#~short story

[thethreefaes]

~The King’s Return~

(A short story based on Epic and rp with @bigidiotenergytm ))

Odysseus lead the way up the path towards the palace. Kiara and Rose following, flanking him on both sides. All three were on edge. Eyes scanning the area. They stayed silent and kept to the shadows as much as possible.

Odysseus could hear the commotion from his home. The suitors yell and cheering. It twisted something in his gut. His blood already boiling. At least Lyra was gone from here. She would be safe and so would his son.

Silent steps brought them into the palace. Staying to the walls and out of the way. All eyes were on the woman at the front of the throne room. Setting a challenge for the suitors. Odysseus felt a swell of pride as he watched from behind a pillar. At least now he knew where to get his weapon. Speaking of…

“Rose. Find all the weapons, other than my bow, and place them in my armory.” He detailed where the room was. A large area with only one way in. And only one way out.

“Don’t lock it. We want them to discover it. They’ll call the others and we’ll have them all in one place.” Rose’s grin was feral as she snuck away. Watching as the fae disappeared into the shadows he turned is attention back to the suitors. All failing at stringing the bow. Their frustration growing.

“Kiara. Those shadows you control around you. Just how far can they reach?” He glanced at her. From the corner of his eye he could see she was following his plan.

“I can cover your palace in shadows darker than the night outside.” He nodded. Good. It was going to be easy turning the tides in his favor.

“At my signal, you shroud this place in darkness.” The suitors were chanting. Frustrations reaching a peak.

“Yes my king.” Kiara’s feathers bristled as she listened to these pigs. Singing something about killing the prince. Odysseus clenched his fists and stalked around the edge of the room. From pillar to pillar, cloaked covering his face.

He picked up his bow. Blood reaching a boil as they dare plan to touch his wife. With skilled ease he strung his faithful bow. Rose appearing, crouched besides him with a quiver of arrows. His keen eyes didn’t miss that these arrows had her own feathers attached.

Nodding a thanks he took one and notched it. Drawing back the string as the men continued to chant and their leader stood on the table. It felt so good to release that arrow into the fucker’s throat.

“For 20 years, I've suffered every punishment and pain. From the wrath of gods and monsters to the screams of comrades slain. I come back and find my palace desecrated, sacked like Troy. Worst of all, I hear you dare to touch my wife and hurt my boy!” Odysseus stared down the men, eyes aglow in hate. Besides him two more sets of eyes lit up like demons in the shadows.

“I have had enough.” At his growl he tilted his head to Kiara. The fae releasing the shadows over the palace. Pitch black other than the torches the suitors grabbed as the fae and king separated to take out their prey.

The arrow in Antinous’s throat combusted and flames began to engulf the body. The suitors ran to find cover. Trying to find where the king had gone. Arrows flew through the darkness, making contact with body after body. The suitors’ torches lighting up Odysseus’s targets.

One man began pleading into the darkness. Asking for forgiveness. Rose brought more arrows back to her king. Hearing the man ask for open arms made her hiss as Odysseus let another arrow fly.

“No.” Just as he’d been denied. Kiara smirked at the response, so filled with resentment and sass. The king continued on his hunt. Rose’s flames consuming the fallen bodies. Red and orange light bathing the palace in a bloody glow. The fire fae headed for the armory as Kiara made sure any stragglers found their way to the trap.

Odysseus took his time. The fae’s darkness hid him well as he stalked his prey. He heard the shouting at the armory. Good. They’d call all the others to that hall and there would be no escape for them.

But when Odysseus got there, it wasn’t just the suitors. Rose was pinned to the ground under two men and Telemachus, his son, had been grabbed by another. The rage burned hot again and he drew his sword. Running it through the suitors back and out his chest.

Odysseus watched Telemachus get Rose as the man’s voice gurgled in his own blood.

“Mercy? Mercy?!” There would be no mercy. As long as these men lived his family was in danger. With sword and bow the King got to work. Red flames sparking at every attack. Blue flames caught his eye as Telemachus fought besides him. Familiar feathers on his son’s weapons creating the azure flames.

Kiara and Rose blocked the exit. Ripping into any that tried to pass. The fae flames engulfing, consuming the bodies of the suitors until they were nothing but ash. Yet the flames harmed neither king nor prince. It damaged nothing in the palace. The swirling red and blue flames coming together to create a royal purple blaze. A blaze to cleanse the palace of all pests.

When the battle was done, and the screams silenced, the flames faded away. The king’s home fell into silence as the sun began to rise. And in that calm and silence after the storm, father and son properly reunited.

Kiara and Rose left them to their reunion. Going to find their own sister. The night had been long fought. But the sun had risen on a new beginning.

[faerowanaine]

Rowan was learning fast that an apartment was not for him. He thought moving and exploring the human world would be fun! He’d spent some time in it growing up as his father had been quite enthralled with manipulating human lives and businesses.

The young fae scrunched his nose as memories of his father’s past time came to him. Yeah humans were fun to mess with but his dad had been cruel. Rowan just wanted to learn more about them. And that meant living like one.

… which sucked. The city sucked. The noise sucked. The metal and glass buildings sucked. He wanted a little house in the forest with his own garden like Lyra! But he also didn’t have human money. So he’d have to wait on that dream.

Laying in his hammock, he looked out the window. A leg hanging off it to kick and rock him lightly. The apartment was pretty empty. Lyra would scold him if she saw. Say something about him surrounding himself with what he likes. But if he wanted that he’d just chill at her place!

This wasn’t home. This was just a stepping off point as he figured out his next move.

[chunkysoup22]

[thestuffedalligator]

“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

[jordanbolton]

“The Driver” by Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is out now! Order it here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky

[mimimar]

the woman who holds the moon

prints available here. my cover for this month's issue of baffling magazine.

[lizardho]

When I came out, I was SO scared I was gonna get disowned. I wrote a letter to my parents, sent it to their emails, put a physical copy on the counter, and left the house for a few hours to give them time. In that time I tried coffee for the first time, which was a dreadful idea, and got all jittery. I kept waiting for a text or something but nothing happened.

After a few hours, I didn’t hear back from them so I went home. My parents were home and had stacked a bunch of groceries on top of the letter without opening it. They said “hi��� and I said “hi” and went down stairs to the basement. I held my dog and panicked about what to do. My sister, who knew that I had written them a letter of great importance, told me they hadn’t read it yet. She also told me she could ask them to do so. I consented to this and stayed in the basement. A few minutes later my dad knocked on the door and poked his soft smooth little nerd head in and said “hey buddy” and I started crying so hard I almost vomited. He came over and gave me a BIG hug and said that it was gonna be OK, he was OK with this, he knew it must have been hard but he was here for me. He told me he and my mom had already talked years before they had me about how if they had to pick between their faith and their child they’d pick their child. It was a very sweet moment. I came out to my mom later that evening and we were both bawling the whole time.

The day after I came out to my parents, I came out to my brother @inbabylontheywept at a Mexican restaurant and he took it like a champ. That evening my mom took me for a walk and looked almost angry - she said she wanted to make sure that I didn’t use being a woman as an excuse to not go to grad school. I told her I wouldn’t and she instantly looked relieved and happier.

My dad, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with it. He kept asking me if I had a boyfriend, and I told him I did not. He kept asking me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with him and I did not. He kept asking me if I would let him go to some of my shows, and I had NO idea what he was talking about.

Finally, 6 months after coming out, of awkward misgendering and questions that didn’t make sense from my dad, he excitedly pokes his soft smooth little nerd head into my bedroom again and says “I found a movie about Your People.” My people. I was absolutely bewildered, but he was so excited and I knew he had been trying SO hard so I watched it with him. It was The Birdcage, and it was amazing. It also was revelatory in that I finally realized why my initially-supportive father seemed to be having such a hard time with my pronouns and stuff - he didn’t know what the difference between trans and doing drag was. After the movie he again asked if I would invite him to one of my shows, and I said, “Hey dad, you know how about half the world is women?” And he said “yeah,” and I said “Well, see, I’m on that half now. I’m not doing drag.” And it was like a switch flipped in his brain. He was like “omg that’s so easy? I was so confused about what to call you when?”

Anyway, my parents are charming and my family has been so kind and patient with me, I like sharing the stories of my little wins with them.

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Viago, when playing as Rook De Riva: you IDIOT you were my favorite fledgling why did you have to make a mess of this now I have to jump through all these convoluted hoops to keep you safe. Teia stop telling Rook how much I missed them it's not funny they could have DIED. also your room is exactly the way you left it please come home

Strife, when playing as Rook Aldwir: Why hasn't this weird bug i kicked out of our camp ages ago died yet :|

[microsff]

The patron

The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.

"May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?"

They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them. 

"Of course. Did you bring your card?"

I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn't stare, or pry.

"Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such," she said. "If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it."

There isn't an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.

I scan the card and the book. "There you go," I say and hand them over. "Please return it within two weeks."

They tilt their head. "This entity will honour your terms."

"Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit." I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. "It's mostly about internet usage, but I'll need you to read them and agree."

They study the pamphlet.

"These are terms this entity can abide by." They pause. "Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?"

"Of course not," I say, "we always welcome new patrons."

They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said. 

"This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain" they say at last. "You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?"

In my mind, I weigh humanity's ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.

"Yes," I say, "this is a library."

[thethreefaes]

~A Time to Rest~

(A short story set in the Epic the Musical universe. Inspired by the RP with @bigidiotenergytm ))

Lyra had never been so scared in her life. Not even when the humans had shackled her and pulled her feathers. The moment she had heard her true name on the wind.

Calling. Hurt.

Facing down Calypso, Lyra had been full of rage. The first time she truly felt hate for another. For what she’d done to her Cara. To her friend.

Her friend….

Lyra looked over to where Odysseus was resting in her nest. The little hut had been filled with as many soft things the fae could find. Blankets from her sister’s nests. Pillows … some made from her own feathers! She wanted him to be comfortable. To be safe.

With a sigh the youngest fae flopped into the warm grass and flowers of the field. Stretching her wings out as far as they could go to warm under the sun.

Lyra hummed a quiet tune as she let herself relax. They were safe. Her Cara was safe. Even if he’s been quiet the last few days. He was going to be okay. He’d get healed up and gain his strength back. Then they’d somehow find a way to get him to his home.

Lyra was startled from her thoughts as footsteps stopped besides her. Opening her eyes and looking up, Lyra watched as Odysseus sat down by her. His gaze was distant as he looked out over the field of flowers. She could tell that while he was physically there, her Cara’s mind was not. He was lost in his own head. In his own dark thoughts.

Lyra shifted and placed her wing on his lap. Maybe she could ground him. Bring him back here. His hand, calloused and scarred, ran through the soft feathers. Slowly, gently. Then his gaze dropped to watch as his fingers disappeared into the downy appendage. It was working! His eyes becoming more focused. But he wasn’t relaxing. Still so stiff and wound up. As if ready to attack.

Lyra had one more idea. Something her mother would do for her when she was scared or upset. It always felt so safe and never failed to make her feel better. Maybe it would help her Cara. So, the half fae reached out and took his hand. Pulling gently so he’d lay besides her. Odysseus went willingly and when he laid on his side he gave her a forced smile. Lyra returned it with a little one of her own… before covering him with her wing.

She heard Odysseus let out a disgruntled grunt as the wing hit him and then rested atop him. And whenever he moved to get out from under it, Lyra would move and cover him again. She laughed as she felt him give up with a huffed laugh of his own. Lyra could feel him curl up underneath. His body still tense. She adjusted so that her wing completely covered him and the weight rested atop.

Under her wing was warm and shaded. Not quite dark but enough that Odysseus wasn’t bothered by the sun. The weight of the wing was comforting. Heavy enough to ground him to the present, but light enough where he didn’t feel trapped. The king could feel his muscles relaxing and exhaustion falling over him.

Lyra was singing in that strange language of hers. And while Odysseus couldn’t understand it, he could recognize the tune of a lullaby. He chuckled. She was trying to help him relax and rest like some kind of child. His head laid on his folded arms as he listened. Amused by her actions. Yet, he did yawn and felt his eyes growing heavy. Was this really working?

… it felt nice. Much nicer than he thought it would. Was this a normal thing for her kind? His eyes closed with a sigh. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. But he wouldn’t make a habit of it.

Lyra’s wing raised and fell with the even breaths of her Cara. She continued her humming as she watched in content. It had worked! She’d helped her Cara relax! The fae stretched and cuddled down into the grass to have a nap as well.

It was an hour later that her sisters would return and find them. Both still sound asleep and peaceful.

[faerowanaine]

~open starter~

Okay, this was new. Rowan had experience with the dullahan back in his home land but this one was different. It should be hunting. Remaining in the forest and finding its next target.

But it had crossed into his territory and… hadn’t left. The creature was trotting down the street! In the city?! Why was it here? Rowan had to figure it out.

Leaving the apartment, Rowan made his way down the dark street. There were still people and cars out. Everything seemed normal. Except for the dark horse with the headless rider walking down the road.

No one saw it. No one reacted to it. Rowan followed. No name had been said. Why was it here?! It was driving the young fae crazy!

[paintedcrows]

In my heart, Ford once went to an ice dimension and got Really Good at ice skating, and now he's absolutely insufferable about it.

[thestuffedalligator]

"Did you ever have an imaginary friend?"

The beer can was thoughtfully swirled. "No," she said eventually. "I tried, though. It just - it didn't work."

The wind blew over the stoop, cool and smelling of rain.

"'Didn't work?'"

"I wanted it to work, it - I was six, and I was in my dad's truck, and we were in the Wal-Mart parking lot at night - I don't remember why - and I thought, 'I should make an imaginary friend,' so I looked through the window and-"

She frowned. "Fuck. This sounds like a joke, but I made a Vaporeon. It was just a fully formed, perfect Vaporeon in a parking lot of a Wal-Mart. And I was so happy and I opened the door to make it jump in so I could take it home with me.

"But there was something - wrong with it. I'd made it perfectly, but I forgot to make it alive. It just sat and stared and I begged it to jump in the truck with me before my dad drove off, and it sat and stared, and we drove off and I was so sad and confused and - disappointed."

She wiggled the tab of the can. "It's still there," she said quietly. "I drive past that parking lot sometimes, and that same Vaporeon is still sitting in that spot. I've seen that parking lot get full to the tits in the middle of the holidays, I have never, not even once, seen someone park in the spot it's sitting in."

A car drove by. After a moment the frogs in the ditch started to chirp again.

She tipped her head back and downed the rest of the beer. "Anyways, that's what I think god's deal is," she said.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Alternatives for "She Smiled"

If you can't seem to find an alternative for this common phrase "she smiled". here's a list of different sentence variations.

She beamed brightly.

Her lips curled into a smile.

She flashed a radiant grin.

A smile lit up her face.

She offered a sheepish grin.

Her smile twinkled mischievously.

She gave a soft, serene smile.

A wry smile played on her lips.

She smirked subtly.

Her smile spread slowly across her face.

She smiled wistfully.

A gentle smile graced her features.

She smiled with her eyes.

Her smile was tinged with sadness.

She bestowed a gracious smile.

Her smile glimmered in the dim light.

She smiled coyly.

A giddy smile bubbled up.

She smiled, lips parting lightly.

Her smile was infectious.

She gave a knowing smile.

A tentative smile flickered across her face.

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delight.

Her smile warmed the room.

She smiled ruefully.

A conspiratorial smile crossed her face.

She smiled, a trace of irony evident.

Her smile was wide and welcoming.

She flashed a quick, evasive smile.

She smiled as if recalling a sweet memory.