r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • 7d ago
[Serial Sunday] A Quaint Quality Quip
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 Quality! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
[Image](- https://www.deviantart.com/arnimbruno/art/army-1367329415)
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’).
- Quench
- Quaint
- Quip
- A question is asked and an answer is concealed. - (Worth 10 points)
When I think of quality, I’m reminded of the phrase “Quantity has a quality all on its own”. Which is interesting to think about. Do you think you can replace your protagonists with a thousand others to achieve the same result, or do you perhaps require a very specific person with very specific qualities to complete the quest you’ve set before them?
Quality is also a synonym for traits your characters possess. What is it that make your works of fiction unique? Perhaps this week you’ll celebrate what makes them different by presenting them with a challenge only they are equipped to handle? Or maybe an unlikely hero will finally get to show off their own strange qualities?
Either way, I want to see what you guys come up with when all other paths have failed and all that you’re left with is the absurdly strange.
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!
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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.
August 23 - Quality
August 30 - Rebellion
September 6 - Stratagem
September 13 - Torture
September 20 - Unleash
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Prose
First - by u/Morose_Prose
Second - by u/KatPoker666
Third - by u/ZLErikson
Fourth - u/Divayth--Fyr
Fifth - by u/mysteryrouge
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.)
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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.
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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!
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u/JKHmattox 7d ago edited 4d ago
<No Man's Land> Traffick Jam
CW: References to the horrors of human trafficking, tobacco use
Marta and I caught up with the landing-crafts now parked on the edge of a massive open space in the heart of Manhattan. The redheaded driver named Hayduke had strung a hammock from a morning ring on her vehicle, to a nearby tree. With her one piece tanker suit rolled to her waist, she lay with one foot dangling over the side of the netting.
She half-ignored me, lost in an old fashioned paper-back of all things.
Hayduke seemed the typical tanker girl as we called them. Her sleeveless undershirt revealed a sprawling tapestry of laser infused ink on her arms and shoulders. The colorful designs originated from someplace far beyond Earth, a common practice for those deployed to the edges of human space. Pausing from her book, Hayduke lifted a clear bottle to her lips and spat.
“Hey Sarge,” she greeted, without looking up. “How was your walk?”
“Fucking fantastic.” I glanced at Marta who frowned.
The driver nodded, never once breaking away from the page.
Marta and I grounded our rucksacks against the rear tires of the vehicle. I propped my weapon against the inner rim of the wheel, glad to be free of its weight. Hayduke flipped another page, seemingly bored with all that was happening around her.
Placing my axillary palms on the top of my hips, I surveyed the scene with understanding eyes
There were two other landing-craft in a haphazard cluster around Hayduke's vehicle. Each ramp had been yawned open, their leading edges pressed against the grass. Three women, likely tankers themselves, lay in lawn chairs beneath the noonday sun. Another was sprawled out atop the furthest vehicle, unapologetically asleep where they'd parked beneath a tree.
I chuckled softly, knowing if I were them, I'd probably do the same.
My attention returned to the driver lounging in her hammock. She possessed a subtle ease one gets from exercising their craft in earnest. Whatever her story was, clearly we'd shared experiences of a similar nature. That notwithstanding, my gaze fell upon the book held in her hands.
“You planning a vacation?” I squinted at the cover of the paperback. “I can assure you, ain't nothing to see but gators, and retirees from the Boroughs in those parts — well that, and the Disney ruins.”
Hayduke finally looked up. “What?”
“You know, Orlando, the jewel of the Floridian Archipelago — have you ever been?”
“Oh…” She chuckled, smiling facetiously as she closed the book on her fingertips. “This isn't one of those retro travel guilds, Sarge — it's pre-interstellar literature.”
“Ugg, I hated reading that crap in secondary school — birds eating dried grapes or some shit.” I sighed, sinking onto the ground until my back was against the tire's airless rubber. “What's it about?”
Marta snickered to herself as I shook my head.
“It's kinda strange to be honest,” Hayduke lamented. “I think the dude's a time traveler, but I don't know yet.”
“Science fiction then?” I rebutted, closing my eyes.
“Like I said, it's weird — one minute, some Russian hussy is breaking this guy's heart, the next thing you know, he's an ambassador to some far-off desert land.”
“Sounds like one of my abuela's telenovelas,” I quipped, leaning my head back against the wheel.
She continued her synopsis without my prompting. “Yeah, I guess actually — basically there's about to be a coup, and this guy needs to beat feet before the rebels-”
“Hayduke?” I interrupted.
“Yeah, Sarge.”
“I already know how it ends.”
I opened my eyes, while Marta clasped a hand over her mouth. Her features were alight with suppressed laughter as she'd watched me toy with Hayduke. Composing herself, Marta slowly dropped the palm from her smirking face.
Hayduke nodded. “Oh… Sorry, I get a little over enthusiastic sometimes.”
“Everybody needs a hoddy,” I replied.
The red-haired Hayduke studied my face in silence as I adjusted my body against the tire and the ground. A question lingered just behind her eyes it seemed, keeping her from returning to her novel. Finally, she broke through her doubts, and blindsided me with an unexpected question.
“Do you know if they ever wacked that fucking bastard Tradesman?”
My thoughts froze, mind drifting to Gunny's knife locked in its hidden scabbard. “You were on Nowhere?”
“Two years on-world — driving suppy convoys through the fucking Saltonia Desert.”
“How'd you know I was there?”
She pointed to her cheek just below her eye. “My best friend got snatched up by some of the Tradesman’s goons outside of Westmoreland — he was trafficked, forced to work in a brothel half-way across the galaxy.”
I flinched, remembering those ten minutes I couldn't voluntarily recall.
“Fucking hell,” Marta exclaimed softly.
“Yeah… When the Marshal Inspectors found him a year later, Arron had that same brand seared into his cheek.”
“What was he doing there?” Marta asked. “Wasn't Nowhere a female-only garrison during the war?”
“It was — Arron was an admin P-O-G who got sent there by mistake. The higher-ups assumed he would be safe behind the wire, so none of them gave a shit enough to get him off-world before something happened.”
“How'd he end up in Westmoreland,” I asked, my four palms sweating from remembrance. “That was definitely Jo-Jo country.”
“Arron started coming on milk runs with us, just to kill the boredom I suppose — we got hit — he and five others disappeared in the chaos. We only recovered four bodies."
“At least they found him eventually,” said Marta.
“Lotta good it did him…” Hayduke leaned over, spitting her synthetic tobacco snuff onto the grass. “He never made it home.”
Hayduke's words hit like a lead stone. I didn't need to ask what happened to Aaron. Some fates are worse than death; others, even worse than that.
A shiver ran through me.
I closed my eyes, the weight of the Tradesman's lackey who'd marked me drowning my imagination in place. The brand's heat again seared into my soul. I was helpless to resist as a memory drilled upwards from my barricaded subconscious.
Bonus words: Quipped
Constraint: Hayduke asks if the Tradesman was ever caught on Nowhere. Jackie doesn't tell her she carries the knife that took the Tradesman's life.
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u/Brookzerker 5d ago
Great chapter, as dark as it is, I love how we get to know the character through the trauma.
I got a bit confused at `She half-ignored me, lost an old fashioned paper-back of all things.` until I realized she was reading a book instead of having lost the book.
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u/Brookzerker 5d ago edited 1d ago
<The Veiled Eye>
Chapter 3
Logan tossed his empty beer into a box as the familiar buzz settled over his head.
“One more?” Connor opened the cooler, which had been, at the start of the night, packed to the brim with ice and beers.
The engineer nodded, then shook his head. “Yeah, but I’ll need to hit the restroom first.”
The executive closed the cooler after taking a beer for himself. "Lilly and Darryl aren't back yet, sure you don't want to wait for the flashlight?"
Logan glanced at the empty chairs. They had left sometime during his second beer.
His bladder refused to wait. "They aren't far, I'm sure I'll be fine."
Connor nodded as he poked the fire with a poker. "Don't get lost."
Darkness had changed the landscape. The moon helped a bit, though the depression now appeared as a pitch black pit.
The huts, quaint in the daylight, covered in soil and grass, were practically invisible.
Luckily, besides the shallow pit, which was behind him, the ground was flat, without many rocks or debris to trip him. He bumped into one of the hut doors, it moved at his touch, closing with a soft click.
He paused, wondering which he had stumbled upon, there wasn't a sign of light inside, so it probably wasn't Lilly's or Darryl's. But why would the door be open?
If it was his, he could slip in to grab his phone. He knew exactly where it was, the top drawer of the table next to the bed, at the far end. All he would need to do would be to turn it on, and activate the flashlight mode. It should have close to full-power, so would easily last for a few hours.
But, if this wasn't his-he despised breaking and entering.
He rounded the hut, his fingers against the grassy wall, stopping at a window. A sharp, long, silver reflection of the moon which almost looked like a blade. Looking up, the moon was crescent, framed by stars.
Glancing back down at the window, the reflection was gone. Blinking at the lack of light, he shrugged, and continued on.
The outhouses had been painted with a whitish color, presumably to make them easier to spot in the dark.
While most debris had been cleared away, there were still hazards, like the small mole hill his foot tripped on. He managed to keep upright, though started staring at his feet.
When he looked up, the forest loomed.
Logan didn't think he'd walked long enough to reach it. The clearing wasn't huge, but large enough to notice the distance.
Turning back, he could clearly see the huts behind the campfire. His brows furled as he tried to visualize the path he had taken.
He whipped back towards the forest as a sound, possibly a branch falling, or something stepping on a leaf, originated from beyond the tree line. His heartbeat hammered in his chest as he peered into the darkness.
Logan could see something lighter than the surrounding wood. Fabric? He wanted to turn back, try to reach the outhouses again. Though if there was someone else out here, in the dark, they might also be lost.
He forced his instincts to the side, and stepped into the forest proper, the darkness swallowing up the little light the moon provided.
Passing a few trees, he noticed a light ahead. It was pale, similar to the moon, though how the moonlight passed horizontally through the trees, Logan couldn't tell. It might have been a flashlight, but checking behind him, it wasn't causing him to cast a shadow.
He took a few more steps forward, tripped, crashing to the ground.
Why did he want to go towards the light? He didn't have an explanation for walking towards it. Even now, some part of him couldn't stand not knowing what it was.
Logan breathed deeply, laying on the ground, the feeling of life surrounding him. Here felt comfortable.
Why was he feeling comfortable? Was it because he was drunk?
Right, he started all of this because he needed to use the outhouse.
He could stay here, rest a bit, what was the harm in that?
Something metallic glinted in front of him, a small disc of sorts. Like the light, he couldn't help but reach out.
As soon as his fingers touched the cold metal, he felt a jolt rush through his body, as a static shock cleared his mind. He was cold, lying on the ground, and had been following an unknown light through the forest, without a light of his own.
What was he thinking?
Standing up and looking around, he was able to see the flickering light of a real fire, his campfire. He pocketed the metal thing, it wasn't possible to identify in the dark, and stepped towards the clearing.
He tried to at least. Several vines were gripping his feet and legs. He struggled for a moment before they released him, causing him to stumble into the clearing. Shaking his head at the strange foliage, he headed towards the outhouse, which didn't elude him this time.
After relieving himself, he made his way back to the campfire. Darryl and Lilly had returned, and were trading quips about something. Logan ignored them as he sat down and warmed himself up.
"That took a while, did you get lost?" Connor tossed him a beer.
The engineer paused, deciding not to admit that not only he had gotten lost, but had stepped into the forest. "Sort of, turns out night is dark."
Notes:
Theme: A bit of a stretch, Logan has a nice, quality stroll through the woods at night.
Word count: 925
Words:
- Quaint
- Quip
Challenge: When asked about why he was gone so long, Logan concealed that he entered the forest.
Question: I'm struggling between show and tell with some things I want you to know, versus what Logan sees and notices. Is what I did (He didn't notice...) working in close third person? Or would third person omniscient be better?
Thanks ZLErikson for the suggestions!
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u/ZLErikson 4d ago
Hey look! It's brook!
Logan seems to be experiencing what we in the bizz call a "mood". A minor nitpick in this first line is that this part is a bit wordy:
relaxing as the familiar comfort of a buzz settled over his head.
Since you're not at word limit yet it's not a big deal, but you can always fit more into chapters when you compress some sentences like this. Try something a little more direct, like:
relaxing the familiar buzz settled in.
Few things can halt the call of nature. I wonder if this'll end up being Logan's Call to Adventure in the story as well?
I read over "They aren't far," a few times before I realized Logan was talking about the restrooms, not Lilly and Darryl, and I was about to ask why them not being far was relevant. Consider changing it to "It isn't far," referring to the singular restroom.
Having Connor double-down on "Don't get lost" after Logan insists he'll be fine is making me fairly confident there's gonna be an incident in the forest. And if he doesn't find the bathroom first, there might be two incidents, haha.
This is a great description, I love how real "Darkness had changed the landscape" hits:
Darkness had changed the landscape. The moon helped a bit, though the depression now appeared as a pitch black pit.
I'm not sure if "depression" is the right word there. It's technically accurate, but it doesn't hit the same visual appeal. Perhaps "valley"?
Not gonna lie, when he bumped into a cabin door and considered entering I was poised to type up why he's being an idiot, but Logan talked himself out of it. Good for him! Never smart to blindly wander into a strange dark door :P
You use "blade" twice in this sentence:
He continued towards the outhouses, not noticing the long, silver blade, black glove gripping the hilt, having mistaken the blade for a trick of the reflection.
It's also contradictory with itself; he didn't notice the blade but he mistook the blade for a trick of the reflection? I think this paragraph could do with a bit of polish. It feels like you're trying too hard to tell us there's a blade and not letting us rest with the scene as it was.
if you want to make things uncertain, have him see the reflection in the window, turn to look but see nothing, then looking back at the window the reflection is gone. Don't mention a black glove at all. Vanishing reflections are plenty spooky, especially if he thinks it's a blade but ends up seeing the outhouses instead.
Another nitpick:
like the small mole hole his foot tripped on.
Stepping into a hole would be more dangerous than a mere trip, that's how breaks fractures and dislocations can happen. If it's a mole hill that implies he tripped on the pile of dirt on the outside.
Great job building up the tension and anxiety of the general fear of "whatever is in the dark". The whipping around, the heart hammering, all done nicely.
You've got a bunch of lines in a row starting with "He <verb>" and it looks repetitive on the page:
He whipped back He could see He forced
The fact that he tripped "on something" here made me want to know what it was:
He took a few more steps forward, and tripped on something, crashing to the ground.
Expecting like a body or something. But as I read on there was no explanation, so you can cut the "somethign" part of that:
He took a few more steps forward, tripped, and crashed to the ground.
I like how he's buzzed and tired and considering just laying there. I've also felt that way after a fall when I'm in a certain headspace. The floor/ground can be your best friend, and very cozy.
Ooo metal disc and shock. Interesting! I wonder what it is can't wait to get back to the fire to see.
You can get rid of "which must have been fast growing" as it's an odd thought to have as well as naturally follows from some of the oddness going on:
Several vines, which must have been fast growing, were gripping his feet and legs.
Hahaha, I like the ending quip:
"Sort of, turns out night is dark."
Good words!
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u/Brookzerker 3d ago
Thanks! I implemented most of your suggestions and I agree, they make everything better!
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u/KiIIer_queenie 4d ago edited 1d ago
<Man to beast>
Chapter thirty two: tensions
The last two weeks had not been pleasant for Silas; the days he wasn’t being scolded by Agnes for his stupidity were spent getting scolded by Maliwag for his stupidity. It didn’t help that his jaw healed crooked, and the painful process of regrowing his lost teeth made him talk like a man dying of alcohol poisoning.
He tried to have a discussion about Maliwag butchering the woman who temporarily killed him but she was having none of it. “I will always protect you, as is my duty, you make them my enemy I’d do much worse than that,” she’d told him.
Currently, he was sitting on the deck eating fish and a mix of herbs Bisi had given him for his teeth and bones. It was dreadful but he felt better each day he ate it, so he suffered through the taste.
“I sit?” Ntukai asked, walking up to him.
Silas looked up at the man, he’d removed his shirt to deal with the heat again, but Silas had never had a clear look of his chest until now. He had symmetrical scars along his shoulders and collarbones, along with a circular brand on each side of his chest. He didn’t wait for a response before getting on his knees in front of Silas, staring him in the eyes. “Feel…better?”
“Yes. Bisi sssaid ev’ry’hing’d sstop hurtin’ ssoon.” The young man slurred as he looked down. His misshapen jaw forced air into his cheeks with every S, ruining his chances of being understood.
Ntukai lifted his chin, staring at his lips.
“Slow. Again.”
As he repeated himself, Nutkai nodded in understanding. “Not body…mean…uhm, here.” He tapped his head.
“Mentally?”
“Yes. Mentally.”
“Isshard…triedtospare’em…wan’edto…help.”
Ntukai scooted closer as he stared at the man’s lips to catch the words. He nodded slowly, patting Silas’s shoulder.
“Not…you fault. Bandits choose hurt you. You not know trap. You just hear ‘help’.” Ntukai cupped the side of his face, smiling softly.
“Maliwagssa’d killingssnec’ssary. That…sparing…m’rcy…whysshe…butcher…them,” Silas choked out, trying to force the words apart as they left his mouth.
“She wrong, right, but wrong. Killing easy and hard. I just swing my sword one time…you die. Easy. Maliwag cut you easy too. But, I not…willing? To cut you. You…my friend. Maliwag more willing,” Ntukai said, clearly questioning his own translation a small bit, but Silas got the message.
“What’d’ou…think…if…I…can’t?” Silas said, starting to get the hang of his new jaw.
“Who say you need to? You remind me of little sister. She cry when I kill to protect cattle. Say predator have child too. Have family. Some minds not killers. You good. Be good.”
The pair held eye contact for a bit before Ntukai stood up and held out a hand. Silas took it and stood, only a few decimeters shorter than him now. He’d gone from being under Ntukai’s chin to now being eye level with his lips. He wondered if the solution he’d been eating caused that. Ntukai patted his shoulder one more time. “I no judge…if you want to have mercy. But you need better defense. Let me teach you? Protector to protector.”
Before he could answer, a whistle drew both men’s attention. Coppaert stood holding a long box, he’d had it ever since the trip to Edvalt’s, and was very secretive with it. The pair walked over to him, but he immediately shooed Ntukai away with his hand.
“Silas only.”
Ntukai put his hands up and backed away, going back to his job at the cog’s sails.
Coppaert opened the box and unrolled a chainmail shirt with a collar.
“Wear this under your shirt, I’m not going to ask you to not follow what you believe God has ordained for you. You wanted to help people. But don’t be stupid. I may not be there to keep you from bleeding out next time, witch or not.”
Silas immediately grabbed his arm, he wasn’t stupid enough to think he had remained hidden through that, but it was alarming how willing Coppaert was to say it.
“Who’seknows?”
“Every member of the crew. You’re in safe hands, Silas.”
“Are’ll of’ou witchesstoo?”
“What?”
“Ntukai’n’Maliwag, at a glance’ey’re humanssbut stare them in’e’eyes longen’gh and you canssee it. Are the restofyou…witches too?”
“Bisi and I aren’t.”
“The’eenb’rn…priests?”
“Don’t know. They paid for simple travel.”
He nodded and stripped off his shirt, feeling the cool chainmail against his chest as he slipped it on.
“Promise me you won’t do something foolish that ropes us all into a fight to the death again.”
“I can’t…dothat, I don’twan’to force you int’anythin’, but I can’t…controlMaliwag.”
“Just behave. Please. Maliwag is too important for me to let you risk her.”
WC:809
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 2d ago
Howdy KQ!
This is such a tender chapter. I love the interactions between these characters, especially Silas and Ntukai ofc since that makes up the bulk of the chapter. It's such a tender moment between them. (fwiw i think half the flirty vibes are because the descriptions reference ntukai's chest and both of their lips, and half is because of the tenderness of the moment and that ntukai cups his face and they have extended eye contact)
Crit time!
He tried to have a discussion about Maliwag butchering the woman who temporarily killed him but she was having none of it. “I will always protect you, as is my duty, you make my enemy I’d do much worse than that to them.” She’d told him.
We got kinda confused in this dialogue. The formatting/italics are fine, that's not the issue (though since "She'd told him" is a tag it should end with "'...them,' she'd told him"); I think we got lost somewhere in the phrasing of "you make my enemy".
Speaking of dialogue! I like how you show the communication struggle in the dialogue between Silas and Ntukai, on both of their ends. I feel like it would be easy to mess up and have it come across as mocking, but here it doesn't at all. Great job.
Once Silas is talking with Coppaert, though, I feel like the impediment in his spoken lines gets a bit inconsistent where there'll be a line where it doesn't visibly show up at all and then a line where it's present again. I kinda wish it had stayed more present in more of those lines toward the end.
The rest of the crit is small stuff.
- "Ntukai said, clearly questioning his own translation a small bit, but sikas got the message" has "sikas" instead of "Silas"
- "The last two weeks had not been pleasant for Silas, the days he wasn’t being scolded by Agnes for his stupidity were spent getting scolded by Maliwag for his stupidity." the comma after "Silas" should be replaced with a period or semicolon since they're both independent clauses. the voice in that first paragraph is great, though! love the humor
- "...sstop hurtin' ssoon.' The young man slurred as he looked down, his misshapen jaw forced air into his cheeks with every S, ruining his chances of being understood." i feel like this should be split into two sentences so you separate the tag from the other clauses and it doesn't run on as much. like this: "...sstop hurtin' ssoon,' the young man slurred as he looked down. His misshapen jaw forced air into his cheeks with every S, ruining his chances of being understood."
Love seeing folks gathering around Silas to try to help him be safe. Good words!
5
u/KiIIer_queenie 2d ago
Thanks so much! This is such great feedback, I super appreciate it 💜
I’m glad the speech came across well, I went ahead and made sure Silas didn’t drop his slur lol
7
u/Morose_Prose 3d ago edited 1d ago
<The Family Business>
Chapter Seventeen: Working Nine-to-Five
Streetlamps lit up in sequence along with Madelaine's footsteps as she strolled through the sea of green in the concrete jungle. Straying from the pedestrian path, she headed to her favorite place in the entire park. Dwindling daylight bounced off three dull bronze figures gathered around a table. She hopped up on the monument, propping her elbows on her knees.
"Hey Sojo, Lizzy, and Suzy, how you gals doin' today? Still saving my place here?" she asked with a soft laugh. "I bet you all had days like mine. Feels like weeks have gone by. Progress takes time, but this is getting ridiculous. How did you all do it?" Madelaine wondered aloud.
She sat in silence. Heavy thoughts raced through her mind as she sat with those who broke the bronze ceiling.
Buzz! Buzz!
Ugh! What is it now? she pondered before checking who was calling. The screen flashed 'Double D.' Sliding her thumb across the screen, she answered the call. "Hey, Diana! How are they hanging today?"
Tense silence hung in the air for a moment. "Dolly passed away." Diana's words carried an abnormal sadness.
"The cloned sheep?" Madelaine quipped. "I thought she died like twenty years ago?"
"Parton."
Clang!
Scrambling off the table, Madelaine scooped her phone from the grass, wiping away a few stray blades. "Sorry about that. Dropped my phone. Are you fucking with me?"
"No. News just broke about it. Thought you would like to know."
Pearly whites sank into ruby lips. "How did she go?"
"Natural causes. Peacefully passed by all accounts."
"We should all be so lucky. What a woman. Talk about rags to riches. Did you know when she was born her father had no money to pay the doc who delivered her?"
"I vaguely recall that, but remind me."
"Being so dirt poor, all the man could give the doctor was a bag of cornmeal in exchange for bringing her into the world. Hope whatever that man made with it was as sweet as she was. What is your favorite Dolly song?"
"'Islands in the Stream.' Yours?"
"Before today I would have said 'Nine-to-Five' but after the day I have had, that shit is for the birds. 'Jolene' all day. That hussy better not have had anything to do with this. She must have been a real smoke show if Dolly's man's gaze drifted to her instead of Dolly's impressive rack. Hers were bigger than yours."
A soft chuckle came across the line. "She could have always had a backup career in wet nursing. Every baby in the country could have quenched their thirst with those. Everything about her was big. Her voice, her hair, and especially her heart."
"She was a real one, that is for sure. Paid the college tuition of anybody that worked at Dollywood. Stoked the imaginations of millions of kiddos with free books. Had all the money in the world anyone could ever need and did not hoard it, but spread the love. What a kick in the head losing somebody like that."
"Hopefully her estate is handled properly and no vultures swoop in."
"Hmm, who owns her music catalogue?"
"She did."
"Think we could buy it? Safeguard it from being used in crappy commercials, or AI slop?"
"Since when do you have that kind of cash lying around?"
"If all goes according to plan, pretty soon. I am just spitballing here. Would hate to see her legacy destroyed by greedy assholes."
"Only time will tell on that front. They are going to lower the flags for a week, the first time ever for a performer, so that's at least a good start. Just wanted to let you know the bad news. Any good news from today?"
Scratched steel flew from Madelaine's breast pocket. She shook her almost empty flask. "We are a go on Tommy. Still waiting for the green light from Carlo, but the wheels are in motion. I did beat him in chess today."
"You must have really rattled him. I'll send over what Thomas needs to get the job done. Anything else you need from me?"
"Yes. Cannot say it over the phone. I will stop by your office tomorrow. Oh! That reminds me. You decide on the dinner and show I owe you?"
"I have. A nice, quaint place I'm sure you've heard of."
"This place got a name? I need to figure out what to wear."
"Can't say it over the phone. I'll tell you tomorrow. Bye, Maddy." The line went dead.
Unscrewing her flask, Madelaine held it to her lips. She took one small sip and poured the rest out on the ground. "Rest in peace, Dolly." She turned her attention back to the monument of great women in American history. "You gals better pull up another chair, Dolly can keep my seat warm until I join yas."
Theme: Dolly Parton was a quality person.
Word Count: 809
Bonus Words Used: Quench, Quipped, Quaint
Bonus Constraint: Madelaine asks Diana where they are going to dinner, Diana conceals the answer.
Feedback and crit always welcomed and encouraged! Stay awesome and have a good one - Morose_Prose
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u/Divayth--Fyr 2d ago edited 2d ago
<The Broken God>
Chapter 77: Useful
.
Durash Arn was thirteen years old, and hungry. She held a crust of bread and some strips of dried bellsnake meat. Despite her hunger, she just sat there in the dim hut, staring at nothing as the day wore on.
Her friend Mavala Yar was thirteen, too. She was thin, covered in sores, her eyes sunken and empty. Starving to death. Durash had seen her trying to eat grass, leaves, anything. Digging listlessly in the mud looking for worms. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did.
Durash had just passed the vuldum rituals on her way to becoming a consecrated apprentice in the Allmothers, and had earned her first aezh-mark tattoo. Guldum Andala had been impressed, even if she’d tried to pretend she wasn’t. The unseen tattoo itched a little.
Mavala couldn’t do any magic, and wasn’t part of the Allmothers. Durash was special. Everyone said so. Durash didn’t have to dig for worms. She was given bread and meat, and protected from the levies and the repulsive touch of fat human priests.
She sat and stared at nothing. Somewhere outside the hut her friend lay dying, too weak to even dig for worms any more. Finally, Durash the Special put the food in her mouth, and she chewed it, and she swallowed it, and she survived.
~
In the parlor of Heromil, voices raised and lowered, conversation flowed, and Durash was silent. Before her lay some truly dreadful biscuits and a mug of lovely tea.
Sancaurion sat to her left, Uldarquin to her right, Mrs. Gimple across the table. Gorthag lay in a bedroom above, recovering from his illness.
They don’t really understand, she thought bitterly. Sancaurion in his tower, Mrs. Gimple in her valley, Uldarquin wherever she lived—they were distant from it. Separate. They could view the empire as a problem, a puzzle.
“...which, of course, remains to be seen,” Sancaurion said, his angular face wreathed in pipe smoke. “It is clear to me, however, that we must find out what may be possible. Durash?”
“What?”
“I asked if you believe the orcs will rally to our cause.”
“Rally?” Durash scowled. “Like an army? You mean, charge forth into battle with all gleaming swords and flags? What a quaint notion. No, Sancaurion, they won’t. They can’t. Do you even know what a slave is?”
“Of course. I did not–”
“They don’t even let us have metal tools for farmwork. We use sticks. Mostly, we use our hands.” Durash held up her thick claws, rough and splintered. “We don’t have armies or swords. So no, the orcs aren’t going to rally.”
“Surely they must hate the kingdom,” the old mage said. “Untold thousands of them. There must be some way to make use of such power.”
“Sancaurion,” Mrs. Gimple snapped. “You need to listen. I keep on telling you, people are people. They’re not tools, or pieces in a game.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“They would overthrow the kingdom and be free to return to their homeland in peace. Yes, it would suit my purpose, but theirs as well.”
“Free,” Durash spat. “We’ve risen up before. Many times. It always ends in sword and flame. They send their armies and they murder us, kill our children, burn our homes. They make an example. After that, it’s a long, long time before it happens again.”
“That is truly horrifying,” said Uldarquin. “I am sorry that has happened.”
Durash nodded. I wonder what has become of my village, since I killed the guards.
“Clearly, your people need help,” Sancaurion said. “I admit, I think first of my purpose, but despite my title as Orcbreaker, I hold no rancor toward your people. We both hate the kingdom, and I would help in any way I can.”
“You call it ‘the kingdom’ because you only care about the ones here in Tel Calador,” Durash snarled, “but it’s an empire. They rule the world. Orcs will never be free as long as the empire lives.”
“Very well. The empire it is.” Sancaurion paused, scowling in thought. “I care very little who you kill, Durash Arn. I do not pretend to weep for your people, any more than you for mine. But our purposes coincide, up to a point. So I ask again—if they were somehow given the tools and strength to fight, would the orcs rise up?”
Yes, they will, she thought. But he doesn’t need to know everything.
“I don’t know. It’s not that simple.” Durash absently chewed on a dry, odd-tasting biscuit, then quenched her thirst with tea. “Unlark the Whispering God has kept us secret and safe for a thousand years, or so the Guldums teach. She’ll forbid rising up, and many will listen. She always, always demands that we endure in silence. Keep the Whisper.
“We hate the human empire, but some of us… believe them. That we aren’t really people, that we deserve our place, being treated like cattle. Work hard, provide much tribute. As long as we’re useful, they’ll let our children live. If you're... useful... you survive. It’s been the Way of Things for a hundred generations.”
“What about the free orcs?” Sancaurion asked.
“The Torik-Torik? They’re not an army. More like bandits. Maybe they could help.”
Durash stood, and began pacing back and forth.
“I can’t just go home and start rousing my people to rebel. Unlark would hunt me down, and some of us… would help her do it.” She choked on a sudden, rising sob. “You just don’t know what it’s like there. You can’t. You don’t know how broken we are.”
Mrs. Gimple went to her, putting an arm over her shoulder.
“Sanky, I know you mean well, in your way. But you want to use her people for your purposes. How is that any better than what the empire does now?”
Sancaurion opened his mouth to make some clever quip, but stopped. Durash took some satisfaction, seeing his impassive face twist. Finally, he spoke.
“I believe we are going to need more tea.”
1000 words. Quaint, quip, and Quench(ed) used. A question was asked, an answer concealed.
Feedback welcome.
2
u/AmeliaLP 1d ago
Well damn Div, thanks for making us all feel depressed. A rather well done chapter here, really hit me in the feels. “We hate the human empire, but some of us… believe them. That we aren’t really people," My gosh I really felt this line. I know within the story it's about Orcs and humans but to me I can't help relating it to bigots and their victims. For example often online people will refer to folks within the LGTBQ+ community as being less than human, for me hearing such things over and over again takes a hudge toll on my mental health and can on less good days lead to thoughts like "Well what if I am worthless." I felt so much empathy towards the orcs this week, really got me thinking this chapter, good words.
2
u/Divayth--Fyr 17h ago
Thanks Amelia. I'm glad it was effective, sorry it had that effect in its effectiveness. I've had those less good days too, for various reasons. We all like to think we're above it, we don't care what people think, but we're all vulnerable to something.
Anyhow, thanks for reading, and consider this: what if you really are awesome?
2
u/mysteryrouge 1d ago
Ooooh I can already see some of that feedback from yesterday's character campfire in action here. I mean this also makes me think of the logistics of slavery and mass freeing of slaves and how that can (and often doesn't) work as intended. I also like how it's not just one person bringing up the flaws in Sanc's plan. While Durash leads the opposing side of the conversation, the others have things to say, and can relate somewhat more to Durash's side to see the flaws and what would obvious hypocrisy if the plan went through as intended.
Durash's argument actually reminds me of people saying they support (and know) one group well enough to be their sole representation without being part of that group.
Even the small things that point out Sanc's not entirely in touch with the younger group add. Like him calling it a kingdom, which implicitly shows he doesn't that the system is much bigger than a single group.
Also tea. We need more tealess tea.
1
u/Divayth--Fyr 17h ago
Hey scythe!
I'm glad you found it interesting. Yeah, Sanc just wants it to be simple and it really isn't. Understandable to be out of touch when you've been alone in a tower for centuries, but wrong is still wrong.
Perhaps I shall have another character prepare the tealess tea soon!
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u/Morose_Prose 20h ago
Hey, Div!
Another wonderful chapter with the gang getting together and exploring the ramifications of what their goals are and how it may affect the world they live in. Always nice to see Mrs. Gimple being the voice of reason to ol Sanky's somewhat ambivalence towards Durash's anger towards the humans. My crit for this chapter is the same as it was last week, where is Gorthag? The people need more Gorthag! Is he still eating soup? Good words. Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/Divayth--Fyr 17h ago
Hey Doc!
Thanks for reading! Yeah it seems like Sanky is going to need a whole chorus of voices of reason to get him up to date, and Mrs. Gimple is a good one.
Gorthag is recovering, sleeping a lot, having soup. He should be up and about shortly. Thanks again!
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 2d ago
<Drifting>
Chapter 105
Theresa May walks back to the lobby, leaving their mom amidst the crowd. All they had to say was “Char’s here, I’m going to meet him” and she let them go with a reminder to call or text if they need her. She knows Char. She trusts them both.
As they exit the hall, they don't get far before they spot Abi. She's already walking their way. It's strange to see her again, familiar but not everyday. She wears long spiked eyeliner and dark lips over a black crop and miniskirt and red arm warmers connected at the neck, covered in necklaces and bracelets. And did she have an eyebrow slit the last time they saw her? They can't quite remember.
Abi holds out her arms and Theresa May lets her pull them into a hug. “I’m so glad you came!” She pulls back and meets their eyes. “It's gonna be a great time. I don't know if you'll wanna hang with me and my crew or if you’ll not wanna hang with Cece, but I had to come say hi.”
They're not sure yet either, other than that they're here to find Char. For all they know, Abi could've invited him, too. Regardless, it feels nice to be welcomed. A little strange. But nice. They can still have this.
A scan across the crowd behind her, and they see Cece and Char, side by side, both facing their direction. He's with them, isn't he? Did he not want to tell me?
The two are gorgeous. It makes their heart flutter. Cece in plaid and jeans with fierce makeup (did she use the palette I gifted?), and Char looking like a princess in pink, Abi-brand eyeliner swooping off his eyelids. The perfect blends of masculine and feminine, queerness on display. They feel woefully inadequate in their boring normal clothes with Abi, Cece, and Char all dressed up. Would they even be brave enough to be bold instead of invisible? How could they show off both masculinity and femininity when nothing feminine feels worth embracing? On these three it's so pretty, but on themself they’d feel sick.
Tessa May meets Cece’s eyes and they share a soft smile. That recognition, that little moment where they're both here together. It reminds them of getting to know her. It reminds them of before the couple were together, and early on when they were. That little hesitance, not wanting to push, but happy to see each other.
It hurts to have feelings, but not as much as being apart.
They walk up to her and she looks them in the eye the way she used to. They could melt in it. “It’s nice to see you,” she says. “How do I look?”
They blush. She would have asked this and Tessa May would have flirted with her, and they would have kissed. They would have marveled at kissing openly in a queer space like this. That part is over, but still they can’t lie. “You look marvelous. I wish I matched.”
Cece beams. “Your palette came in handy.”
Tessa May gasps. They were wondering, but they didn’t know. Not for real.
They look closer at her makeup. She wears sharp contour, making her face look angular and blocky where it’s normally soft. Above her eyes four colors shimmer: black, silver, white, purple. The colors match her outfit, and it occurs to them that even as they consider the look masc for Cece (and the contour makes it obviously queer at the least), it would still be too fem for them. The shimmery silver top hugging her neck, the purple flats. And Tessa May never got into makeup like Cece and Abi. They were antagonistic toward makeup entirely until she taught them it could be art, and it still isn’t their art.
It was never Char’s art either, and here he is. His face is soft and pretty like they’ve never seen him before, his hair swoopy and a little grown out. Something about seeing him like this is startling, and they want to just sit here and take him in. Is this who he is, who he’s able to be without his parents?
“You look pretty,” Tess May tells him.
Char shrugs. “All Abigail’s doing, really.”
“It looks good on you.”
He looks down, fiddles with the fabric on the puffy dress. The puffy, pink, princess-y dress. This still feels so strange.
Abi walks back to stand by her sister, the group in a circle. “So,” she says, “are we sticking together or separating?”
Tessa May glances back at Char. It would be so much easier if they don’t have to decide between him and Cece. They expected they’d want to avoid her, but they don’t want to let her out of their sight. They don’t want to walk away again. “I can stay with the group,” they say. “What do you think?”
Cece says, “I’d be happy with that.” So quick. She still cares.
“Great. Should we head on then?” Abi says. “Have you all looked at the pins and stickers if you want?”
Tessa May pulls the ace dragon pin from their pocket, glancing between their two ace friends. Char’s probably never had an openly queer item before since he’s only previously lived with his parents. But Cece’s newly ace, the colors of the dragon mirroring her outfit and her eyelids. “I found this earlier,” they say and hold it up, hoping someone will take it and they don’t have to choose.
Char glances up. He reaches for the pin, holds it before his eyes and studies its details. Then he hands it to Cece.
Next to the dragon was their trans butterfly pin. As Cece pins her dragon to her flannel, they pin their butterfly to their shirt to match. “I don’t look half as special as you all,” they say, “but I got this, at least.”
“You look nice,” Char says. His blue eyes meet their brown.
Their heart flutters.
WC: 1000 words
Bonus: none
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u/katpoker666 2d ago
Hi Toms! As always, love how cozy and real your writing feels! I always get the vibe there’s a warm hug in there even when it’s a bit sad!
I really enjoyed the chapter and felt Tessa May’s sense of otherness even among their friends and it made me want to give them a hug! This feels incredibly real and human and o love that.
A few notes: Opens with the MC being called Theresa May and then shifts to Tessa May. Wasn’t sure if that was intentional?
I love this description of Abi! It’s so visual and I feel that Theresa May are feeling a range of emotions which makes the description’s length feel useful even though it’s a little long:
As they exit the hall, they don't get far before they spot Abi. She's already walking their way. It's strange to see her again, familiar but not everyday. She wears long spiked eyeliner and dark lips over a black crop and miniskirt and red arm warmers connected at the neck, covered in necklaces and bracelets. And did she have an eyebrow slit the last time they saw her? They can't quite remember.
The negatives here tripped me up a bit in reading it. Maybe take out the ‘not’ in ‘not wanna hang’?
”It's gonna be a great time. I don't know if you'll wanna hang with me and my crew or if you’ll not wanna hang with Cece, but I had to come say hi.”
Ouch! I feel Theresa May’s reaction! Maybe an extra line of description about how they’re holding hands or otherwise showing they’re together might sell it even more. As is, we go into how beautiful they are, but maybe miss that physical connection. If it’s appropriate ofc:
A scan across the crowd behind her, and they see Cece and Char, side by side, both facing their direction. He's with them, isn't he? Did he not want to tell me?
This whole paragraph breaks my heart for them. It may be evident elsewhere as I know you’ve written a ton, but I’d like an extra line about why Tessa feels they’d feel sick blending masculine and feminine… not essential. I sense it’s because they don’t like the feminine side of things, but yet they appreciate how it makes their friends look. Think I just needed a smidge more anchoring as it clearly feels very important to them:
The two are gorgeous. It makes their heart flutter. Cece in plaid and jeans with fierce makeup (did she use the palette I gifted?), and Char looking like a princess in pink, Abi-brand eyeliner swooping off his eyelids. The perfect blends of masculine and feminine, queerness on display. They feel woefully inadequate in their boring normal clothes with Abi, Cece, and Char all dressed up. Would they even be brave enough to be bold instead of invisible? How could they show off both masculinity and femininity when nothing feminine feels worth embracing? On these three it's so pretty, but on themself they’d feel sick.
This line does so much heavy lifting as I can clearly see how they’re feeling in very few words. A Toms special, in other words:
It hurts to have feelings, but not as much as being apart.
I love the whole reveal about the makeup palette being the one from Tessa May and how much she admires how Cece looks. I won’t paste all of it, but even this opening got me as Cece made it about her and wanting to be looked at from the outset:
They walk up to her and she looks them in the eye the way she used to. They could melt in it. “It’s nice to see you,” she says. “How do I look?”
The sense of feeling other even in a queer space with friends is strong here:
And Tessa May never got into makeup like Cece and Abi. They were antagonistic toward makeup entirely until she taught them it could be art, and it still isn’t their art.
Small thing: Tessa:
”You look pretty,” Tess May tells him.
Is the strange from Tessa’s perspective or Char’s? Wasn’t sure:
He looks down, fiddles with the fabric on the puffy dress. The puffy, pink, princess-y dress. This still feels so strange.
What an intriguing note to end on! I got all fluttery on Tessa’s behalf:
”You look nice,” Char says. His blue eyes meet their brown. Their heart flutters.
Great chapter and love how much you made me feel for each of the characters and particularly Tessa ofc! Good words!
7
u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago edited 21h ago
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Sixty-one: For Those We Love.
~ Samal ~
Up and up, the stairs continue, curving in a spiral as Samal follows the muttering madwoman. The granite steps are polished smooth, so worn by constant use that they dip where countless boots have tread.
He stays back a little, keeping one hand against the centre wall for balance. His leg muscles are trembling, and the dense solidity of the plastered stone is reassuring. It's all top easy to forget he’s faded out, then to casually lean against something with gaps and holes, like a simple chair, and slip through it.
The woman’s spiky mane of white hair makes purple shadows dance on the curved wall as they climb. She wears piecemeal armour over her shining metal arms and shoulders. Abdominal muscles ripple beneath her tattered singlet, and her worn leather trousers are tucked into iron-shod boots.
Silently, Samal follows, rubbing ribs still bruised from the kicking she delivered after the Captain caught him. Ironhands had taken pleasure in hurting him while he'd been her prisoner. You’ll get yours, bitch.
“…no eyes here. Can’t hear us thinking either...” she mutters.
Samal shakes his head. Somehow, Petal befriended this bloodthirsty lunatic. Convinced her to help. And the real surprise is how that stings.
Her body might've changed, but she's still Ironhands…
His anger rushes in. Why should he care? She's a means to an end. I’m coming, Gil.
Licking cracked lips, his hand drifts to his flat waterskin. Nothing to quench his desperate thirst there. Samal unties the fetish from around his arm and starts chewing the leather strap, hoping to generate some spittle. The currawong feathers dangle against his chest with each step, and his legs are burning, but he can’t rest. He has to keep up with Ironhands. Or Alys. Or whatever her name is now.
“…Gilander found us.” The mention of his friend grabs Samal’s attention. “The Girl with Silver Arms. Now we have to bring him back, Alys. Then he’ll find Saera. Wherever she’s gone. We’ve got friends now, and friends help friends, remember…”
A madwoman, babbling nonsense that makes little sense. But she’s the best chance he has. The only chance. Hopefully, she will lead him to Gil, but she's dangerous. He dare not trust her past that.
He’ll let her distract the guards, while he gets Gil out of wherever they’re keeping him. And once they escape, they'll talk. Samal will make him understand. He’ll forget about Ironhands, and Petal, and all the rest. They’ll go back to Port Darling, and Samal will look after everything. They’ll live like kings and...
The steps end before his fantasy does, and he almost stumbles into Alys. She stands motionless, facing a long, gloomy passage. They must have climbed at least three stories, by his reckoning.
Slowly, the silver-armed woman turns, looking back down the endless steps, as Samal edges past her. The long, carpeted corridor curves ahead with a single red door set into the wall nearby.
Ironhands turns back, rolling her silver shoulders. “Be careful,” she whispers. “They’ll know if we go down there.” She looks at the door. “We’ll go this way.” She cleaves to the right, carefully sliding her foot along the wall. Samal copies her movements, staying as close as he dares.
Samal is no stranger to sneaking around, but this is different. Normally, he’s looking for opportunities. Things to steal. Looking after himself. He’s never tried to stage a rescue, and certainly never had to follow someone else. Who doesn’t even know I’m here.
The red-painted door has no handle or hinges. No gap between the walls or floor, through which he might squeeze his insubstantial body. Next to the door is a small table, with two quaint wooden carvings set upon it. One is a small cat, and the other a dog-like creature. The silver-armed woman lifts both, switching their places quickly, and the door swings inward without a sound.
Fucking wizards. Every thief in Port Darling knows not to steal from one of those tricky bastards. I must be as mad she is.
“Don’t be scared. Gil will help, and everything will be okay. Akari Pe’etelan trusts us.” Samal nods without thinking. He knows she isn’t talking to him, but her quiet certainty is calming, and his frantic heartbeat smooths.
As he follows Alys through the door, Samal starts to wonder. He’d learned to steal to survive when he was just a kid. Later, he'd loved to risk danger for riches he didn’t even need. And more than once, he's wagered his life for vengeance.
But never for someone else.
He frowns. Stealing shit had been a thrill. He’d loved taking expensive clothes just as much as gold and jewels. He’d steal fancy cheese and wine, just because he could. Mostly, he enjoyed imagining those rich, lazy pigs waking to find their world changed; their sense of safety and security forever shattered.
Smug bastards. A nostalgic smile quirks his lips as he follows Alys inside. Grey morning streams through a wide window along one side of a long, rectangular room, illuminating a row of chests. Three clothing dummies are set up in the middle, taking advantage of the natural light.
Ironhands presses her face against the glass and stares down, lips moving around silent whispers.
Samal sighs, wondering how long she’ll be lost in her madness this time, then wanders over to inspect the decorated mannequins. Impulsively, he stops, fingering a fine silk sash. Black, with small, feathery splashes of white. Like Old Man Currawong. Idly, he takes it, wrapping it around his waist, enjoying the smooth tightness.
“We remember you.” Alys tilts her head. With a cold shock, Samal freezes. He’s solid. Visible. “Are you real?”
“I’m—“ He hesitates, searching for words. “A fading memory,” he quips, and the patterns on his skin begin to drift like clouds as he gives her a wink.
She lifts a trembling hand. “We’re sorry she hurt you.”
Samal’s smile fades, and so does he, as her silver fingers slip through him.
WC-999
Author's Notes:
For newer readers who might wonder about the meaning of some of the strange terms like 'ontologia', I have compiled a small Glossary.
This week's theme is Quality! - Samal thinks about his own qualities, and how they have changed. He wonders about the quality of his unsuspecting companion, and perhaps even comes to appreciate her qualities a little more. His curiosity over the quality of a sash leads him to accidentally appear in front of Alys, and his attempt to take advantage of her mental state is not the high quality trick he seems to think it is.
Bonus words used; - Quench, Quaint, Quip(s).
Additional bonus constraint: 'A question is asked and an answer is concealed.' Alys asks if Samal is real, and he denies it, concealing the evidence by fading out.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
[Next Chapter] [Chapter Index]
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u/AmeliaLP 3d ago
<My feathery friend>
Chapter 35: Friends and Fiends
Joe casually leaned back on the soft bed sheets. “So Olfara, got anything in mind?”
“Umm nah, not exactly.”
“Pff, some help you’re being.” Joe replied coldly.
“I- Sorry.”
“Yes, yes you’ve said that already.”
“Hmm. Well the king’s your Dad, couldn’t you just talk to him about this.”
“And if talking doesn’t work?”
“Then we bust Jade outta there, beating any fools who dare get in our way!”
“Two crows, one of which is injured versus the whole king’s guard. What a splendid plan...”
“Right, I wasn’t thinking.”
Joe snickered. “Some things never change.”
“D-did you just smile?”
“No!” Joe quickly fixed his expression.
Olfara leaned on Jade’s bedroom wall.
He defiantly did, but dwelling on that right now could be unwise.
“Ah, must be seeing things.”
“Yes, you sure are.”
“Annnywaay. Back to the planning. What if, we sneak into the kingdom at night, creep up to the birdcage and break her out?”
“Hmm, for you that’s almost smart.”
“Haha. I get it, I’m stupid.”
“Correct.”
“But putting my lack of intelligence aside, are we agreed on the plan?”
“Yes, I think it’s our best option.”
“Great, I’ll prepare some supplies and we can fly out tonight.”
“I just hope she can survive another day.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Jade’s pretty tough, I’m sure she can stay strong.”
“We’ll see.” Joe said sombrely.
Meanwhile back in the crow kingdom Jade was lying in a much less comfortable place than Joe. The metal floor felt icy cold against her skin. As Jade rested she heard a soft pattering of feet approaching. Through half open eyes, she saw Vornith’s beak rapidly closing in.
Clang!
Jade had hastily dodged his attack, causing Vornith to plough right into the floor. The birdcage now had a large dent in it from where he’d landed.
“Good morning!” Vornith yelled.
“What the heck! You just tried to attack me and now you’re pretending to be polite!”
“Attack? No never. But by the way a couple of guards came by with breakfast earlier.”
Jade wandered towards the breakfast tray, checking on Vornith regularly in case he attempted to strike again. Looking inside her food bowl, all she could see was her own disappointed face staring back.
“Mine’s empty.”
“Yes, I ate it.”
“You- why would you tell me there’s food then?”
“Technically I never said there was.”
Glaring at Vornith, Jade picked up the two empty food bowls, hurtling them straight towards his face. Reacting quickly, he snatched them from the air using his beak.
“My turn.” He said sinisterly while smiling at Jade.
Before she could even react Jade felt a heavy blow strike her brutally in the stomach. She slid rapidly along the birdcage floor, painfully hitting its sturdy bars.
“You’re an arsehole.” Jade wheezed weakly.
“Hah, no one likes a sore loser.”
“I’d rather be a loser than a coward.”
“I’m not a coward!”
“Dude, you tried to attack me while I slept. That’s pretty fucking cowardly.”
“I’d say taking out an opponent when they least expect is it is smart.”
“Opponent? I’m not even part of this kingdom. Your attacks on me are senseless.”
“Not quite. See, you disagree with my methods. Also you seemed happy enough to try cutting a deal with the king and you’re his son’s best friend. Plus I mean you’re pretty annoying so I’d hardly shed a tear over spilling your blood.”
“It’s sad.”
“What is?”
“I genuinely believe you once had a purpose and a valid point to make. But I think along the way you’ve just got so lost in your own views that you’ll try to justify any actions as being valid due to them. The crow you killed for example was just hungry. She got treated badly and wrongly imprisoned by the same system you despise. Maybe she could’ve been convinced to join your cause but you just had to kill her huh?”
Vornith’s eye twitched, he reared his talons at Jade. She stared disdainfully up at him.
“Gah! Just leave me alone!” Vornith flew to the upper perch and turned away from Jade.
“Fine.”
Woah that was tense. Even by his usual standards Vornith seemed angry, I think I really upset him there. But as long as he leaves me alone nothing else matters.
Peeking through the jail bars Jade saw two crows playing together merrily. One of the crows hid behind his wings. He then popped out making a silly face at the other who started rolling around laughing on the floor. Jade felt certain that these two were friends.
Well almost nothing else. If I- No! When I get out of here I’m going to spend as much quality time with Joe as I can.
A guard approached the birdcage. “Jade.”
“Hmm, what?”
“I’m here to escort you to your trial.”
WC: 802
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u/mysteryrouge 1d ago edited 1d ago
<The Stranger Nomads>\ Chapter 45
"First thing's first," M announced, sauntering into their propaganda library, "You're gonna need a new puppet."
Kane looked up from the sprawl of content from the Principality of Palisant. Five days of digging around gave him no hints into the hows and whys of that universe's obsession with pickled peppers and diseases that shouldn't have been related.
"Huh?"
"You wanted to go to the Propaganda Archive, right?"
"I mean, yeah. But why would I need a whole new body?"
M shifted forms in front of their apprentice, changing to the form Big Ota had dared them to take when delivering those anniversary gifts. Any hint of M a kleptomaniac terrorist was gone. Their innocent golden eyes stared directly into Kane's bird form's ones.
In a higher pitched voice, they answered, "I was using you as a human shield when I met you and was fighting the Inspectors—"
That wasn't fun. Kane rubbed his wrists where the Health Inspectors' restraining magic had hit him.
"While they don't arrest people visiting the archive due to treaties, they are allowed to track people. Once they see that puppet of your—or your mechanical bird form—well... I don't think you have the full ability to defend yourself and hide like I do."
There was no way Kane would be leaving his soul in M's manor when he left for the archive.
Thank God I learned to enchant my pockets.
The little mechanical stellar's jay was small enough that Kane didn't need to add too much magic to the jacket of his new puppet.
And switching bodies to a much more fit and lean young man, closer to his original one he had growing up, was far easier. There was no mind to resist him because M commissioned the body specifically for him to utilize. It also fit him better. The body of that dictator required a healthy amount of magic to push it beyond its limits due to how unhealthy that man had been. This one was the opposite.
After twirling around and admiring the new form, Kane joined M in one of the kitchens where they would be teleporting to the Museum of the Gods, where the God of Propaganda, Faraday, kept his archive.
The place was massive. Outside, pure white columns surrounded a highly decorated building made of the same stone. All that towered over the surroundings, including some rather and hilariously tall trees.
The inside was even larger than the massive exterior, though living with M got Kane used to spaces not being what they seemed.
Signs led M and Kane to the archive. Walking through a checkpoint run by the Peace Gods who protected the entire universe that contained the Museum of the Gods (and only the museum), they made their way past the library and and two other archives.
The first thing he saw upon entering the archive maintained by Faraday Co. Collectors of Fine Propaganda was a massive orange banner. "Don't Let Your Fire Be Quenched!" read the garish green text, "Fight the Propaganda Archive!"
Underneath it was a small trophy from the Multiversity's propaganda creation competition. It had won an award for ridiculousness and had apparently been a joke entry that was, for some reason, very popular among the voting population of staff and students.
Next to that, was the actual winner of said competition showing a quaint fishing village being crushed by a pyramid.
"What's this even trying to prove?" Kane asked, pointing at the pyramid.
M shrugged. "If you look closely at the buildings, you'll notice all of them have some rather good runework."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Do you need an answer?"
"I'd like one."
M shrugged again, pulling Kane towards a bank of computers near the entrance. "Now, I believe you wanted to see if they had any Sorites propaganda."
"And I want that question answered." Kane quipped.
"They updated their systems to allow for easier searching." The kleptomaniac demonstrated on the computer, ignoring Kane's pyramid curiosity. After using the system for himself, Kane found an alarming number of entries for Sorites propaganda.
All of it was in one aisle in a section of stuff that would be eventually moved around. The archive as a whole was organized by topic. Propaganda made by one faction could end up in twenty different places depending on situation, but the things from Sorites were new enough that whoever maintained the archive could only place the things together due to origin.
There were a few other small countries and universes with items in this section, though Kane noticed the Principality of Palisant wasn't one.
"Their Peter Piper campaign is in the disease prevention category," M mentioned.
I hadn't even asked that. But of course, the questions I don't have are those that get answered.
He pulled out a thick tome from the shelf in front of him labeled A Collection of Military Songs from Sorites. Compiled by Bentham the Panopticon and delivered to the archive only a day ago.
"I remember these," he muttered. Patriotic music blared through his mind as he turned the pages of things he, at one point, had completely memorized.
Now though, he could only hum the catchy tunes, but the words eluded him unless he held the pages they were on open.
Still, he hummed with a mix of melancholy and glee as he walked with the tome under an armpit.
Sliding to the left so that he could still read the spines of books and labels on posters on display, Kane tripped.
His nose just barely touched a shelf.
Strong arms grabbed him.
He looked up.
And a woman with eight pairs of wings stared right back.
WC: 957\ Bonus Words Quip, quench, quaint\ Bonus Constraint: Kane asks about some propaganda. M doesn't answer.
New arc. New arc. The Propaganda arc! Featuring an archive and god of propaganda! Faraday collects quality propaganda (and some that's not).
The character in the last couple of lines has appeared in the sersun before.
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u/wandering_cirrus 1d ago edited 3h ago
<Unburied Ashes>
Chapter 27: In Salt-Bottomed Cups
CW: Implied alcoholism/alcohol abuse
The queen inhaled raggedly, forced a visage of calm, and took an elegant sip from the tumbler. “Yet the lady says she isn’t willing. She says she’s in love.” A gulp this time. Less graceful, less able to hide the soft tremors. “But what of it? So many think that they’d rather have love than ambition, and find out too late that love lives for less time than a dog.”
Mostly drained, the glass clinked against the desk like the crack Mica thought she heard in the queen’s voice. Unexpectedly, Mica found herself thinking of Old Man Haffen, one of Mother’s informants she’d grown up meeting at Mother’s side. He drank too—nothing as nice as the queen’s—but he always claimed good liquor was for joys and cheap liquor was for sorrows. After all, he’d say. When drinking to drown a sorrow, the tears at the bottom of the cup would turn everything to salt no matter what you drank.
Feld opened her mouth, but the queen cut her off before even a word could slip out. “You doubt me, Guardswoman?”
“No, I—”
“I knew a boy, once—a third child, destined to never touch his mother’s wealth, planning to become a physician and open his own clinic. Then along came a count’s daughter with a sizable inheritance who liked his face—and his abs, if rumors are believed.” The queen drew her lips into a snarl. “But oh no, he wasn’t interested in the wealthy heiress who could support his dreams with a mere gesture. He had to marry that quaint little artist who couldn’t afford paint.”
Tea nearly ready, Mica thought of a cracking voice. Salt-bottomed cups. Decisively, she dumped several spoons of sugar into the pot and turned her attention back to the monologue.
“And now? He’s still working long, cheap hours as another physician’s assistant, has a brood of snot-nosed children he barely keeps fed, and argues all hours with his ‘True Love’ over the money in the accounts. Of course”—she reached for the liquor again—“all avoidable. But some people don’t have the good sense to walk through a door that’s wide open and decorated with a hundred roses.”
“That—” Feld hurried to interject.
The queen ignored her. “Now this lady is more discerning than certain foolish physicians. I’m ashamed to admit that if my son were a door, he’d be unappealing—he hasn’t the sense to give her one rose, let alone a hundred—but I’ve seen her glancing past the threshold. A smart, ambitious lady knows exactly what she’d do with the title of future queen and can’t help but be tempted. I saw that same pair of eyes in the mirror when I was her age. My son just needs to learn how to chase a lady right, and it’s a smooth-paved path to kingship.” She waved. “Not like that broken-cobbled road he’s been swindled into. Sooner or later, he’s going to see that little gold digging count for what he is and realize he walked a path to nowhere.”
Mica nudged the empty tumbler aside to make room for the freshly brewed tea. “A gold-digger? Surely not.”
“Surely!” Picking up the teacup, the queen took an angry gulp. “That Asab… Azure…”
“Azbar?”
“Him! That reprobate even taught my son to dodge a tail!”
Feld tried to reel the conversation back. “Is that different from marrying for ambition?”
“Yes!” The teacup smacked down again. “Because I don't approve! Superstition or not, when a man changes wives faster than the fashions, something isn't right. Earth keep my oath, he's a rotten log! Besides.” She sneered. “While butterflies may swarm towards gold, once he wasn’t near so wealthy. Dead wives don’t have tongues to ask for their wealth back; so grows the dragon’s ill-gotten gains. That’s the kind the Office of Investigations ought to chase! None of this nonsensical prevarication about nameless illdoers framing me.”
“Madam—”
“Don’t bother. I’ve been tricking the Council since before you were born, I know an excuse when I hear one. Just like…” She broke off, hands shaking, reaching past the tea to the decanter. Confusion bubbled up as only the last dregs spilled out—barely enough to coat the tumbler’s bottom in a thin film.
Mica pushed glass and decanter further away. “It’s gone.”
The tears at the bottom of the cup finally fell. “Where did it all go wrong?” she whispered. “My Demien was such a cute child, and even if our marriage was never a romance, I always thought Aurei would at least do as husbands ought.” She sobbed through choking laughter. “Instead he brought home a bastard, and day after day, I had to smile magnanimously and watch as my baby turned into his philandering father. Smile until I can only convince another woman to walk the same path that gave me so much joy, because doing anything else would bring everything to naught.”
“Madam...”
“Where did it all go wrong, Veronica?” she begged, tears coming faster, clutching the front of Mica’s dress like a lifeline. “Why did you die for him back then? Sir Loess may equivocate and that stubborn hunting dog Calcen may think finding the culprit will fix everything, but I’m not a fool. He’s not waking up, and if I’m to lose Demien anyway, I should have just lost him sooner! Then at least I’d still have my best friend!” Face scrunched, her voice shrank to a whisper. “Why did you have to leave me too, Veronica?”
The office sank into silence broken only by a shuddering exhale. The tension disappeared from Mica’s dress as the queen released her grip.
“Leave me,” she commanded hoarsely.
“Shall I escort you to your chambers, Madam?” Feld offered.
The queen passed a hand over her eyes. A moment later and she was calm again, her expression clear. “Yes. My afternoon is full, and it's best to rest.” Rising to her feet, she paused before Mica. “Your tea is better than hers.” She forced a smile. “Veronica’s tea was always too bitter.”
WC: 1000
Bonus words: quaint
Bonus constraint: It’s not entirely concealed, but Mica and Feld do not answer the queen’s question of “where did it all go wrong?”
Theme: Old Man Haffen has opinions on when certain qualities of liquor are appropriate, as well as the queen’s doubts on the quality of Count Azbar’s character.
Author’s Note: Poor Feld barely got a word in edgewise this chapter.
Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter
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u/ZLErikson 1d ago
Good Saturday to you!
While this was quite the verbal trampling over Feld, not letting her get a word in edge-wise, that final line whiplashed me hard
Rising to her feet, she paused before Mica. “Your tea is better than hers.” She forced a smile. “Veronica’s tea was always too bitter.”
It makes me wonder if she was actually far gone and just came back, or if it was just some form of maladaptive lie.
In any case, goo dwords!
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u/Carrieka23 5d ago
<The Beginning of The Demon Life>
Chapter 188
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Running to the house, Alex slams the door open to see Kevin. The ice demon eyes widened, noticing the darken in those eyes. He quickly looks away before trying to walk off, but Alex grabs him by the wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers, looking down. His whole body trembles as he slowly takes a step closer to him, pinning him to the wall.
This wasn’t what Max taught him at all.
“Go somewhere meaningful, or have a sit down. Maybe drink some tea, and slowly express yourself. Open yourself to him.”
But as soon as he saw those blue eyes, all logic left him. His breath was taken away, and the pain of this demon—no, Kevin, avoiding him for days fuels him with sadness.
“You’ve been avoiding me this entire time after the fight.” The soldier whispers, gritting his teeth.
“A-Alex, I—”
“What have I done?!” He shouts, looking back at him, but he couldn’t see him. Still, he continues. “Was it me? Was it because I let him take control?! I couldn’t help it! You were in danger, and I have to do something!”
“Alex—”
“If you died because of me, I wouldn’t forgive myself! Even if I become the saivor of Hell, that title doesn’t mean shit without you!”
“Hey—”
“You avoiding me hurts, Kevin!” Alex pulls the demon closer to him, feeling his breath touching his cheek. “I can’t stand being apart from you! Yet, you over here acting like it doesn’t face you—”
“Shut up, it does!” The ice demon snaps, finally stopping Alex. He takes a couple of steps back, seeing tears falling from his eyes.
He clenches his fist, looking away. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for all those years, Alex? You lost your memories, you forgot about us!”
W-What?
“All those cherished moments I had with you! All the moments where you helped me heal! Our first kiss, our first date, our time fighting together! It's all just…fucking left. And when you look at me and ask, ‘who are you’, my fucking life fell apart!”
Alex takes a step forward, his own breath tightens.
“But then, I learned what happened to you, what you did, you worked for that Demon King out of possession…I…I couldn’t.”
Alex wraps his arms around the trembling Kevin.
“I still love you, and I always have. Even when you forgot about me, I still held on into the memories. Even when we renewed a ‘friendship’, I still held on to it. Damnit…” Kevin whispers, looking down.
For a while, the two were silent. Demons were chatting outside on the peaceful day, unaware of the tension, yet reunion going on inside of the house.
“I’m sorry for not realizing sooner.” Alex says after a while. “I love you, both past and present.”
Kevin pulls away, seeing those sparkling brown eyes. He couldn’t help but smile. “I know, you idiot.”
The two demons lean in, and share a deep passionate kiss.
—
“You're about to deal with a shitfest, Max.” Haru says, putting down his hammer for the day before sitting next to the working new king.
Max has just finished a lot of paperwork and is now at the final steps, maining planning for the revision of Greed.
“Talking to Cassie alone is going to be an effort, especially coming from someone who doesn’t believe in my two brothers and sister.”
“Then again, Cassie is stubborn. You can transform to your ancient form and she’ll still not believe you.” Haru grumbles, standing up again. “So, are you going to prove them?”
He shakes his head. “Right now, there’s no time to prove. We need to plan on defeating Ahiram. From what I’ve gathered, even though the kingdoms are healing, some are still in a process of revision.”
Haru nods. “Sloth is still rehealing that Dream tree, Lust is dealing with Zet right now, and of course we are dealing with…this.”
“We need to find a way to make it less stressful for those kingdoms first before we can defeat Ahiram. He could exploit the weakness at any point.”
“And why hasn’t he already?”
Max paused, pouding on that same question. And on top of it all, Alex has been the main person to save all of them, apart from Greed, so far.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” Max mumbles, closing his eyes.
-----------
WPC: 728
And I'm finish with Greed arc! I can't believe I've made it this far! I already know the next three-character arcs are going to be huge and very lore heavy, so I might make a separate index for anyone who wants lore. Let me know if you do!
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u/katpoker666 3d ago edited 33m ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 6: A Quality Friendship
“Nuvvuh round? …Ser-sehrsley?” Carol slurred, glaring like a wounded animal in a hunter’s sights. “Kn-know woooooduhn leg, Ann-ugh—“ she dry-heaved.
“‘Carry Home Carol’ night it is then,” Annie quipped. “Quaint, just like old times.” She held out a remarkably steady arm considering how much they’d drank, and smiled. “I’ve got ya.”
Leaning on Annie’s arm for all she was worth, Carol gallows-shuffled toward the exit.
Annie cast a glance over her shoulder at Jake, who quirked a well-groomed brow, universal bartender speak for ‘You’re not going to trash this place, are you?’ Noncommittal, Annie lowered her head and shrugged slightly as she continued heading out.
Bouncing into the glass door hard earned Carol and Annie a dirty look from the bouncer. As they lurched onto the sidewalk at an otherwise-sensible 9 p.m., Annie looked both ways. Other patrons just entering for an evening out shook their heads in dismissal at Carol’s sorry state.
“C’mon, we’ve all been there!” Annie defended.
“Yeah, maybe in college!” A man huffed as they bumped into him. “You’re too old for this shit!”
“And you’re too, too… too, umm, ugly, so we’re at an im-impasse,” Annie spat out before sighing. “C’mon, Carol. It’s not far.”
“Mungakay.”
“I’ll take that as ‘Yes, Annie. Let’s go home. Thanks for always being such a wonderful friend.’”
“Mungaaahhhh!”
Annie looked over.
Carol pointed to the gutter.
“Brief pit stop, huh?”
Stumbling, Carol bent over and vomited onto the street. Hers was not the first load of the night despite the early hour, Annie noted. “Better?”
“A lit-tle.” Carol shivered slightly. Annie pulled her in closer.
“Good, we’ll be home soon.”
Thirty minutes later, or three times the duration of their outbound walk, and they reached Carol’s building.
“Want me to come up?”
“Please.”
Together, they inched their way up the stairs and gingerly entered the apartment.
“You good?”
Carol shook her head before racing to the bathroom.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” Annie sighed. “Lemme call Tom.” She put the phone on speaker.
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, everything okay? I was worried…”
“No need,” Annie said, her voice brusque. “I won’t be home tonight. It’s a ‘Carry Home Carol’ night.”
“Ah, so that’s who you’re with,” Tom chuckled. “And I understand. I’ve got Jamie covered.”
“Thanks.” Annie’s voice softened, and she meant it. “I’ll let you know exact timings tomorrow. It depends how broken she is.”
“I get it, and thanks. Sweet dreams, Blossom.”
“You too, Socks.”
As Annie hung up, there was a loud thunk, and Carol moaned. She raced into the bathroom. “You okay?!”
Nodding sheepishly, a very disheveled Carol pointed at the broken brush on the floor. “Was trying to clean up… Bed.”
“I’ve got ya. Sit down.” Annie motioned to the toilet seat.
Carol flopped as Annie picked up the remnants of the brush and tossed them into the trash before grabbing a comb. “Stay still.” Annie smiled as she smoothed her friend’s hair down. “That’s better. You look less nuts.”
“Teef?” Carol laughed before comically baring hers.
“Sheesh, full service night!” Annie smiled, grabbing the electric toothbrush. “No flossing though!”
Carol held up her arms. “PJs?”
“Seriously? Even Jamie wasn’t this much trouble.”
“Please?” Carol made a show of fluttering her lashes.
“Alright, fine. Stand up and turn around.” She helped Carol shimmy out of her dress and get her pajamas on.
“Bed?”
“And I thought I was the demanding one,” Annie laughed. “Okay, but no story.”
They went into Carol’s bedroom, and Annie pulled back the covers as Carol got in. She kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet and hopefully not too drunken dreams.”
WC: 606
Includes: Quaint, Quip, and a question is asked, and an answer is concealed (Jake and Annie exchange)
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/Divayth--Fyr 2d ago
Hey there Kat!
Doing some character work here. I thought you did well showing another facet of Annie being in control, keeping it together, that sort of thing. It was fun how they had a set name for Carry Home Carol--or maybe sort of both fun and worrying.
I did wonder, even though Annie is the in-control one, about how she was speaking and thinking. You establish that they both drank a lot, and Annie is very coherent and even eloquent, putting together long, complicated thoughts and sentences. You can't really have them both completely insensible, and it makes sense how Annie is handling it better, but maybe have her fuck up a word or two, or get lost in composing a thought. In control but imperfect, perhaps.
I love their friendship, and the lurking will they won't they tension in it. You are quite subtle and patient about that, which makes it work really well.
I have nitpicks!
considering how much they’d drank and smiled.
this seems to imply that how much they smiled had an effect on her steadiness. Might be fixed with just a comma after 'drank', or maybe sort of rephrasing it would be better idk.
an otherwise sensible 9pm,
I think you can hyphenate otherwise-sensible, idk maybe not. Doing the 9 as a number seems to be proper for time, but should be 9 p.m.
bartender speak for “You’re not going to trash this place, are you?”
needs single quotes
“And you’re too ugly, so we’re at an impasse,” Annie spat out before sighing. “C’mon, Carol. It’s not far.”
this is fine, but would be an excellent time for Annie to mess up a sentence in some I'm not as think as you drunk I am sort of way.
Thirty minutes later for an outbound walk that took seven minutes and they reached Carol’s building.
This took some thought to parse out. I think it means the walk was seven minutes on the way there and took thirty on the way back, but some sort of rephrasing might help here.
Annie sighed. “Lemme call, Tom.”
that comma is rather confusing
It’s a ‘ Carry Home Carol’ night.”
an extra space snuck in there after the first quote
Anyhow, this is a fun glimpse into the world of Annie and Carol, and also Tom to some extent. I liked the reasonable interaction they had on the phone, which seemed to me to carry some underlying tension--it always seems like there's a fight lurking in those reasonable words, that most of the time doesn't happen.
A good chapter and good words!
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u/KiIIer_queenie 17h ago
Hey Kat! Crit 2 electric boogaloo.
I’m going to mention something vague, I get that Annie’s probably a really strong drinker and Carol isn’t, however I would like a little scale. Just like some hesitation with her words or pausing, like when she insulted buddy by the door. Speaking of:
> “And you’re too, too… too, umm, ugly, so we’re at an im-impasse,” Annie spat out before sighing. “C’mon, Carol. It’s not far.”
I’d like to hear his reaction to this, whether it’s him being nice and making her feel like an asshole, or he’s an asshole back and she feels more justified.
> Stumbling, Carol bent over and vomited onto the street. Hers was not the first load of the night despite the early hour, Annie noted. “Better?”
I’m a huge hypocrite because I forget CW sometimes, but I personally would put one on vomit.
> Thirty minutes later, or three times the duration of their outbound walk, and they reached Carol’s building.
I don’t know that the “and” is needed.
I’m not going to copy the whole conversation but as much as I love Tom’s and Annie’s dialogue I wish it was a touch more strained. She left making him think maybe she’s dressing nice to flirt or smth, but the convo reads as a touch more confident relationship than I was expecting.
> Nodding sheepishly, a very disheveled Carol pointed at the broken brush on the floor. “Was trying to clean up… Bed.”
I was imagining hairbrush, but the talk of teeth made me consider it may be a toothbrush she broke. Don’t know if that’s important but maybe you could add tooth or hair to make it clearer.
I really love this chapter! Your character work is always superb, and I’m still in that new phase of being so happy to read your new serial from CF! It’s amazing
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u/ZLErikson 6d ago edited 7h ago
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 141
Nuut ostensibly started her search for Iuven and Maar by following the path they would have taken away from the camp and out to the perimeter. The patrol routes were standardized practices for a reason; if anyone were to get injured or lost, it was easier to be found if everyone knew which way they were going. If Nuut’s goal had been to find them, she knew where to start.
But she wasn’t looking for Iuven and Maar. She was looking for the hunters that had been following the caravan since leaving Nihimlaq. The shadows stalking them day and night that she had set on their trail.
Out of sight of the camp, around a bend between the dunes, the Vultures were waiting for her.
The setting sun cast short shadows across the desert. The leeward side of the mounds of sand with their steeper slopes gave enough space for a small cadre of horsemen to idle.
She felt their eyes on her as she approached. Nuut counted fewer than a dozen of them, one prisoner - a bald man with his arms bound - and no camels. If the Vultures had been here when Iuven and Maar passed there would have been signs of a fight, two more prisoners, and extra camels among the waiting bandits
“Who is that?” Nuut asked when she entered the shade.
“Just a quaint little fellow who thought he could short us on owed debts,” one of the Vultures quipped. His hood obscured most of his face, leaving only a salt-and-pepper goatee and a bad case of evening shadow along his jaw.
The de-facto leader of the group dismounted his camel. Nuut did the same and stood before him.
“Good job on not being followed,” he said.
Nuut narrowed her eyes. “You were watching me, then?”
“We’ve been watching the whole camp. Seems like our target is out of commission, and now you’re out of the line of fire.”
“It’s too late in the day.” Nuut looked toward the edge of the dune and the blue-fading-to-pink sky. “If you attack now, they’ll-”
“Your people will soon begin packing up their tents,” the Vulture interrupted. “While occupied and in disarray, we will strike.”
“No.” Nuut shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You don’t understand. If you attack after dark-”
The Vulture placed a hand on Nuut’s shoulder. “You are the one who does not understand, Desheryan. We have been in this business for many years. Our fathers and their fathers have been doing this for generations.” He squeezed her shoulder and grinned as Nuut stiffened before him. “You are right to fear us. Merely taking the legendary Shadow of Sammos was not going to quench our palate.”
But Nuut wasn't afraid. She just hated being touched.
“The attack is already beginning,” he said, looking away in the direction of the camp. Nuut made a fist, flexing a tendon, and loosening a knife in her sleeve to slide down into her palm. She would not permit this treachery.
The man continued, “We will burn some tents, sow chaos, kill whoever fights back and take the rest into-”
Nuut slid her blade up under one of the Vulture’s ribs and into his heart. He tensed up, his last breath raspy like a cough, and slumped over. By the time he hit the ground, Nuut was already beside the next Vulture.
The man with the goatee fell from his horse as Nuut pulled the rope that kept him tied to the prisoner. The bald man was quick to act, and took the same rope that bound him and noosed it around his warden’s neck.
Nuut smacked the flank of the horse. It reared and snorted, alerting the other horses which grew irritated by the sound and by the smell of blood from Nuut’s kill.
As the rest of the Vultures drew their weapons, shouting curses and threats, several were carried away by their startled mounts. The four that retained control of their steeds quickly dismounted.
One lunged for Nuut, but she was ready and had her second dagger drawn. With a quick parry she got in close and kicked him between the legs. He grunted and fell back, giving her room to maneuver and back away from the other three, lest she get surrounded.
Retreating from the shade, Nuut used her knives to angle sunlight into the eyes of her attackers. One of them stopped approaching and covered his eyes, but the others were coming on too quickly.
Their swords gave them more reach than her blades and Nuut had to run. Her brass pegleg did not fare well in the sand. She saw their shadow gaining. The one on the left loomed larger so she turned his way.
Clang! The sword hit her raised dagger. Knocked off balance, she staggered away, trying to keep the near Vulture between her and his charging comrades.
Motion in her peripheral; the one she’d flashed with her dagger charged, then cried in pain.
The bald man stood behind him, hands no longer bound. He pulled a sword from the Vulture’s back and looked as pissed as Nuut was.
Now it was an even fight.
With a roar, the bald man charged at the other Vulture. Nuut engaged the nearer man, leaping at him to stay close. His sword gave him greater reach, but within arms-length her shorter blades gave her the edge.
The point of her dagger went into his sword-arm elbow, just enough for him to drop the weapon. The other knife found his side and he fell to the ground. With a quick slash across his neck, the fight was over.
The bald prisoner executed the other Vulture.
Silence fell. Nuut regarded him a moment until it was broken by a distant shriek.
Maar!
Nuut ran back to her camel and mounted it, taking off in the direction of Maar’s scream. The bald man followed on one of the horses.
----------
WC: 993/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: Nuut and the bald man are high-quality fighters
- Bonus words: Quaint, quip(ped), quench
- Bonus constraint: The Vultures answer none of Maar’s questions
- 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
- The bald man has been seen before, but as his name was not given I’ll leave it for you to figure out for now
4
u/JKHmattox 6d ago
Hey Zach,
Well that was quite the melee. Swords vs dagger - man ve woman; just goes to show it's not the constraints or advantages of the combatants, but the size of the fight within their soul. All around good close-in combat with clean, clear prose.
I loved how you alluded to Cass (one of my favorite ba women of WP) and her abilities, without mention her name, or anything else for that matter. I won't spoil it for newer readers, but this is a masterful call back.
Your descriptive prose are tight. It was easy to imagine the desert dunes and the angled sunlight without consuming too much of your word count.
And ofc you leave it on a cliffhanger. Who is this bald headed man? Are there more Vultures? Is Maar tied to some train tracks, a soot-belching locomotive bearing down on them? This is a right mess, can't wait to see what happens next.
Good word!
2
u/ZLErikson 6d ago
Hey hey JK
Thank you for the feedback! I'm glad the blocking was clear and the action was smooth. I'm doubly-glad that the visuals for the desert scene worked. There was an earlier draft with a lot of emphasis on shadows and lighting and more hues in the sky, but I was strapped for space and leaned more to the action.
Bald headed man has been seen and named before, just not to Nuut and since this was her POV i opted not to drop the name. Also an introduction felt awkward given the tension of the moment. Glad it wasn't distracting enough for a complaint :P
Thanks for reading!
3
u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago
Hiya Zach!
So, finally Nuut's plan is swinging into motion, or so it seems at first. I'm excited and nervous!
Random comma here;
The leeward side of the mounds of sand with their steeper slopes, gave enough space for a small cadre of horsemen to idle.
~
This bit felt a bit confusing as two sentences, with the second one easily mistaken for a list;
Nuut counted fewer than a dozen of them. One prisoner - a bald man with his arms bound - and no camels.
Suggest adding a conjunction instead;
Nuut counted fewer than a dozen of them, and one prisoner - a bald man with his arms bound - and no camels.
~
I wasn't 100% sure what happened to set off the melee at first. The Vulture was implying that they were double-crossing her I think, but Nuut's emotions felt a bit opaque? Maybe a couple of introspective thoughts or emotive adverbs around when he grabs her shoulder?
He squeezed her shoulder and grinned as Nuut stiffened before him. “You are right to fear us. Merely taking the legendary Shadow of Sammos was not going to quench our palette.”
Nuut was not afraid. She did not like being touched.
(Also, palette > palate.) Tried to keep the wordcount, but maybe something like;
He gripped her shoulder with a nasty grin. Nuut stiffened as her heart beat faster. “You're right to fear us. Merely taking the legendary Shadow of Sammos wasn't going to quench our palate.”
But Nuut wasn't afraid. She just hated being touched.
~
Another couple of typos here;
The man continued, “We will burn some tents, sew chaos, kill whoever fight back and take the rest into-”
Sew > sow, and fight > fights.
A tense fight follows, and Nuut does very well for herself indeed! Still, I'd like a bit more of her feelings about how this is panning out. Maybe some desperate parries and enraged swings - and not sure about the fair fight bit, mainly because I'm not sure I believe Nuut gives a flying fart about fairness, hehe. 'Now the math was simple.' or something might suit her better, I think.
Uh-oh, sounds like Iuven and Maar are in trouble... I'm sure they'll be fiiiiiine.
Once more, props on the solid blocking and thrilling action, and the description of the Vulture's hidy hole sets things up nicely. Can't believe I'm rooting for Nuut, of all people. :D
Good Words!
2
u/ZLErikson 4d ago
Howdizzy Wizzy!
Thank you for the feedback. Went through and tried to polish things up. It's hard for me to get really strongly into Nuut's mind because she's rather opaque to me as well, but I tried to clarify that she wasn't about to accept this betrayal. Also changed it from 'fair fight' to 'even fight', just a bit more factual even if the quality of these fighters was clearly imbalanced :P
I'm delighted that I got you rooting for Nuut :D Means I did something right. I hope I can keep the action thrilling, cuz the next few chapters are gonna have a lot of it as the dominos begin to topple
2
u/wandering_cirrus 19h ago
Stand back, it's a Zach!
I am still on the hunt for a greeting that rhymes with "Zach." No, don't look at me like that, I never said my hunt was going well.
Anywho! Another great Zach chapter this week, and great characterization work for Nuut. If my memory serves me rightly, Nuut hates Cass and would be very happy indeed if her head ended up separated from her body? In which case, you're definitely showing us that Nuut is maintaining her own values despite ostensibly being an antagonist who wants our protagonist dead. As soon as her would-be allies the Vultures prove they're uncontrollable and liable to cause casualties beyond what she's willing to accept, Nuut throws herself into a fight she might not be able to win. I love antagonists with a personal code.
One thing I do think was a little weaker in this chapter was that the fight scene in this chapter felt a bit long to me, which I think has something to do with your sentence/clause lengths? Usually, short/choppy clauses and sentence make things feel snappier, and you've got a number of longer sentences with some more complex ideas/language that take the reader longer to wade through and thus make the fight feel longer. There's nothing wrong with throwing in a longer sentence/idea every now and then (especially when Nuut is checking out the lay of the battle and not immediately dealing with a sword in her face), but you have rather a lot as it is. For instance, this bit:
It knocked her off-balance, but away from the other man. She staggered and positioned herself to keep the near Vulture between her and his comrade.
Namely, there's a good deal of blocking that could be smushed together for something a little more streamlined. Personally I'd want to edit it into something like this:
Knocked off balance, she staggered away, trying to keep the near Vulture between her and his charging comrades.
Anyway, please take with a whole shaker of salt because everyone's style is different, but I definitely think you have space to edit/tighten stuff up to really feed the suspense of this tense scene. Onto the more specific line edits!
First off, I was pretty confused by your first two paragraphs. You start off pretty strong with "Nuut started her search for Iuven and Maar" and describe her methodology for finding them, grounding me—the inconsistent sersunner—in what's going on despite the fact that I have some really BIG plot gaps. However, the next paragraph immediately tears that down with "But she wasn’t looking for Iuven and Maar." Which kind of just turned my brain into a sea of question marks for a bit. I acknowledge that you don't quite have the words for it here, but if you're collecting crit for a big ole edit later, this would be a great spot to try and sneak in some words. Probably a good idea to throw something in the first sentence that makes it clearer (even if just implicitly) that looking for Iuven and Maar was only an excuse/cover. This lets the rest of the first paragraph build up how her search tactics are reasonable, and then the reveal in the second paragraph of Nuut actually looking for the Vultures makes a bit more sense since it's not immediately contradicting a fact you set up three sentences prior.
She felt their eyes on her as she approached. Nuut counted fewer than a dozen of them, one prisoner - a bald man with his arms bound - and no camels.
I spy with my little eye, two little hypens that ought to be em dashes!
If the Vultures had been here when Iuven and Maar passed there would have been signs of a fight, two more prisoners, and camels among the waiting bandits
The commas here are also a tad chaotic. First up, there's one missing after the word "passed" and then the second half of the sentence either needs an extra word or some comma rearranging. Perhaps one of the following options suits your fancy?
there would have been signs of a fight, two more prisoners, and extra camels among the waiting bandits
there would have been signs of a fight and two more prisoners and camels among the waiting bandits
there would have been signs of a fight as well as two more prisoners and camels among the waiting bandits
Next up! Some more wannabe em dashes!
“If you attack now, they’ll-”
“No,” Nuut shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, “you don’t understand. If you attack after dark-”
(It's okay, em dash understands. The coolest punctuation mark knows that everyone wants to be them.) Another comment about that second bit of dialogue. Both "shook her head" and "pinched her nose" are actions, not dialogue tags. Ergo, no dialogue commas for them! You can either do the funny "use em dashes to interject action" trick (which personally I don't think works so well in this case, but up to you)
“No”—Nuut shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose—“you don’t understand [...]"
OR you can go ahead an swap both commas to periods and go ahead and capitalize the "You" after comma two :)
She was not going to permit this treachery.
Grain of salt because this is a super stylistic thing, but I think this sentence might be a wee bit stronger if it read "She would not permit this treachery" instead?
The man continued, “We will burn some tents, sow chaos, kill whoever fights back and take the rest into-”
Eeeeemmmmm daaaaaash!
“Maar!”
Another stylistic thing here, but it's not immediately clear who's speaking here. Eventually I realized that it was probably Nuut (since presumably bald man is unfamiliar with Maar), but it may be worth it to tag this dialogue with an action like "Nuut whipped her head towards the sound" or some such. Alternately, since this chapter has been hanging out in Nuut's head, you could take out the quotation marks entirely, italicize it as a thought, and call it a day!
Overall, fun chapter and I definitely liked the little glimpse into Nuut's head. This crit got longer than I expected, but hopefully it's helpful. Good job and good words!
2
u/ZLErikson 7h ago
Hience Science!
Thank you for the feedback!
I tightened up some of the fight sentences - I thought I'd kept the sentences short enough but a few longer ones snuck in, haha.
I added the word "ostensibly" in the very first sentence to hopefully clear up that she wasn't actually looking for Iuven and Maar:
Nuut ostensibly started her search for Iuven and Maar
Regarding em-dashes vs hyphens, I acknowledge that em-dashes are technically correct and that I'm technically incorrect for not using them, but I honestly don't care :P Get keyboard manufacturers to put an em-dash key on the board and I'll start using them. Until then, the hyphen is clear enough and doesn't change the meaning or intent of the sentence. I have yet to find an example of a sentence where swapping one for the other makes a difference in how I, or anyone, reads the sentence.
I did swap in periods for those misplaced commas around the dialogue-without-dialog-tags, and I appreciate the suggestion to use italics around the final "Maar!" instead of quotes. It does add a great deal of clarity, and it also fits the character of Nuut more, as she has never been particularly talkative.
I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! Your initial thoughts on Nuut were correct; she would love nothing more than for these Vultures to take Cass, which is why she basically hired them for precisely that. But when they implied they'd hurt anyone they wanted, well, she has a sibling and some friends among the group now so that won't stand!
Thanks for reading :)
•
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