#festive short stories

[suzannerogersonfantasyauthor]

Review snippets from the #Booktour for A Little Christmas Magic #festivestories

So far on the book tour for my new festive collection of short stories I’ve been loving the reviews coming in. It’s always fun to share a few of my favourite quotes with you. Please click the link for the full review on instagram. weebelfastbookshelf ‘…Each story was perfect for an easy, cosy read at this time of year 🎄 the author has beautifully captured what this time of year is really about,…

[bronybrian]

Eric and Alex spread Christmas joy to all the good people

[clone-futon]

He looks so damn gyaru here

Up pull pull

[sneak-pieck]

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆𝐶ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑌𝑒𝑡 𝐴𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Word count: 1366 Note: Alternate Universe where Eren decided not to reveal himself and attack during the proclamation of war,leaving the Tybur siblings with a mix of feelings and a grim realization.

Pure white snow had begun to cover the Earth long before the month of December even thought to formally arrive, causing a certain blonde haired Lord to shiver in preparation for the cold that was to envelop him and his aging bones once he stepped foot into the white paradise outside his large house. Yet had it been up to Willahelm Tybur, he’d not leave the warmth and comfort of his home ever again. Not after the insane stunt he managed to pull at the festival in Liberio. How and why he was still alive…not even he knows. The plan was well ingrained into his brain, and he was aware of the most probable outcome. He had said his goodbyes, he had made sure his heart was in the right place, he was ready to perish that very night! Yet…that never got to happen. He delivered his speech oh so full of love for this nation that wasn’t even his, he had put his entire soul into it, ready to sacrifice all he was! All he had! And yet there he was.

The man’s beautiful blue eyes had been following the rapid fall of the heavy snowflakes, lost in the beauty of the gathering, untouched mass. It was so weird…it felt as if he was seeing snow for the first time in forever-and can you blame him? The head of the Tybur household hadn’t thought he’d see another Christmas. Lost in thought however, he forgot about someone else that struggled with this sort of feeling. And only when the silhouette of his beloved sister Lara entered his field of view did the man snap back to reality. She wore what looked like a thick long coat to keep her warm,paired with gloves and boots. Was she out on her own?Of course not.

Soon enough, small figures would rush over to the woman, figures that became simple blobs of color as the window the Lord stared out from began freezing slowly.

“Lara-” He’d catch himself nearly whimpering as he stood up from his chair,turning to head towards the door. It had been a few months since that night ,a few months since they’d spoken…a few months since Lara too had been told that something big was to happen…something greater than them, greater than they could ever imagine.

Months since the woman had prepared herself for a fight- or perhaps prepared is a word one would use loosely, for Lara had no training. She’d inherited the Warhammer titan without having any thought that a day may come where she might need to use its power. To be fair, most none of the previous inheritors had any special training…after all, they simply kept the titan safe and contained. That was all they did. So being told one day that the fate of your family and perhaps the entire world will be resting on your frail and fragile shoulders…who wouldn’t break?

“Is that dad?” The voice of a young girl that was tugging on Lara’s coat soon distracted the woman from her thoughts,and for a moment her eyes lit up at the sight.”Is he really going to join us out today?” the young girl would speak again,yet she’d receive no answer.

It was indeed their father,and the man seemed to be rushing towards his sweet children and his sister…so much so that his usually pale face now stung,bright red from the cold air that cut at him. It had been so long…so long since he allowed himself to leave his office, so long since he’d felt like he was not alone or crazy for feeling the way he did. She was right there! The woman that understood, the woman that always understood. Lara,his sweet Lara, who had been by him throughout his life, his struggles,his pains.

The moment Willy reached the black haired woman, he’d not hold back. Throwing his arms around her rather small frame in order to drag her into a warm and tight embrace,the man nearly sobbed as his face now pressed against her soft coat. The cold didn’t affect him anymore,not as long as he had her. She brought him a sort of comfort that not even his wife managed to. Lara caressed his very soul like only she knew how,just by being there. Just by..being.

All it took was one moment for the Tybur siblings to stumble back and collapse into the welcoming blanket of fresh snow with a small grunt- all this causing them to burst into laughter almost immediately. So loud and joyous, it was nearly contagious. And to Willy’s children it was, they’d make it very clear by quite literally allowing themselves to fall over in the snow by their father and aunt.

From then on followed a couple of hours of family fun, with Willahelm’s wife too joining them at some point. The Tyburs would become a normal family for a short while. Building snowmen, having snowball fights and pulling each other around on a sled. Yet as time passed, the weather grew harsher,colder…more and more unforgiving. Just like the world.

“Will you two join us inside soon? The carolers might pop up any minute,and Bruno and Alois wish to hand out the cupcakes we’ve baked together.”Willy’s eldest daughter Fine would speak up, having turned to walk backwards towards the house in order to see her sweet father.

“What’cha need me for, sweetheart?”The blonde man called out,a small laugh caught in his throat…good God, he loved his children so much.

“Well, we need you to try them! We don’t know if they’re good or not,it’s our first time baking!”

“Alright alright, we’ll be in soon, I promise!”

With that, the children along with their mother would vanish into the white winter tapestry,and Willy would sigh.

What followed was a moment of silence as he and Lara sat in the cold snow,feeling their clothes grow wetter and wetter by the minute.

“I- i honestly didn’t imagine i’d see another Christmas-” He finally broke the silence, and Lara almost immediately seemed to understand. “I was pretty sure i-”

“You’d die? As if I'd let such a thing happen.”The woman let out a gentle chuckle, silencing herself rather fast. Yet her brother didn’t seem to notice. And she couldn’t blame him.

“Well, we need not worry about such things anymore. All is good. We will celebrate many things from now on,for nothing will stand in our way. We are alive. We get to live,Lara.”

“You get to live.” Lara caught herself mumbling. She did not mean to speak out loud, for the last thing she wished to do was ruin her brother’s newfound enthusiasm for life, especially on Christmas. Yet it was too late.

As if something had lit up in Willy’s mind, the man would lower his gaze with a small hum…and then a huff. “ R- right. How long uhm-”

“ I don’t remember for sure. But at most…I have one, maybe two Christmases left.” Her voice soft,low,perhaps sad. Sad, yes…for she loved her brother,and she’d not want to go…not so soon. But she had no choice, not in this matter.

“I didn’t…realize- when did the time pass-”Willy muttered quietly under his breath, not really expecting an answer. For why would he? They’d both taken their time together for granted and there was no going back. “Then…let’s make the most of what we have left,hm?” By God did he wish to be able to sound cheerful, yet as he spoke,a hot tear rolled down his freezing cold cheek…yet he’d smile.

“I love you,Lara. Let us live out whatever we have left to live…happily.”

“I love you as well,Willy. Always will.”Lara nodded along ,and soon tears welled in her dark eyes as well.

Pushing up from the ground first was Willy,and he’d help her up,smiling as he began leading his dear sister towards their house. Determined to make the most of this holiday…determined to fill the walls of their home with memories enough for a lifetime.

[sneggley]

The second time I played Stardew Valley, during the egg festival, I accidentally spent 1600g on lawn flamingos and my partner almost cried.

[kanerallels]

Hi!

For the Christmas Ficlet Game, I would like to request Dousy w/Christmas Tree Farm, please.

SLAY this is an amazing request. For you, and for the @all-fandoms-christmas-festival day two:

“This was a really good idea,” Daisy said, letting her head drop against Daniel’s shoulder with a sigh.

He slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Yeah? I’m glad. You needed a break.”

Daisy let out a hum of agreement, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth of a fire.

She’d been dragged away from a mountain of paperwork earlier that day by a stern Daniel and a supportive Mack and Yo-Yo. Despite her protests, Daniel had insisted on her taking the day off, and had brought her out for a day away from work, together.

They’d explored a Christmas tree farm, bought ornaments for their tree, enjoyed apple cider, and danced to Christmas music playing from an old radio. Now they were relaxing next to a fire at home, and Daisy couldn’t have come up with a more perfect day herself.

She was incredibly lucky, she reflected, to have someone who loved her enough to force her to take a day off.

[moostelid]

“Happy birthday! I got you a gift!”

« An offering? How curious. I am not so frail a god that I would require sacrifices from mere mortals to prolong my existence, however. »

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not a sacrifice then. Y’see, we celebrate getting older on the anniversary of the day we are born. Every year we gather to give gifts, or well—offerings, to the person who’s aged. Like for example: you!”

« Foolish. By the standards you have laid out, I would not require sacrifices as I am not born. I do not age. I have been and will always be. »

“Well, yeah. I know that! Well, sort of— But everyone else I know has one! And since I met you exactly one year ago today….well, I figured today could be yours from now on! So a gift!”

« I see. What else do mortals do on their birth anniversaries? »

“Well, for starters, we actually call it a birthday—”

[nostromo130]

art dump blehhh. ttrpg character portraits + comic character design and pallette tests (im going w the far right palette)

[emotionaldashtoons]

MY FAN-MADE INSIDE OUT ULTIMATE COLLECTION POSTERS

INSIDE OUT COLLECTION LIST

3 Movies

• Inside Out • Inside Out 2 • Inside Out 3

4 Shorts • Riley's First Day • Mind Candy • Inside Out Thriller • Inside Out Holiday

10 TV Episodes From

• Dream Productions • Fear & Disgust

(Plus Additional Bonus Features, Includes Interviews, Deleted Scenes, Commentaries, and more!)

(If all of these collections did happened just like the Toy Story collection and Cars collection. I would eventually buy it immediately. No jokes aside. Again, if it existed, I would get that collection before someone.)

(DISCLAIMER!!!!)

(Not REAL, JUST AN EDIT! BUT AGAIN! I would want this to happen but Disney's choices can be so greedy, I just as desperate as all of you!)

[suzannahnatters]

Flash Fic: The Gardens of Hades

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

He snatches me from the sunlit lands and carries me to the underworld, a dark chasm lit only by the distant flames of Tartarus. His house is of black marble, and as he drags me through the shadowed halls, I try to empty my mind of everything but this moment.

I know the stories. I know that the gods have cruel desires.

Instead, he opens the door to a walled garden. A black pool glitters at the centre. Naked sticks rattle in the earth, but nothing lives here.

“This is yours, Lady Persephone,” he says.

Then he leaves.

.

I’m just glad Hades leaves me alone, so I don’t ask questions. I infuse the pool with light and call grass and asphodel from the dead soil.

When he visits again, he comes with a gift.

“I have brought you a servant.” A veiled shade follows him into the garden.

I wonder if he wants me to thank him for giving me a slave when I once had friends, a desert when I once had flowers.

I wonder why he took me.

Hades inspects a young shrub. “What’s this?”

“A pomegranate,” I say.

For a moment, I think he’s going to speak. Then he swallows the impulse and leaves.

.

On the day my pomegranate tree blooms, I find the shade sitting beneath the tree wiping her eyes with her veil. She says her first word: Springtime.

Little by little, she remembers how to speak. She talks about finishing this garden and moving on, the underworld blooming under my touch.

She doesn’t remember her name, so I call her Lethe.

.

My pomegranate tree bears fruit, but as I peel it open Lethe grabs my wrist. “If you eat, you will become a creature of his realm.”

I hurl the fruit at the wall.

.

It’s only a matter of time till my mother finds me.

Hades keeps sending gifts: servants, seeds, pruning-hooks and shovels. As the garden fills with life, so do the shades. The third time he visits, he dismisses the servants and looks at me with tired eyes. I wonder if he is always this sad.

“Your mother grieves without hope. Crops and men die, and no one sacrifices to the gods.” He sighs. “I am to send you back.”

Back to the home he took from me. Back to mother and wind and sunlight, but first I have one question.

“Why did you take me?” I spit.

He is the lord of the dead. He cannot sugar his words, as other gods might. “I need you,” he admits.

I think of Lethe, and to my surprise, I understand. I am springtime, but he is pain. No wonder the dead suffer, if that is all he can give them.

Before he can stop me, I rip open a pomegranate, and the juice is sour on my tongue.

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

But where I tread, they bloom. ---- I wrote this flash fic for the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, a small Christian festival of art, music, and words which runs every year in Tasmania's Huon Valley. The theme for the 2019 festival was "Grief and Hope", and I at once thought of Dorothy Sayers' poem, Rex Doloris, which imagines Hades as the King of Grief. This is the 500-word short story that resulted. I'd been looking for a way of retelling the story for nearly as long as I can remember, and this ficlet is the first step in that process. I can promise you that it won't be the last.

The 2023 Pilgrim Artists' Festival is now open for submissions of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art, and music from Christian, Nicene-Creed-affirming artists, including children and adults, anywhere in the world. This year's prompt is "Beauty in the Everyday" and there is a 500 word limit on literary entries. There are also dozens of prizes available - check them out and submit here.

[shipwreckedcomedy]

This is a reminder that Headless episode 1 is playing at THREE different film fests next weekend! Come out and support if there's one near you:

🗡️ Friday, August 25th - Pictures Up Film Fest here in Los Angeles - as a part of the "Monsters" block at 9 pm

🗡️ Saturday, August 26th - Sidewalk Film Fest in Birmingham, Alabama - as a part of the Episodic shorts block at 10 am

🗡️ Saturday, August 26th - Cinequest in San Jose, CA - playing at 7 pm as a part of the Shorts Program 12 - some of the team are planning on being in attendance!

Hope you can come out and support if one of these fests is convenient for you! Bonus points if you hit all three. 💀

[tag-the-degenerate]

The Hide Scribe Part 1

Chapter 1 - Tag Devilish

While robbing passerby’s in Cleghorn, I happened upon the love of my life for the first time.

I wasn’t a hidescribe then, I was hardly yet even a person. I was just a young devious beastie all on my own. A classless thing, I was, without much on my mind neither.

See, in my culture a gal isn’t grown until she has wandered all around. A woman has gotta make her own way and have adventures, otherwise she’ll die a girl. Men and en’s do too I guess, but I wouldn’t know because I’m not one of ‘em. What it comes down to is makin’ and havin’ stories.

If you don’t have stories to tell and they ain’t good, it’s like you never even existed. My people call it “chasing your tale” like you go out into what’s left of the world and you sort of gather up pieces of who you’re gonna be and who you always were as you go. Once you think you have most of the pieces then you’ve caught it- your tale, your story and it’s like you’re finally real. It didn’t make sense to me when I first heard about it, maybe it doesn’t to you now either as you read it, but best I can describe it is- it’s a feeling. An awareness almost, a purpose like. You know when you’ve found it.

Anyway, that’s what I was doin’, wandering all around trying to figure myself out and my place in the ruins of the world and I was working as a highway woman. I didn’t have Baptise (my tattoo tool) yet, so it was just me and Eadrich.

Eadrich is my macuahuitl and before I picked up Baptise, he was my tool of the trade and my constant companion. A macuahuitl is a weapon what for bashin’ and guttin’ -and when you’re a girl all alone you need something that can do that y’know? It’s a funny spelled word macuahuitl, but you say it like “Mak-wa-wick.”

Around this side of the desert not a lot of folks have seen one or even really know what it is, but see my Daddy o’s people use them and they’re from way down north.

Daddy’ o’s folk, never took a liking to me. They’re people eaters down in the cradle land and we don’t speak the same tongue. I was raised with my mom’s camp until

It was time to wander, then I headed straight out to meet them first. Never met Daddy o, but I met his mom and the rest of the people eaters. They didn’t know what to do with me really, we didn’t talk the same, we didn’t look the same and I felt much the same way I did with my mom’s people- out of place.

I spent a bit with Daddy o’s people and overtime I came to understand them when they spoke, but they never embraced me. When I tried to talk to them in their tongue back they laughed ‘cause I didn’t say things proper enough. So I stopped talkin’ for awhile altogether when I was with them.

I wanted to fit in with them and I couldn’t figure out why. I never fit in with my mom’s folk, but they loved me easy anyway. I thought maybe the reason I didn’t fit in with them was because I was meant to fit in with the people eaters. But, the more I tried the less Daddy o’s folks seemed to care. They all used and made their own

macuahuitls so I made one too. But y’know, no one showed me how so Eadrich turned out different.

Like, when the people eaters made theirs they used wood and glass, but I didn’t have that so I made mine with a piece of scrap metal. Even though they said it wasn’t a real Macuahuitl because of that, I felt like that was ok. Because I wasn’t a real people eater to them either.

After I made Eadrich there was a raid. That day, I went with my group of people eaters to a gathering of their kind out in the old mining lands we call Black mountain. People eater families from all over get together there once a year and the young ones do a rite to celebrate coming into adulthood. I never got to do the rite, I wasn’t allowed because I was only half people eater and they wouldn’t let me, but I went with them to watch. The rite is called “the feast of the beast.” The young ones (around my age then) all go hungry a couple days and only drink water. Then on the feast day they eat a big portion of mushrooms the elders bring out.

The mushrooms are a big deal to the people eaters, trusted elders grow and keep them and no outsider is allowed to touch or even see them. They’re magick, real magick those things. When you eat them you’re supposed to meet the Psilocyren, the goddess of mad divinity. She’ll show you all the secrets of the world, make you face your greatest fears and whisper to you all the plans the world has for your soul.

I wanted to meet her so bad, I thought about stealing the mushrooms myself but I didn’t have a good plan- anyway that’s when the raid happened. It was the night before the feast and we were all camped and gathered. I heard their bikes first and it wasn’t until I tore out the tent that I heard the elders screaming. One of those bikes had a metallic ting in the engine, like something was jingling around inside. The raiders had snatched up the mushrooms- the whole leather bag of ‘em. One of ‘em took off with all of ‘em and was dusting up the desert already. The other ones were putting up a fight with the people eaters. They tried to set our tents ablaze and chop us down but we knew how to fight. two more escaped and went with their friend the thief and the other three we killed. Some of the young folks tried to go after them but they lost him when he went up the ridge. They said without bikes of their own they wouldn’t be able to get em and there was only one working bike among the ones we killed and no one was a good rider.

Losing the mushrooms was mourned more

than the people who were killed that night and as the people eaters buried the dead, I stole that bike and took off to get those mushrooms back.

No one seemed to notice I left, but I knew

If I came back with the mushrooms they’d never overlook me again.

Chapter 2- Cervus

I left after the raiders and I wasn’t too good on the bike. It was in rough shape and ran outta guzzo half up a mountain pass up towards Vegas. The tracks the thieves left behind seemed to be going towards Cleghorn and it was the only settlement for miles I knew about. The way I bet it, they were looking to sell the mushrooms. Such a thing would surely fetch a big price among chem folk.

Along the way, I started robbin’ on the highways. I was around 17 then and I’d just crossed the canyon into Cleghorn.

Cleghorn is a little settlement where people come to trade up on the way through the Cajon pass. It’s tucked in the mountains where the water isn’t so radded out and a lot of people make camp there when they’re on their way to bigger places. I went there mainly so I could rob men and eat some food, which is all I really did back then. Sometimes I’d draw if I had time though.

The settlement had high walls made of big wood posts and if you wanted get in you had to talk to a doorman with a gun or two. I was in line to enter behind a caravan of traders that were eyeballin’ me some and after a slow march up they let me in. They asked if I had a gun and I showed them Eadrich instead. The main guard guy laughed and said he was the ugliest knife he’d ever seen. I told him he wasn’t a knife, he was a Macuahuitl and they laughed some more and let us through together.

I remember when I first went in I noticed a round tent in the courtyard that was surrounded by a crowd. I couldn’t see what was inside but I could hear them all laughing and hollering. I had never seen people laugh all together like that, I hadn’t ever seen that many people in one place where they weren’t fighting and it pretty well vexed me.

The whole place was a bazaar of things for trading-and I needed things- booths of supplies and trinkets and people offering up their services, but I passed it all by to join that crowd because I had to see what the fuss was all about.

As I got closer I squeezed through some of the big men standing in the back and saw that most of the people in the crowd were seated. It was the damnest thing! Some had even brought chairs and pillows but most were cross legged and sitting in the dirt all surrounding this one single guy talking in the center of the circle of listeners.

They were grown people, hard men looking like big warlords and killers and black thumbs and ladies too, lookin just as tough. Raider scum and biker nomads - and there were some little ones and young folks too- trader families and ol’ folk but they were all together and all of ‘em were sitting’ side by side and smiling like excited little kids listening to the guy talk- the story teller, tellin’ tales. Cervus.

I kept my distance at first, circling through the audience like a wild animal at the edge of a campfire. Then, slowly as he told story after story I crept closer each time, until I found myself sitting at Cervus’ feet like a pet tamed and waiting for a treat.

I can see him now, sitting in the center of that old rug, his bare legs crossed with layers of cloth bundled around his waist. His chest was also bare with a heavy fur mantle sitting upon his shoulders and his face- his beautiful face- obscured with a mask made from the skull cap of a great red deer with holes punched where his eyes sit- nothing but black pin pricks where the fire might glint if it caught just the right way.

I remember staring up at him, watching his thick pointed beard slightly bob from under the edge of the mask as he spoke. It was his voice I was first transfixed by. It was gentle and low and masculine, intimate and inviting. Like the soft rising smoke of a stick of incense.

When he was done, everyone raised their drinking cups and toasted to the moral of his final tale- which if I recall was “there is no moral, it’s just a thing that happened.” And everyone cheered “things happen!” And laughed. Cervus sat awhile while people came up to talk to him and give him trinkets and caps. I stayed and watched before he finally stood and parted.

It wasn’t until Cervus was gone that I crept upon the carpet he’d had sat upon and took a moment to sit. I took out my book of scribblings and penned a little drawing of him to commit the moment to memory. I didn’t draw back then as much as I do now. Now I draw every day, but back then I didn’t have the safety to stop and do so. I only had the one book too and I treated the pages real precious like. Paper was hard to come by so I only drew what I thought was important. I didn’t know precisely why at that moment, but I knew seeing that story teller was worth remembering.

Chapter 3 - The Paw’Caso

That evening I took shelter in the shade of the settlement of wall and drew for a long time without looking up much. I figured I’d have a better chance finding the raiders that took the mushrooms at night when I could creep around and not be spotted. I’d look for their bikes first. The thing about Cleghorn is it’s basically just a big walled in camp in the middle of the high-land. It’s filled with lots of traders with booths and things but the only real building is in the middle and it cost a brass cas’ to get in. That building is the “common house” where they pour drinks and the bigger wigs do business at tables and chairs. I didn’t have a cas’ to spend so I couldn’t go in then and there. I just posted up next to it in the shade close by.

While I was sittin there a man passed over my light. He lingered awhile, his shadow cast over me and called my attention up. As soon as I got a look at ‘em I knew what he was— a Hidescribe. The first one I ever met. He was youthful, with big dark eyes that were narrow and sleepy most always. He had a handsome smooth skinned face with a little goatee and mustache and under his nose he wore a ring piercing. When he smiled- which he did a lot- his little canine teeth protruded as sharp and prominent as a cats. His earlobes were stretched and while he did have tattoos they were mostly visible on his bare legs. His arms and other things were unblemished back then. I knew he was a hidescribe though because of his kit. He had his poke tool hanging on a chain around his neck and his hand had the mark- the Black woad sigil. Only Hidescribes have that.

He asked if he could see what I was drawing and before I could say no he sat down beside me. He was wearing a dark blue cotton wrap as a shirt and It was the cleanest bit of clothing I’d even seen. His pants were short and equally impeccable. They were a little dusty and embellished with matching cobalt trim. His booths were laced tight and I could tell he maintained them well. His hair was cut and slicked back, I could tell he took care of his appearance in a way no highwayman would. He smelled clean like wealth.

He bumped my shoulder with his and I passed him over my book for him to thumb through.

“I don’t run into a lot of people that draw still.” He said, his voice was light and tinged with a slight people eater talk.

“Do you draw a lot?” I told him I did, but the truth was I didn’t get much chance.

“You’re really good.” He said and it felt generous. Not dishonest but certainly a kindness. He was complimenting my potential rather than my skill, I could tell.

“Are you a Hidescribe?” I asked him dumbly, looking at the mark on his hand. He lifted it to show me and smiled.

“I just finished my apprenticeship.” He said proudly.

“I came here to tattoo a big warlord -“ he nodded towards the common house.

“In there, the Wax man. You know him?”

I didn’t.

He told me his name was Paw’Caso and I shook his hand.

“Tag Devilish.” I said.

He tucked his hand into his pocket and pulled out a fancy but worn card- real paper. Then, using my book as a backing support he produced a lead piece and scribbled on the cards blank side before handing it to me. I hesitated to take it but he insisted. What a strange thing to give a stranger such a resource for nothing in return.

“Paw’Caso- Hidescribe.” The front said in fancy curly script

As I flipped it over to see the back he stood and said.

“The world needs more artists.” And with a nod of his head he left towards the common house.

On the back of the card appeared to be a little map stamped on it and he had hand drawn an X with some coordinates. I tucked it into my book and went to follow after him but he’d already disappeared inside.

When I turned to return back to my spot I heard the roar of an engine and a sputter with a metallic jingle. From around the back of the settlement, coming towards the common house was a little parade of bikes. A dozen of em’

Four raider scum on janky motor bikes with patched metal and furs for saddles all flanked one big fancy one in all chrome at the front. I recognized the bikes of the underlings- definitely the mushroom thieves-but the leader in the center, he hadn’t been there the night of the raid. Too dirty a deed I’d bet for such a shiny thing.

“Make way!” The raiders called. The one at the front with the jingling engine seemed to be the cryer for the group.

“Make way for Wax the Racer Eraser!”

As the procession came to a halt, the man on the shiny bike- the leader man stepped off. On his hip I saw the leather bag his men had stolen from us.

He spun around theatrically like a goon and shrugged his arms as he made his way backwards towards the common house. he was tall and wore armor made from bike tread and chain.

“Drinks on me boys!” He shouted and as he turned his body to enter the establishment he was met with a bat of nails right into his face.

There was an audible wet “Thwack!” And everyone went silent as his muscular body fell out of the doorway like a rag doll. It was so sudden his underlings were stunned into slack jawed disbelief.

From over Wax’s body a figure stepped. He strutted from the common house and stood over the corpse causally, letting out a single laugh through his nose. Then he whipped his bloodied bat like a fan behind him, sending the excess blood in a wet streak sprinkling the floor and splattering the wall and door way.

He was a big man with the skull of a large predatory cat over his face and a cascade of long black hair. He wore football pads adorned with dried bones. On his right shoulder was the severed head of an alligator and even above his shit kicking boots he had shin gaurds with pieces of spinal column tied to the front.

“What kind of asshole with a bounty on their head announces themselves with a fucking town crier?” He roared with laughter . Behind him blond man in a worn apron peered out with an exasperated look on his face.

“God dammit…” the blond grumbled and rubbed his nose bridge with distress. Another man pushed past and came to the armored ones side with a grin. He was handsome with heart shaped glasses and a heavy coat with a fur lined collar. He laughed hard.

“I’ll still take a drink if he’s buyin’” he said.

The underlings lost it and dropped their bikes to swarm him, I took my chance and while he swatted them all away like splatting insects I dashed in and snatched the leather waist bag.

“Fuck!” I heard the armored man call. “You little shit! That bag is mine! I’ll skin you alive!” But it was too late, I was off while he was occupied with the angry mob of raiders.

Chapter 4- 3-Death

I ran until I was out of sight and out of breath before I took refuge among the nomadic camps set up beyond the bazaar.

Once the adrenaline faded I opened the bag. Inside I found some brass cas’, meaningless trinkets and a worn piece of canvas advertising a burlesque show by someone called “The Hemptress.” The mushrooms were gone. No sign of them. I pocketed the bullshit loot and just as I shoved the canvas addy in my vest pocket I felt a hard tug on my collar.

The settlment guard had nabbed me. Before I knew it they’d dragged me back into the bazaar and I was labeled a thief- my pack taken and I was tossed into a cell behind their barracks. Turns out, they didn’t give a damn what happened out on the road but you can’t go robbin’ while inside Cleghorn’s walls.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself locked up right beside the big armored man in the cat skull and his blonde friend.

He waited until the last guard walked off then spoke to me through our shared wall, leaning over with his forearms rested through the bars, hands dangling.

“The bag,” he said “what did you do with it?”

I told him the lawmen had taken it along with my backpack and he hung his head.

“But,” I decided to venture further

“The mushrooms weren’t in it. Just a bunch of junk.” He looked back up at me with sudden interest.

“You know about the mushrooms?” He asked.

“I was there at the gathering when they were stolen.” I said. “I came here looking to get them back. You were out to do the same?”

He suddenly looked distant, I suppose he was gauging how much information to safely share with a stranger.

“Something like that.”

The blonde stood up from his seat on the floor and dusted himself off.

“Well, that settles that. The bastard probably ate all of them.” He said.

“No,” the cat skull man said with certainty.

“They’re too valuable. He definitely knew what he had and offloaded them somewhere.”

I emptied my pockets on the floor for them both to see.

“This is all he had.” I told them.

The cat skull man pointed at the folded canvas ad.

“Let me see that.” He demanded and I obliged.

“The Hemptress is a big time Chem dealer, if she’s in town I bet he sold them to her.”

The blonde man looked over his friends shoulder and reached for the ad.

“Well we DEFINITELY better pay her a visit.” He said playfully with a grin.

I introduced myself.

“3 Death.” The big man said extending his hand. I shook it and he locked eyes with me a moment.

“And I am Master chef.” the blonde said theatrically “the full menu alchemist.” He flourished his long apron and flashed me a white toothy smile.

“Where’s your other friend?” I asked.

“The one with the heart glasses.”

“That’s love Machine.” 3 death told me.

“He’s slippery, he never gets caught. Should be busting us out any minute now.”

“How?” I asked looking around at the solid bars and iron walls penning us in.

“He has his ways.” Master chef said and the two looked at each other with knowing amusement.

Chapter 5 - Love machine

We sat in those cells a couple hours and all the while we talked. It turned out 3 death also had trouble fitting in with the people eaters and they had also denied him his rite of passage. The night of the raid he set off to retake the mushrooms but rather than return them, he wanted them for his own so he could do the rite he’d been denied and meet the psilocyren on his own terms among his friends.

Master chief was a little older than us and he had lived a tough life on the road. He used to be a mercenary caught up in a far off tribal war for most of his youth. All he wanted there after was a peaceful life with lady friends and no more starving. He wanted to settle down, get supplies and cook, maybe one day get a solid camp going and make a home with a trusted group. 3 death and Love Machine were his people and they stuck together for safety and companionship. Family.

“If we can sell a few of those mushrooms” he looked at 3 death with a preemptive tone of diplomacy

“-not ALL of them, just a little, we can get supplies maybe even open a tavern or a pit stop. They’re worth a fortune to the right people.”

3 death was losing his patience and had begun to pace. When night fell and before long-true to the assumption- Love machine came strolling in like he owned the place, keys in hand.

“There’s our boy!” Master chef whooped.

“We’ll have to go out the back,” love machine said, unlocking their cell with no sense of urgency.

“Orgy started in the barracks and I don’t want them to notice I slipped away.”

3 death nodded in my direction and said

“She’s coming with us. Her name’s Tag.”

Without questioning it Love Machine unlocked my cell. I thanked him gratefully and followed after the trio with haste and sudden unquestioning loyalty.

Sure enough, sounds of ecstasy and moans of rapture could be heard from the barracks and we slipped away and back into town unnoticed.

“How did you manage that?” I whispered to Love machine with grim curiosity.

“I’m Love Machine .” He shrugged

Chapter 6- The Hemptress

The Hemptress’ den was easy to find. In the darkness her flowing netted tent glowed with the warmth of hundreds of candles and it drew wandering passersby like lonely moths.

As we stepped into the tent the smell of herbs was heavy in the air. Small clouds of chems floated above us like contented ghosts and there was an overall feeling of safety and comfort. The ground was carpeted and lush and strewn about were lounging strangers, smoking from grand brass pipes and whisper-talking amongst themselves over cups flowing with dark wine.

Seated on a large plush floor pillow towards the back of the den was the Hemptress herself, a snake draped upon her shoulders and a small entourage of attractive heathens surrounding her like a little audience.

“Hemptress,” 3 death spoke on the group’s behalf.

“We have business.”

She turned her large catlike eyes upon our group with curiosity and let a stream of smoke trail out from past her lips. I could see that her teeth appeared to be painted, shiny and black. She split the smoke with a forked tongue and motioned to her hangers-on to depart for a moment. they took their leave without question.

“…and how might I be of service?” She asked in a youthful relaxed voice.

We all took a cross legged seat on the carpet and she pushed an ornate but worn plate of fruit towards us. Her hands were dark with tattoos and her long hair draped over her shoulders in thick black locks tinged green. She had bangs cut short just above her eyebrows and thick black eyelashes.

“ We’re looking for some stolen loot we think might have passed hands around here.” 3 Death said, reaching for a plump grape apprehensively.

“Chems?” The Hemptress asked, leaning back and making herself more comfortable.

“Mushrooms.” I chimed in.

“They were stolen from the people eaters and brought here.”

She sat back up more alert.

“Psilocyren mushrooms.” She said knowingly.

“Here?”

“We think so.” 3 death continued.

By his side Master chef reached for a handful of fruit gleefully.

“They were taken by Wax the raider war lord-“

“That guys a prick.” The Hemptress chuckled.

“He came around the other night and made a mess, he’s not welcome here.” She said.

“Well, he won’t be bothering you anymore.” love machine said with amusement.

“Fuck,” 3 death said, “so he didn’t offload any of them here huh?”

“Oh no,” replied the Hemptress.

“Although he did make a donation to the King. He sent it with the caravan that left yesterday.”

3 Death and I both looked at one another.

“What king?”

“The commander.” She explained with a bit of surprise.

“… King of Brycelandia. He owed him a debt from what I understand. Paid it off with a bag of things left on the donation wagon- it’s here every month and then it heads off with the Junktown folk to the kingdom.”

3 death began to stand with urgency.

“We have to catch up to them-“

“They have a days ride ahead of you.” The Hemptress said.

“It’ll be dangerous on the road this late. You can travel with us tomorrow.” She gestured for him to sit again.

“There’s no time for that.” 3 death spat.

“ If the mushies are on their way to Brycelandia they won’t be eaten until the feast in three days time.” Hemptress explained.

“We’ll be on our way there tomorrow for that and you’re welcome to join us. It’s the time of the fallen- they’ll be celebrating.”

Master Chef lit up.

“A feast?!” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Oh we’re, going!” He proclaimed, tugging 3 death’s by the arm and back into a sitting position.

“No way are we missing that! You guys need cooks?”

“I’m sure the king wouldn’t turn down the help-“ Hemptress said.

“Well that settles it!” Master chef said.

“Tomorrow we’re off to see the king!”

(End Part 1)

[mthollowell-writes]

Snippet Sunday!

Saw this and thought, why not! This looks fun! Below is the beginning bit from a Hollow Grove story that I've been working on:

Jimmying the lock was the easy part. Like most of the buildings along the Dead Street strip, Soul’s Rhythm & Blues Bar had a grade 3 cylindrical deadbolt that any novice criminal could pick with their eyes closed. The additional padlock provided a cute little puzzle, but it only delayed the inevitable. Good thing Hero wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill criminal then. He was a concerned citizen. The worst he could be accused of was being curious, but his intentions were pure. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll go over too well with the feds,” Martin hissed, even though he agreed to tag along on this “heist” earlier. He pressed his body against the grimy brick, making himself the most conspicuous among the three of them. “How much longer will this take?” “I told you exactly what we were going to do.” Hero offered as he examined the padlock more closely. This would be a lot easier if he had more than the weak light of the closest streetlamp to work with.

Martin flinched as the lights of a car sped by on the adjacent street. “I thought ‘breaking into the old blues bar’ was a figure of speech.”

“Like a euphemism?” Hero paused to squint at his progress. “I don’t like euphemisms.”

“Like in fake ids.” Martin continued to ramble on, “But this is an actual crime. If the police don’t shoot me, my mom definitely will.”

Rye rolled their eyes. “You didn’t have to come, you know. Especially if you were going to whine about it.”

“And miss my chance to get inside this haunted historical beauty?” Martin said aghast. “Never!”

“Nerd.”

“What of it?”

Hero rooted around in the locking pins for several seconds before he heard the telltale click. When the shackle released with a snap, he smiled.

“We’re in.”

“Oh, thank god!” Martin exhaled.

[nuuspace]

A Walk to the Cosmic Festival

Sebastian will never understand how the people here act so nonchalant about a gargantuan space behemoth constantly watching over their entire local cosmos. The Cosmic Serpent dominates above, sprawling over more than half of the night sky. Its very presence makes Sebastian uneasy; no matter where he looks, it’s always there, always watching. Any moment could be the end of his new home. Any moment could be the end of everything he now knows.

The soft wind blows against his face, into his ears, and through his hair; something he’s glad was able to stay in this world. He never thought that he would miss the sounds of the bugs at night, or the flying birds overhead. He never thought that he would miss cars honking at odd hours, or trains driving by, waking him up at dawn. But he always knew that he would miss the calming, chilly wind at night. At least, that’s what he believes; he can’t remember.

The kids in front of him seem to be doing fine. They push each other, run around, and giggle obnoxiously; class just ended, and they’re more joyous than ever. Given it’s a festival day, their excitement is quite defendable. Supposedly, when the Cosmic Serpent is close enough to Blue Moon that it lights its night sky, it’s a cause for party.

Sebastian tightens his backpack straps.

Since he isn’t able to participate in class, there’s nothing in his backpack—but, the combination of it and his hoodie acts as his armor. It makes him feel protected, so he wears it most everywhere he goes.

Though, it feels odd to be wearing a backpack considering the mystical elements of his new home. And yet, he lives somewhere that feels so familiar. Just behind him is a perfectly intact secondary school building (albeit the architecture quite odd), and just in front of him are kids playing with the divine, and a colossal space beast watching them do so. If he could scream, he would, but he had his fair share of screams when he first arrived a couple weeks ago.

The group of kids turn at the sidewalk, as expected. Everyone is going around the block to a local dinery hosting the festival. Nate told Sebastian that no one really celebrates, it’s just an excuse to have a day off and party. Nate’s the only reason that Sebastian is going; he reminds him of someone no longer known.

Many others are walking down the main street of the neighborhood toward the end of the block. Each and every person celestially unique in their own way—except Sebastian. His Rauror is dormant.

His Rauror has never communicated with him like all the others are describing. He has no divine power like all the others are exhibiting. He has nothing special about him, like all the others do. Every person he’s met has described a fascinating experience that they’ve had, and Sebastian has only experienced fear, confusion, and wetting himself in bed his first night.

Just as Sebastian turns at the corner, he realizes that the other students are now nowhere to be seen. In fact, the street is entirely empty. He must have stalled for too long, and everyone’s already arrived at the festival. Sebastian has never been completely alone outside until now.

Clip, clop.

All the sounds around him begin to amplify. The rhythm of his footsteps. The rustling of the leaves. The laughs and screams from the festivities.

As leaves rustle and sticks crumble, Sebastian’s mind gets louder and louder. The many variations of his voice in his head tell him to watch out, be careful. The street isn’t lit, and anything could be before him. Anything could be watching.

“It’s not worth your time to ask questions,” Nate would say. “Because you’ll likely never get the answer to them.”

It’s things like these that make Sebastian want an active Rauror. He doesn’t want to show it off. He doesn’t want to learn to use it. He doesn’t want to “connect with the world.” He wants to feel safe in this realm of chaos. If he could eternally hide in his hoodie, he would.

Sebastian tightens his backpack straps.

He hesitantly continues his voyage down the main road, turning his head at every given moment. After every click and after every crack, Sebastian’s pace increases.

His gut recoils as he flicks his hoodie. Nothing but a slew of sparkles puff off him and fade into the night. Imaginary pixies poke at his skin, and all he can do is frantically itch.

He scouts his surroundings on every axis. After each head turn and each gut churn: it’s only ever him and himself.

Another tug, another slip; one at his hood, one at his hip. He repeats the same routine, and to no avail: nothing. At each tear from his armor, sparks burst out and circle around him, trying to keep up with him as he runs.

Sebastian’s feet pound at the concrete as frigid air forcefully fills his lungs. In through the nose, out through the mouth—that lasts about five seconds before he starts heaving. His knees pop with each stride, wearing away with each step.

Darkness only grows as ethereal forces try to break away his armor. His backpack gets heavier. His hoodie gets warmer. He’s only so far from the diner, and yet it feels like the length between here and there only grows further and further.

Another tug at his backpack, and it suddenly feels weightless. Another tug at his hoodie, and they suddenly become one.

Just a little farther.

Sebastian pants, hands on his knees. He stands just outside the diner. His skin feels frizzy, his vision is hazy. His hoodie feels like it’s not even there.

He tries to calm his breath, and he gasps at each attempt. This damned world hates him, he says to himself, and now his body does too. He could have made an excuse, or simply said no—but he chose to do this to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut as his grip tightens.

“Sebastian,” calls a growly voice just behind his ear.

He leaps forward, spins around, and shrieks. His heart chokes. His eyes widen. His breath stops.

Sebastian’s backpack straps tighten.

He floats in the air, our physics amuck; his hoodie now gone, his backpack now sunk.

Everything’s gray, and everything’s bright; he’s wrapped in his armor, erased from their sight.

Outside of their world, yet inside it too; he hides in his circle, separate from their view.

He faces the beast, accepting his fate; yet he’s not deceased, as it’s only Nate.

It seems this whole time, it called from within; now it is alive, as he was wishing.

He thought that he’d go into his descent, but now he can see the Cosmic Serpent.

[reallygroovyninja]

The town of Arkadia was awash in hues of amber, scarlet, and gold, signaling the advent of the most heartwarming season of the year – fall. For Lexa and Clarke, this season was about to become even more memorable, for it marked their daughter Madi's first visit to the annual fall festival.

Madi's enthusiasm was palpable from the moment they set foot in the festival grounds. The bustling ambiance, the sweet aroma of freshly baked apple pies and the joyous laughter echoing around brought a nostalgic warmth to Lexa and Clarke's hearts. But for Madi, it was a new world waiting to be explored.

Holding onto Clarke's finger, Madi's tiny feet took her first towards the grand pumpkin patch. Rows upon rows of pumpkins lay there, each with its unique shade and shape. With the glee of a child witnessing magic, Madi dashed from one pumpkin to another, finally settling on a petite pumpkin with a naturally carved smiley face. "This one, Mama!" she exclaimed, her choice bringing a proud smile to both her parents' faces.

Nearby, Lexa spotted a scarecrow-making workshop. With straw hats, old flannel shirts, and plenty of hay at their disposal, the family got to work. While Clarke amused Madi with stories of scarecrows guarding the fields at night, Lexa expertly crafted a scarecrow that bore an uncanny resemblance to Clarke, much to the latter's feigned annoyance.

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg led them to the next attraction – a stall selling spiced apple cider. As Lexa and Clarke reminisced about their own fall festival memories over steaming mugs of cider, Madi took a tentative sip from her cup. Her eyes widened in delight, and she declared, "It's like drinking a warm apple pie!"

The highlight of the day, however, was the hayride. As the wooden cart trundled through the picturesque countryside, Madi nestled between her parents, listening intently to Lexa's tales of past autumnal celebrations and Clarke's soft lullabies. The setting sun cast a golden sheen over the landscape, turning the moment into something ethereal.

As evening descended and the festival grounds started to shimmer under the canopy of fairy lights, the family found a cozy spot by the bonfire. Surrounded by the gentle strumming of guitars and the soft hum of folk songs, they roasted marshmallows and made s'mores, the sweetness of the treats rivaled only by the sweetness of the moment.

By the end of the day, Madi's eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, but her heart was light with joy. She dozed off in Clarke's arms, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire, a contented smile on her lips.

Lexa wrapped an arm around Clarke, pulling them close. As they gazed at their daughter, they silently acknowledged the beauty of the moment. The fall festival was not just a celebration of the season but also of love, family, and the treasured memories they would carry with them for a lifetime.

[mudlarkspur]

thinking about changing the s2 fic name to either

not of this nor any world marvels strange and terrific