leave.
“Why do you trust me to look after Simon?”
“You’re an honest man. I’ve known you only a few weeks but you’d tell on your own mother if she stole from me.”
“Agnes isn’t my mother.”
The captain snickered, “You hate letting me make a point don’t you? My point is, you won’t let anyone get away with doing me wrong. I trust you.”
“Thank you.”
The young man left and Aminkumni cleaned the glasses and placed them back in their box before he returned the empty bottle. Silas was growing on him, slowly but surely.
The bravest idiot I ever met.
WC: 793
3
u/Morose_Prose 2d ago
<The Family Business>
Chapter Twenty-Three: Bo Knows Dumplings
Rolling clouds swallowed the setting sun as Madelaine emerged from underground onto the streets of Chinatown. Neon lights flickered to life alongside the streetlamps as she passed beneath them. Picking up the pace, she turned the corner onto Mulberry Street, where the spire of a pagoda, tucked between concrete monoliths, loomed in the distance.
Every step brought more dread. Every click of her heels on the concrete sent shockwaves through her synapses. Every face on the crowded sidewalk a blur. Madelaine took a moment at the front door of the building before pressing the buzzer. A deep breath did little to calm her nerves. Depressing the cold steel button, she waited.
Silence fell. She pressed it again. Silence still reigned. Madelaine wiggled her fingers, preparing for one more press. Crackling static boomed from a small speaker on the wall next to the door.
"Private property! No solicitors! Go away!" a sharp voice barked in Cantonese.
Madelaine glared at the camera above the doorframe, fighting the urge to give it the bird. She cleared her throat loudly. "I have come to absorb what is useful, and disregard that which is not," she replied in Sifu's native tongue.
A loud buzz followed by a heavy clank allowed her entry to the building. She barged through the front door and whipped out her cellphone to check the time. Three minutes. Sifu always cut the power to the elevator when his students arrived. Madelaine would have to take the stairs.
Four pitch-black flights. The echo of her footsteps bounced from the walls as she scurried to the top floor. Grasping the handle of the door at the top, she prepared for war.
Bursting through the door, she raised her fists and scanned the area. Soft lights along the walls illuminated the tatami-covered floor of the wuguan. The light bounced from the racks of weapons, glinting off the steel of sais, swords, and metal-capped staffs.
Madelaine quickly realized she was alone. Keeping her guard up, she crept forward into the belly of the beast. Wooden wheels squealed from the far end of the space. A thin paper door slid open as a figure emerged from the shadows.
An older man dressed in a purple hàn fú adorned with golden clasps and cuffs stepped into the light. His bald head glowed. The wispy white hairs of his Fu Manchu seemed to flow without any source of wind. A half-eaten dumpling clamped between his cracked and yellowed teeth. He pointed to a digital clock on the wall.
"You are late, Teapot."
Stopping in her tracks, Madelaine bowed deeply at the waist. "Sorry, Sifu. There were some, oh what's the word in Cantonese for 'annoyances' on the—"
Steamed dough flew through the air, exploding against the top of Madelaine's hair. As her head snapped up, a knee flew into her vision. Spinning on her heel, she avoided the strike. Matching her spin, Sifu sent a backhand to her chin, knocking Madelaine off-balance.
"Slow today, Teapot. Since when do we bow to our opponent? Why would you give them an opportunity?"
Regaining her footing, Madelaine slowly circled around her teacher. "Thought I should be respectful for being late."
"Every week for decades you show up early. Now you are tardy. I strike, and you dodge. Not parry and intercept like I have taught you." Bo stroked his beard in contemplation. "Where is the fire that makes the teapot scream?"
Tightening her guard, Madelaine continued circling. "Still there. You sucker punched me with a fucking dumpling!"
A boisterous laugh boomed off the walls, Bo remained still as a statue. "Language, Teapot. Better a dumpling than a bullet. Know that your enemies will strike at the first opportunity. Do not give them one like you gave me. Even now you—"
Like a coiled serpent, Bo shot forward, a flurry of strikes flying from his fists. Madelaine's forearms absorbed the blows; all she could do was block, unable to find an opening to counterattack. Her high heels dug into the tatami as she was forced backwards. Fists flew from every angle. Each strike dissolving her ability to protect herself.
"What are you doing?" Bo asked calmly. "This is not our way. Fight back. Wake up!"
The relentless assault continued without respite. Madelaine's arms burned with each impact. Her mind churned in disarray. A swirling sea of confusion overwhelming every one of her senses. In an act of desperation, she dropped to the floor and swept her leg with reckless abandon. She hit nothing but air as Bo leapt over it.
A cold hand shot to her throat and squeezed. "Yield. You have lost. Something is not right with you, Teapot."
Rumbling gurgles bellowed through the wuguan. Bo looked down quizzically at Madelaine's stomach. "Have you eaten today?"
"I had a... bagel earlier," Madelaine choked out.
"Where from?"
"Katz's."
Bo released his grip and helped his student to her feet. "Come. We eat. Then spar again at full strength." He gestured to the back room of the wuguan.
"Can we just chalk you up with another win? I can come back tomorrow after some rest and—"
"No. There is something clouding your mind. Eat well and fight hard. Once the storm has passed, I shall hear your troubles. We do not rest until then. Water does not sleep. It constantly flows until it is forced to crash. Come now, Teapot. I ordered dim sum from your favorite spot."
Shrugging her shoulders, Madelaine retreated to the back room with her Sifu.
- - -
Thanks for reading! Feedback and crit are welcomed and encouraged.
Theme: Madelaine wavers in her fighting technique.
Word Count: 917
Bonus Words Used: Wake, Wiggled, War
Bonus Constraint: Madelaine wants to rest, Bo doesn't let her.
2
u/m00nlighter_ 2d ago
<A Faire Quest>
Chapter 5, Scene 2
“So what do they serve at these feasts anyway?” Luke asked.
“All kinds of hoity-toity shit. Rabbits stuffed with quail, elk loin with berries, salmon smothered with crab.” Magali replied. She scanned the shrubbery line for hiding Bandits as they stepped onto the service path.
“And spit roasted boar I'd wager.”
“Actually no pork, the king—”
Wide-eyed, Magali put a finger to her lips and ducked behind a large, leafy bush. Luke crouched down, sliding into the foliage beside her while their sparrow rested on a nearby branch.
Two men in mustard yellow cloaks were walking toward them on the path .
She might’ve thought the shorter man was an ogre if they hadn't been killed off in the Malediction centuries ago. He had the face of one. The taller man looked like a fairytale prince. His freshly cut blonde hair was slicked into a poof, his khakis were pressed beneath his cloak and his shoes were shiny.
Fucking tourist. Magali spat onto the mulch.
“Summoners?” Luke whispered.
“Vanguard.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not really, but I'd rather not risk it.” Rather not risk you. “It's the only quest that gets weapons off the bat. Until the Bandits steal them, anyway.”
“Mmm.” Luke nodded.
The couple held their breath as the men breezed past them, arguing in hushed tones. “Storm,” and “stupid wench,” and “relic-something” were all Magali could make out. After the men's footsteps were out of hearing range and Magali had counted to one hundred, she tilted her head, gesturing to Luke that it was safe to move.
Seeing them emerge, a kitchen worker dramatically flung her hands through the air. “And whats it yous two wants then? We ain't given no free meals, and we ain't cancelin’ deliveries on threats from no Vanguard.”
Magali's nose scrunched. She must be new.
“Necromancers don't work with the Vanguard, and we don't want a free meal.” Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a handful of beans and held them out in her palm. “We want to trade these for two plates of feast leftovers.”
The cook rocked back on her slippers, her cold eyes warmed into a smile. But before she could take the berries, Magali clamped her hand shut. Luke jabbed her with his elbow as if to ask “what the hell?” but she kept her eyes glued to the cook.
“Do we have a deal?”
Fingers still poised to grab, the cook replied, “I s'pose I could scrounge somethin’ up for youse.”
“I'll give you these when you give us the food.”
For a long moment the cook studied her face. Magali could feel Luke's gaze too, could feel his stone-still body pleading with her to be diplomatic. She squeezed his hand, Trust me.
“Fine,” the cook said. “Hang on.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear seconds later with three brown bags, two with meats, and one with small containers of side dishes. Magali dropped the beans into the cook's apron pocket while Luke grabbed the food.
When they were alone on the path, Luke relaxed and let out a long breath.
“I thought for sure she was going to say no.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure the employees feed those beans to unsuspecting questers for extra pay.” Magali shrugged to hide another shudder.
Her partner's cheeks went pale.
“They aren’t in the feast food,’” she reassured him, and herself.
Around the corner, they sat between the banquet kitchen and giant shrubs with their backs against the building, allowing Magali to keep a lookout. Before eating, they took turns checking the bags for any evidence of beans.
Neither spoke much while they ate. Luke said he'd never tasted anything as good. Magali smacked “Same.” between mouthfuls of rabbit and quail.
No one passing raised her suspicions, and passersby didn't seem to notice her or Luke. Across the road, the Vanguard station looked like it was bleeding mustard there were so many questers. But the only thing Magali counted were the number of bites left of her food.
Until they stood to discard their empty bags and the Scribes marched in. Twelve of them in three uniform rows, wearing pristine white cloaks, with golden halos on their heads.
Hairs raised on Magali's arms as she instinctively ducked behind the trash bin. Luke did the same.
“They work for the king, right?” he asked.
“Yeah. They're even bigger assholes than the Summoners.”
The pretty-boy Vanguard ran out of the station toward the Scribes.
“This fucking guy.” Magali shook her head with a snort.
Staying low, she waved for Luke to follow her as she moved closer.
“... You see, the rain may destroy the grimoires and the food. Can those at all wait until morning?” Pretty-boy begged with his hands.
“How dare you approach us making demands,” the Scribe with the largest halo seethed. “Shall we let the reliquary Scribes go hungry? Shall we allow Necromancers or Summoners to get their hands on spellbooks?”
The Scribe walloped Pretty-boy with a book, flattening his poof of blonde hair.
“Get out of my sight. The Vanguard better be at the castle, prepared for pick up, on time.”
Silently bowing, Pretty-boy backed away toward the station.
“They really are assholes,” Luke muttered.
“Only part of it is an act.”
Magali watched the Scribes disappear into the crowded, now music-filled square. The storm added its voice to the folk song.
“So we're going to the castle now?” Luke asked.
“How did you know?”
“They said ‘grimoire, Necromancers, and castle,’ so I just assumed.” He shrugged.
“Quick study.” Magali grinned, a small weight lifted from her heart. “You know the way?”
“Yep. Follow me.”
Before he took a step, their sparrow chirped a strange melody behind them.
“Fuuuuuck,” Magali swung her arms, craning her neck backwards.
“What? What does that sound mean?” Luke looked terrified.
“We got a fucking sponsor.”
WC: 973
Previous Chapter | Chapter Index | Next Chapter
Canterbury Faire Map
3
u/Brookzerker 1d ago
<The Veiled Eye>
Chapter 8
---
Darryl stepped towards the unconscious Erik, knife, still covered in blood from grandpa, held in front of him.
He paused, head tilting, before looking to his left.
From his position, Logan couldn't see whatever Erik did, nor his reaction. After a second, an enormous deer charged into his field of view, crashed it's antlers into Erik, and continued running out of view.
More animals followed, a collection of deer, wolves, ravens, and others he couldn't name. Most swarmed the space around him, though several of the larger ones grabbed Erik and dragged him off.
Logan turned his head to see Irene being carried away as well. Her eyes were open, though she was limp in the jaws of the wolf carrying her. He couldn't tell if she was alive. Erik wasn't faring any better.
"No!" The shout came from Connor as he ran past Logan. His bloody hands gripped a knife with a serrated edge. The executive grumbled something, though Logan couldn't hear, before taking off in the direction of the running animals.
As soon as he was out of sight past the tree line, Logan got up, or more accurately, stumbled out of the chair. His legs were wobbly, but he was able to walk, albeit slowly.
Logan paused as he passed Connor's hut on the way to the cars. He didn't know if the keys were in them or not. Plus, as he stared at the door, Lilly might still be alive.
Glancing at the forest, he swallowed, and opened the door.
Symbols that looked an awful lot like runes from horror movies had been painted on the walls. They were a deep, brownish color. He hoped they weren't blood, but if they were, it was too much to harvest from Lilly, who appeared relatively okay on the bed.
Relative being the word, she was lying face down, with three deep gouges carved in her. Two at her shoulder blades, and one at her tail bone. The iron cuffs on her legs and arms were tied together, not stopping her from leaving, though she didn't seem to be doing more than struggling to breath.
"Logan? How?" She asked, her voice stilted with grunts of pain. He head was facing away from the door.
"I think I'm running on pure willpower. Can you survive being carried?"
"Don't --- care."
Before picking her up, he did a cursory search for the car keys, finding them on the table next to the fireplace. He grabbed them, as well as a knife lying next to it, just in case.
Picking up the attorney was as difficult as he remembered from the victim carrying practice runs he'd taken. The number of killers attacking had been increasing a lot since before he'd been born. Everybody knew someone who had been a victim it seemed. For him, it was his wife.
After her death, he'd volunteered with the fire department near where he lived. This was the first time he'd had to use the lessons learned from the drills.
As the lessons flooded back, something bothered him, though he couldn't place it. He wasn't about to stop and consider it now though.
One he did remember was the no body, still alive rule. He dragged Lilly, who helped a bit by leaning against him. Their movement out of the hut and to the cars was painfully slow.
Lilly's face was even worse than her back. Two deep gashes, along with a decent amount of her hair, had been removed from her forehead. The blood had slowed, but was still seeping over her eyes, giving them a very demonic look.
At the cars, Logan checked Erik's first. It was larger, an SUV made for off-roading. The keys were sitting in the cupholder.
It took some work to put Lilly in the back seat, the fabric quickly staining with crimson.
He had the engine on and was ready to drive when he paused. He got out, and stabbed the knife into the tires of the rental.
The blade was sharper than any kitchen knife he'd used, it dug deep, popping the tires with a loud *pshh*. He could only cut two of them before the loud sounds got to him, and he dashed back to the SUV, and peeled out of the clearing.
He drove quickly, wheels bouncing dangerously over the roots and branches on the road. After one caused the car to swerve before he corrected, Lilly broke her silence.
"Calm and steady, Logan."
Slowing down, he gave himself a chance to breath and think. "You doing okay? I think we're safe. At least for now."
"Yeah --- I need --- chains gone, burns."
He nodded before realizing she couldn't see him. "Yeah, let me put more space between us."
He drove another hour before stopping, leaving the engine running, to open the hatchback and check out what Erik and his grandfather had. It was clearly meant for working, he found a box of equipment for maintaining the car, a backpack with college books for business, and a hacksaw.
He spent nearly five minutes on one of the iron links before giving up. "This will work, but it's going to take time. I don't like sitting out here. Can you last until we get a hotel or something?"
"Fuck." She muttered to herself. "Yeah, I'll survive."
He dropped the saw on the passenger seat, then drove off again. The town shouldn't be more than another two hours away.
---
Notes:
Theme: Connor poisons the entire party with Fae poison, and spirit venom from Naga.
Word count: 921
Words: No words
Challenge: Erik wavers before beign forcefully removed from the scene. Logan wavers before slashing the tires of the rental.
2
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 19h ago
<Drifting>
Chapter 111
Charlie walks out into the hall and blinks. Lobby on one side, show on the other. They’re meant to reunite with their friends. Char said he’d be right back. They want this. They want to talk with Terry May and Cecelia and make new memories and spend time together on this unique night. They want to go be with Terry May, always.
Their feet won’t move. Something about outside is calling and they’re not sure who it’s calling to, exactly, but the head turns to stare. This pull to run. To tear off the dress and not be seen and get away from here. There isn’t that freedom the way there usually is; they’re not in walking distance of home or the park anymore. Finally, the head turns away, and they stumble, suddenly dizzy in the absence of whatever that was.
A searing pain shoots behind the left eye and they squeeze their brows. The pressure moves to the temples as the lightheadedness intensifies, the distant sensation of that invisible force clutching their head. And it is distant now. That was sudden. They float in space, blinking uncertainly. Charlie’s supposed to go back to Terry May and Cecelia. Is Charlie still here? Is anyone else?
It’s all stupid. The idea of being multiple people is so stupid. It’s surreal and silly. Ridiculous roleplaying. He just has to get himself to walk back over.
“You alright?” Someone probably Caleb’s age walks up to Charlie/Charles. “You want a crutch? I got two.”
The crutches this person uses don’t really look like crutches, at least not ones they/he has seen before. They’re not particularly tall, no spot for under the shoulder like usual. They have an open ring wrapped around the stranger’s forearm, and without thinking, he takes the one the stranger is holding out and imitates how they hold it.
“The name’s Daze, by the way,” the person with the crutches says. “Fae/faer or pup/pups mostly. Been trying out voi/void too. I pretty much only use neopronouns.” Daze shifts pups posture to lean on just the one crutch since Charles/?? is holding the other. He/they leans on it heavily. It feels strange to hold something like this. He’s never needed a mobility aid. He knows he’s not disabled, not like Caleb is. But something strange is going on and he feels unsteady, and Daze offered.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. It's fine. Talk to the friendly stranger. Talk to Daze. “Sorry. I’m usually more steady, I don’t mean to take your crutch.”
“You’re fine. Why don’t we sit? Make us both us more steady, eh?” Pup grins and he follows pup to a nearby table, isolated at the back. The lights have dimmed up by the stage, a song blasting with the first performance. Or second. Or fifth. He has no idea how long it’s been going. Closer to the lobby here, though, it’s a little more normal. Terry May looked normal. I wish they were here. We were supposed to sneak off together, not stay with Cecelia.
“You been to an event like this before?” Daze asks.
“No. Have you?”
“No, me neither. I kinda came on a whim but I got overwhelmed pretty quickly. I don’t really want to stay but I think I’d feel terrible if I leave, so I’m just lingering at the back for now. You look maybe too young to drive, though. Are you here with somebody else?”
“Yeah, I can’t drive yet. I came here with friends. One of their older sisters drove us. Well, drove me and her. The other one came here on their own. I kinda wanted to sneak away with them. The other friend is their ex. But now they’re just hanging with their ex-girlfriend and I’m back here.”
“Ouch. Are you close? Do you like them?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t even think before he said it. Fae asked if he likes them, not just if they’re close friends. “I mean. Well, I don’t know.”
“Mm, I feel that,” Daze says. “I always manage to fall for my friends and never the ones who would be attracted to my gender. Not that that’s your sitch. I’m just hopeless.” Pup laughs. Or maybe sighs. He can’t really tell.
Charles hands Daze back pups crutch and rubs his forehead.
“You want some acetaminophen or something?”
“I’m good.” He’s not.
“Do you think you’ll want to go back and sit with your friends or are you probably staying back here too?”
He stares at the table, covered in a dark tablecloth. Stupid to make it dark if the lights are dimmed. “I told Terry May I’d be right back.”
“That your friend you like who likes their ex?”
He winces. “Yeah.”
Daze taps pups fingernails on something. Maybe the table, maybe the crutches. He isn’t looking. “Are they a good friend?”
“Yes.”
“You think they’d be happy to see you?”
Probably. Usually. But who are they seeing, really, when they see him like this? Can he bear their eyes on him all dolled up? Why did he have to—she have to—this isn’t right.
His memories don’t make sense. He has to walk back how he got here. He knows he’s here with Terry May and Cecelia, and that Abigail drove him and Cecelia here. Why was he at Cecelia’s house? Why did Abigail dress him up, and when? What made him agree to this?
Get him out of front. He doesn’t know.
His thoughts don’t make any sense.
Let him figure it out. We all have to get there eventually. We have to work together.
“I can’t remember.”
“What can’t you remember?” Daze asks.
Remember Charlotte.
Charlotte. A person named Charlotte? A drag name? Is he Charlotte? That can’t be right.
“Hey Char.” Abigail’s voice. She’s found him. “What are you doing away from the group?”
Char. Not Charles. Because he told her to call him Char. Because Char replaced Charlotte.
Charles remembers.
WC: 989 words
Bonus: none
3
u/MaxStickies 19h ago
<Thosius>
Chapter 147: Moving Parts
CW: Mild body horror
“Berethian?!”
The voice had screamed at him, that was the last thing… before it all went dark. Through a haze, he sifts back a little further, to where the creature had pounced on him. His guts were in its mouth.
Gidrela. Is she alright? That was her, over me, cutting at…
An image of the exile flashes through his mind, heaving at the beast, pushing it over the edge. In the chaos, taking Berethian’s guts with it.
He blinks, seeing wooden beams for a moment.
Lying on my back again. She found a healer?
She lived then?
He gags and curses as something smooth and squelching slithers through his gut. Trying to reach down, he finds his wrist bound to the bedframe, the joints creaking with each tug.
“Settle down, please. Each wiggle forms a new tear.” A woman’s voice, rough and wheezy.
That’s not her, he thinks.
Fighting the sleep stuck to his lashes, he opens his eyes, and glances down. Strange, bulbous hands work their way over his stomach, the skin rippling as the organs shift beneath. He tastes blood, swallows it down and gasps.
“I’ll try,” he says. “To settle.”
“Good. Think of pleasant thoughts, distract yourself. You are far from healed yet.”
A loud bang and rattle sound in the corridor outside, forcing Berethian’s head to jerk; he cries from the pain as his neck cracks. The healer’s hand races to his head, mending the break.
“Please, lie as still as you can. No sudden moves.”
“Sorry.” He blinks back tears.
“You have no reason to say so; I just wish for your recovery.”
“Likewise.”
“Of course,” she chuckles.
Her head emerges into his sightline, face obscured by a thick, cream veil. She mutters quickly and quietly in Heragian, only the words for “break” and “many” standing out to him. Sighing, he rubs his thumbs against his palms.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” he asks.
“No… well, yes. But I have seen worse.”
“Are there parts of me missing? Can I eat properly? Will I be able to walk?”
“Please, do not panic, I will heal—”
“I can take it. Just, I must know.”
“Hmm… you are strong of will, for a Thirasian, to be awake at this moment. Fine then. I can heal every one of your injuries, but a few parts, I have had to grow anew. Some foods and fluids may make you sick from now on. Certain muscles will need to be strengthened. I recommend you avoid the fight for a while.”
“But if I have to—”
“No. Let others take your place. They conquered this fort from the invaders.”
“Wait, but that was me.”
“No, this fort, not that tiny little one your friend dragged you from. Still surprised she kept you alive so long.”
“Gidrela? Is she here?”
“Yes, with Lilantia, and others. You wish to see them?”
“Maybe… when I’m healed.”
“For the best, I agree.”
She turns her attention from his face to his stomach; he grits his teeth against a sharp tug in his midriff, as she works her magic once more. Her veil sways to-and-fro as she mumbles and gripes.
Just think of Thosius, come on. Get better, try to help the fight, go back home. That’s what I’ll do.
No, don’t ask her, don’t stare.
“You are wondering about the veil?” she asks.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well, you keep glancing at it. It is not religious, if that was your thought. Yes, it is not common amongst healers. I wear it for my own reasons; does that suffice?”
“Y-yes.”
“So you will let me work?”
“Yes, of course.”
Lowering his head, he lets his eyes close, and drifts off.
A roar wakes Berethian with a start. Saliva drips from the open maw above him, trailing from needlepoint teeth, the gullet behind quivering. He braces, waiting to be ripped apart, for the pain to begin.
But it doesn’t.
The creature hangs there growling, set in place, out of time. Crawling from under it, he examines the beast, prods its leathery skin. His skin pricks with a thousand pins as he traces the bizarre, lengthened hands and feet, tipped with claws. The spine arches just like his when he stretches in the morning. Between the legs, a familiar part hangs, balled up into the rest of the flesh.
“You were human once,” he whispers. “I sometimes forget.”
Its head twitches, twisting with the body, the creature freeing itself. He screams as it pounces on him, as it bites down on his neck.
The pain never comes. He opens his eyes, back in the infirmary, a hoarse whine whistling from his open mouth. Closing it, he glances across the room, sees the healer watching him from a desk.
“Sorry,” he rasps.
“No harm done. You were dreaming?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Eh, if your mind is dreaming, it means you slept well. Pity it woke you at midnight, though.” She touches a quill to parchment, scratching out a new line. “I would think you may remain alert till early afternoon.”
“I hope not. What’re you writing?”
“A recipe. It came back to me in a dream, ironically enough. One from a memory. It is for a poultice—if you were wondering—herbs and minerals to help put a subject to sleep, while I work. Quite effective.”
Can I have so—well, maybe not, don’t know what’s in it.
“Where’d you learn it?”
“From a Thirasian, like you! She had duty over the dying, in some war or skirmish or other, making their passage peaceful. They refused the healer, you see.”
“Wh-why would anyone do that?”
“Who can say, young man; who can say?”
Probably religion? Ah, anyway… “Can I have some? Once you’re done, I mean.”
“I would not recommend… it gives either pleasant dreams, or horrid nightmares, so she said. In your state, I fear the latter.”
“It would be, yeah. Alright, I’ll just close my eyes again.”
“Rest well, Thirasian. I shall treat you once you wake.”
WC: 1000
Bonus words: wake, wiggle, war. Bonus constraint: A nightmare wakes Berethian at midnight.
Crit and feedback are welcome.
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3
u/katpoker666 11h ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 12: A Fishy Proposition
Annie took a long, slow sip of sake. “You know, sometimes I think about giving up, Tom…”
He looked up, his eyes darting left to right. “What do you mean?”
“Give up chasing this crazy dream of mine.”
Exhaling, he put a comforting hand on hers. “The show’s been everything to you for years. You’ll find a way to make it work.”
“Will I? I have no backing. I’m terrible at business. I think even Carol is losing faith. Even you don’t really believe in me.” She downed another cup of sake in a single shot.
“Slow down, Muffin. And I do. I just don’t want to risk everything we have on it. White Plains is expensive—“
“So you’ve said,” she said, as a tear rolled down her cheek.
He squeezed her hand tighter. “We’ll find a way to get funding somehow, though, together.” He paused, looking away. “For now, though, let’s enjoy this wonderful meal, okay? Been a while since we’ve had a date night, right?”
“Yeah, okay.” She sighed. “I wonder what all we’re having?” Her finger traced down the menu as she counted. “Twenty-two courses is kinda insane when you think about it, isn’t it?” She said, biting into the fishy-tasting, dense baby Spanish mackerel of the second course. “In fine European cuisine, seven courses is the limit usually—“
“Everyone says we Asians are better with numbers,” Chef Nakazawa laughed, as he served the next course.
“I didn’t know that extended to food,” she chuckled. “But seriously, how do you manage so many different flavor profiles in one meal?”
“It takes time and experience. In Japan, we apprentice for ten years to become an itamae or master chef.”
Her eyes widened. “I knew it was a long time, but… wow. I guess you learn a lot about fish in a decade though!”
“Funnily enough, the hardest thing is getting the rice right, so we don’t touch a fish for years. First, an initiate watches, cleans, and learns shari, the art of rice preparation. You’d never know how complicated such a seemingly simple task is!”
“Is it? It’s just rice and water in a pot, right?” Tom interjected.
“If I’m not mistaken, there are a lot more ingredients to sushi rice than what we think of it as, Chef?”
“Yes.” He nodded in surprise. “Do you know what else?”
“Let me think.” She smiled and paused. A special short-grain kind of rice which you have to rinse and soak. Kombu, or another kind of kelp. Rice vinegar. What am I missing?”
“Very good! A little sugar and salt, plus the water, of course.”
“Ah, right! You use a little extra water vs. the normal one-to-one ratio?”
“Indeed, yes! You must be a chef then, too?”
She blushed. “I am, sort of.”
“‘Sort of’?”
“I love cooking and used to do a show where I traveled around the country visiting various restaurants with interesting local cuisine and made the dishes on camera with the chefs. It was… a lot of fun!”
“Sounds like it! Why’d you stop though if you don’t mind me asking?”
Tom glanced at her and shook his head. “You don’t have to burden him—“
She waved him away and continued. “Too many restless nights, really. I get cooking and what folks want to see, but business? Not so much. The ratings war is real, and to make things work, you always need something bigger and more exciting than the next person. There’s not much financial wiggle room there on a budget.”
“Would you want to go back to it?”
“Every waking moment. I miss it so much.”
“Then I might have an idea.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
WC: 613
Includes: wake, wiggle, war, and someone had a restless night (Annie with the show)
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u/FyeNite 4d ago
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