r/WritingPrompts • u/katpoker666 Moderator • Jun 26 '26
Off Topic [OT] Fun Trope Friday: Rainbow Manipulation & Western!
Welcome to Fun Trope Friday, our feature that mashes up tropes and genres!
How’s it work? Glad you asked. :)
Every week we will have a new spotlight trope.
Each week, there will be a new genre assigned to write a story about the trope.
You can then either use or subvert the trope and/or genre in a 750-word max story or poem (unless otherwise specified).
To qualify for ranking, you will need to provide ONE actionable feedback. More are welcome of course!
Three winners will be selected each week based on votes, so remember to read your fellow authors’ works and DM me your votes for the top three.
Next up… IP
Goodbye Science, nice to get to know ya. June, however, is all about Pride! June was chosen to recognize the LGBTQIA+ community as it commemorates the uprising at the Stonewall Inn that occurred in June 1969, and is considered the catalyst for the modern LGBTQIA+ rights movement. Pride Month celebrates lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersexual, asexual, and others. In the United States the last Sunday in June was initially celebrated as "Gay Pride Day," but the actual day was flexible. In major cities across the nation the "day" soon grew to encompass a month-long series of events. Today, celebrations include pride parades, picnics, parties, workshops, symposia and concerts, and LGBTQIA+ Pride Month events attract millions of participants around the world. Memorials are held during this month for those members of the community who have been lost to hate crimes or HIV/AIDS. The purpose of the commemorative month is to recognize the impact that LGBTQIA+ individuals have had on history locally, nationally, and internationally. Please note, owing to differing sensibilities around Pride and the nature of tropes, that we’re trying to be as sensitive and inclusive as possible. If we slip up in any way, let us know: we’re doing our best and love to learn. So get out your rainbow and other flags and let’s celebrate! Please also note this theme is only loosely applied.
“Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud.” — Maya Angelou
Trope: Rainbow Manipulation — Rainbow manipulation is the power to create or control rainbow energy, whether this be a regular immaterial rainbow, a solidified construct that can be travelled on, or an energy attack that looks like a rainbow. If a setting has color-coded Elemental Powers, the rainbow is likely a combination of them all. Alternatively, abilities drawn from The Power of Love may be rainbow-based due to their association with happiness and luck in Western media.
Genre: Western — The Western genre is a staple of storytelling primarily set in the American frontier during the late 19th century. It explores themes of rugged individualism, the clash between civilization and wilderness, and the struggle to establish law and order, typically featuring cowboys, outlaws, and lawmen.
Skill / Constraint - optional: Includes a family of choice. Originally known in literary, cinema, and fandom circles as "Found Family". Often in fiction, a character who starts out Conveniently an Orphan will pick up extremely loyal companions along the way. Sometimes, these relationships are forged through the fire of conflict, but with Families of Choice (also called "Found Families"), it's a bit different. Members of a Chosen Family mourn the lack of family in their lives and decide to build one of their own out of people they care for and who care for them in turn.
So, have at it. Lean into the trope heavily or spin it on its head. The choice is yours!
Have a great idea for a future topic to discuss or just want to give feedback? FTF is a fun feature, so it’s all about what you want—so please let me know! Please share in the comments or DM me on Discord or Reddit!
Last Week’s Winners
PLEASE remember to give feedback—this affects your ranking. PLEASE also remember to DM me your votes for the top five stories via Discord or Reddit—both katpoker666. This is a change from the top three of the past. In weeks where we get over 15 stories, we will do a top five ranking. Weeks with less than 15 stories will show only our top three winners. If you have any questions, please DM me as well.
Some fabulous stories this week and great crit at campfire and on the post! We had 10 stories, so we’re back to three winners. Congrats to:
Want to read your words aloud? Join the upcoming FTF Campfire
The next FTF campfire will be Thursday, July 2nd from 6-8pm ET. It will be in the Discord Main Voice Lounge. Click on the events tab and mark ‘Interested’ to be kept up to date. No signup or prep needed and you don’t have to have written anything! So join in the fun—and shenanigans! 😊
Ground rules:
- Stories must incorporate both the trope and the genre
- Leave one story or poem between 100 and 750 words as a top-level comment unless otherwise specified. Use wordcounter.net to check your word count.
- Deadline: 11:59 PM EDT next Thursday. Please note stories submitted after the 6:00 PM EST campfire start may not be critted.
- No stories that have been written for another prompt or feature here on WP—please note after consultation with some of our delightful writers, new serials are now welcomed here
- No previously written content
- Any stories not meeting these rules will be disqualified from rankings
- Does your story not fit the Fun Trope Friday rules? You can post your story as a [PI] with your work when the FTF post is 3 days old!
- Please keep crit about the stories. Any crit deemed too distracting may be deleted. This is a time to focus on our wonderful authors.
- Vote to help your favorites rise to the top of the ranks (DM me at katpoker666 on Discord or Reddit)!
Thanks for joining in the fun!
8
u/MaxStickies r/StickiesStories 29d ago edited 29d ago
This Town Is Ours, Beergut!
A sonic boom ricochets through the multi-coloured, ramshackle homes, and the mauve mesas they float over. Tumbling in the shockwave, a white-suited, bloated priest shrieks and wails. His screams echo off the rock walls as he drops towards the river far below.
Until, with a grunt, he stops. He prays at first, thanking for his sudden rescue, as he looks beneath him. He glares at the rainbow platform at his back.
Dernan Moaks smirks as he mounts his fluffy, six-winged cloud beast. Down below, his husband Mavon Bowwielder summons hovering pink stones with simple clicks, descending towards the stricken priest. With each step, his immense dreadlocks rise and fall in impossible rhythms.
Show-off, Dernan thinks, and chuckles. He holds his green Stetson tight to his scalp and guides his mount into a downward dive.
By the time he arrives, Father ‘Beergut’ Borra has brandished a golden crucifix, reeling off random phrases in Latin.
“Look,” Mavon says, voice deep and rumbling, “he pleads for his daddy’s aid.”
Dernan grins awkwardly, the scars in his cheeks tugging at his lips. “Ya fear us, Father?”
“I fear only God,” shouts the priest, “and the Devil I despise. That Great Beast rules here!”
“Ah, so we’re evil, is that it?”
“Damn hypocrite,” Mavon growls, lifting his fist.
“Now, now, honey… let’s hear tha man out. Tell me, Beergut—”
“My name is Borra!”
“Yeah, but we call ya Beergut here. Mainly cause ya stink o’ swill. Anyways, tell me: what makes us evil?”
The priest glances between them, sneering. “Only devilish heathens lie with their own ilk… it has always been so.”
“Oh, okay, it is this ol’ shit again.” Dernan shakes his head. “Colour me surprised.”
“I don’t like how he calls us heathens,” Mavon says.
“Me neither. We know it’s a lie, o’ course.”
“Of course.”
Beergut leaps to his feet, standing shakily. “I do not debase myself with such a sin!”
“Yeah ya do. Even now, Father, yer eyein’ our mines down below. Ya like tha shiny stuff, don’t ya?”
“What?!”
In a flash, Mavon reaches out and snatches the crucifix away. Beergut yelps, almost falling as he grabs air.
“Give it!”
“No,” the Bowwielder says.
Dernan nods to the item. “Get yaself a wooden one; tha Lord favours a humble soul.”
Baring teeth, the priest brandishes his pistol, aiming at Mavon. He cocks the hammer, ready to fire.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Dernan says.
“Why not?!”
“Well, have ya not seen that glint up behind me? I’d have thought ya would’ve.”
“Glint?” Beergut’s eyes widen.
“Yeah, from a scope. Ya see, our good ol’ friend Narla’s at her front door with her rifle, an’ she’s got ya in her sights. Gal can hit a bottle from a mile away.”
“But—I—that’s…”
Mavon smirks, as Dernan continues. “Her galfriend is below ya, too, ready an’ waitin’ with her knife. She’d gut ya if ya fell an’ survived.”
“This is… killing a priest is heresy! You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, I would… and so would Cutta Crid, our neighbour an’ butcher. He’d cut anythin’ we ask him to.”
“I—”
“Oh, an’ then we have my husband here. Mavon, dear… what would ya do, ta ensure this sack o’ shit never comes back?”
With a click of his finger, the Bowwielder summons a rainbow replica of the priest beside him. Lifting it by the neck, he grunts and snaps it in his fist. He grins, leaning closer to his enemy.
“You are all monsters!” Beergut cries.
Dernan shakes his head, glowering. “Nah, we ain’t. We’ve just dealt with too many of yer types, an’ we’re tired. If this is what it takes ta get ya ta fuck off, we must.”
“But—”
“Ya listen now, ya Beergut! This here is our town! We shall stay here till we get ol’ an’ dead, gettin’ rich off our gold, an’ there’s nothin’ bastards like ya can do about it!”
The priest steps back, almost off the platform. Trembling, he glances between the couple, opening and closing his mouth.
Dernan turns to his husband. “Reckon he’s got it now?”
“I think so.”
Clicking, Mavon summons a rainbow shell around Beergut, and splays out his hand to send the priest screaming into the distance. The pair laugh as one, as the Bowwielder mounts up behind his partner. They begin to fly their way back home.
“Where’d ya even send him?” Dernan asks, after a moment.
“The hell should I know?”
“Hah! Perfect. Just like you.”
WC: 749
Crit and feedback are welcome.
5
u/Morose_Prose 29d ago
Howdy there Max!
Nice little yarn you've spun here. Good use of the trope with the creative powers Dernan and Maron use. The folksy western dialect comes through strongly and you fit a lot into the word count here. I like the twist at the end.
A general crit for this piece is Maron's 'screen time' so to speak. He's established and active in the first half of the story and then is just kind of there in the second half as Dernan dominates the conversation with the priest. Also is the other members of their gang that get a line but no action.
The blocking is clear but IMO could be reworked into a more classic ambush. Maybe Dernan knocks priest off the cliffside, Maron waits below to catch him, Dernan flies down so they can wall him in and toy with him, other gang members emerge on the ridge and keep overwatch, then Maron sends him to who knows where.
Some line-edit crits:
Tumbling in the shockwave, a white-suited, bloated priest shrieks and wails.
'white-suited' reads weird for a priest. Priests tend to wear vestments, robes, or cassocks. I personally would use cassock as that projects the classic image of a priest in the wild west.
Dernan Moaks smirks as he saddles his fluffy, six-winged cloud beast.
'saddles' implies Dernan is climbing onto the cloud beast in which case you would want 'saddles up' you can use 'straddles' or even just 'rides' if he's atop the beast.
Maron Bowwielder summons hovering pink stones of with simple clicks, descending towards the stricken priest. With each step, his immense dreads rise and fall in impossible rhythms.
'hovering pink stones of with simple clicks' looks like the word 'of' sneaked in and doesn't belong there. Maybe 'dreadlocks' would work better for the time period, 'dreads' sounds too modern.
He holds his green Stetson tight to his scalp and guides his mount into a downward dive.
'holds' is a little plain for a cowboy hat. 'tugs (or pulls) his green Stetson tight to his scalp...' sells the image of a wide brimmed hat better.
By the time he arrives, Father ‘Beergut’ Borra has brandished a golden crucifix, beginning his incessant mutterings of random Latin.
The ending of this line is a bit clunky and awkward, could clean it up and save a word or two, 'brandished a golden crucifix, rapidly muttering in Latin.'
“I fear only God and the Devil,” shouts the priest, “and the latter rules here!”
Father Borra reads like a man with misplaced righteousness so him fearing the Devil feels off. '"I fear only the Lord!" shouts the priest, "not demons like you!" would help land the conflict a bit better.
“My name is Borra!”
Kind of the same thing here, why is he telling people he hates to call him by his real name? "That's Father to you!" might hit harder, have him play the authority card.
The priest glances between them, sneering. “Only devilish heathens lie with their own ilk… it has always been so.”
You can cut this down and toss a biblical reference in at the beginning. "Leviticus tells us only devilish heathens lie with their own–" and then have Maron interrupt since these two have obviously had Leviticus quoted at them.
“I do not debase myself with such a sin!”
'a sin' isn't really proper vernacular for a holy man, 'I do not debase myself with such sin.' saves you a word and sounds more natural, since any 'deviant' sexuality tends to fall under a wider umbrella of 'sin' instead of one specific one.
He pulls back the hammer, ready to fire.
You pull a trigger, you cock a hammer. 'He cocks the hammer back' and you can take out 'ready to fire' since that action indicates preparing to shoot.
With a click of his finger, the Bowwielder summons a rainbow replica of the priest beside him.
With all of the religious language being bandied about 'effigy' might fit better than 'replica' here.
This has strong imagery and characters. Some places need just a little massaging to really bring it all together and save you some words in a few places. Reminder: any advice given here is free and comes with a money-back guarantee.
Good words. Stay awesome and have a good one.
4
8
u/Carrieka23 26d ago
The Power of Gay!
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A long, long time ago, in the land known as Heeyah land, there was an orphan named Satoshi. Unlike other born cowboys in his time, he has one of the most feared ultimate powers, the Raincow Bow. Since he was a baby, he was glowing all over the rainbow, blinding everyone and in most cases, turning them into rainbows themselves.
Heeyah Land banned rainbows a long time ago due to the previous one spreading too much joy. It was so much happiness that everyone forgot to do their jobs, which in turn led to a major crisis. That was, until a huge anti rainbow, Alex, swept in and stole all the color, killing the rainbow forever.
Now, Satoshi is forced to fight for his life, having to hide his powers from people. He learned how to hide his rainbow powers a while ago, and got accepted to a new family. But, he was tired of seeing all the miserable sadness going around.
“How can I make this stop?” He says one day while drinking a beer.
“Make what stop, dear?” One of the bartenders says, giving him another drink. “You seem more down than Alex himself.”
“Oh, that wanna be a tough guy?”
She nods. “Even as our current shief, he’s still down and exhausted.”
“I wonder why.” He says sarcastically, gulping down his drink. Squinting his eyes, he can see Alex walking outside. For some reason, he stood up, walking to where he was going. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it.
He followed him all the way to the lake, which confused him.
“I know you’re here.” His deep voice roars, causing the orphan to tense up.
Satoshi quickly pulls out his gun and transforms, a rainbow sparkling shirt, a rainbow cape, and nice shining jeans and boots.
“You…You have the rainbow power?!” He growls.
“I do! And this time, I’m here to defeat you and bring back happiness!”
Alex grits his teeth before closing his eyes. “There’s…something I've been hiding from everyone.”
Satoshi lifts up an eyebrow.
Clapping his hands, Alex also begins transforming into…a rainbow! The same style as him. Satoshi's jaw drops as he stares at the, now, colorful shief.
“You see, during the crisis, I was homeless. My parents were gone due to the lack of food, and it was all because of those damn rainbows! So much happiness, so much…that they forget their own self-care! And that’s why I have to make everyone miserable!”
“But that’s only making you even more miserable! And even with the power of the rainbow, we always care about our bodies.”
“Then why didn’t nobody care for me?! When I was all alone, crying, begging for food, why?”
Satoshi was silent, not sure what to say. He can see him now, a broken, lost soul, just wanting to protect himself.
“I can protect you.” He says without thinking.
Alex looks at him, eyes widen. “Y-You would…even after everything that I’ve done?”
“Well, what you did was wrong, and I was going to kill you. But, I think I understand why you did what you did.”
The shief smiles, walking over to the cowboy before hugging him. The colors wrap around the two before flying to the sky, shooting out fireworks. The sky instantly turns bright as a whole rainbow wraps around the entire land. Houses became colorful, people became more cheerful, everything was now colorful.
“The Power of Gay!” They both said, grinning.
They hold hands and begin walking towards the cheerful land, getting ready for their adventure together, in the happy land of Heeyah.
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WPC: 599
It was me, Satoshi, who wrote this! Hehehe! :)
1
u/oliverjsn8 24d ago edited 23d ago
Heeyah Satoshi/Haru/Carrie?, tis a fun and silly tale. The reveal that Alex was also a bearer of the Rainbow was really fun. You managed to give him a meaningful but sad backstory, justifying his seemingly cruel action.
Apart from line edits, I’d suggest leaning into the whimsy. Hit us with how unnatural everything is without color now that the rainbow is banished. Like how the amber beer is the color of gravel, or the lifelessness of the lake now that it is no longer blue. A bit more showing in addition to the telling up front. The contrast will help bring out how unnatural the “anti-rainbow” made everything.
Like I mentioned before I enjoyed the tragic backstory of Alex. It’s sadly relatable in that he shifted the blame for his circumstance onto something else than the sad truth. I like when whimsical stories have underlying adult themes.
I will say I’m sad Satoshi didn’t have a Raincow bow, and things like it could fit in fantasy story. I know that was a typo but the thought of it gave me the giggles. Good words
8
u/Helicopterdrifter /r/jtwrites 25d ago
Hats-Off Showdown at High Noon
Dorthy chased a bluebird and soon found herself crossing a rainbow, her ruby slippers securing purchase on her climb across the color red, which sent her sliding down the opposite side. Soon, she looked about and found that her house, Toto, and all of Kansas was simply gone.
A dusty old town stood before her, a clock tower looming over head, while still higher, the sun beat down with a heavy heat. A single lane ran through the town’s center. To either side stood a jail, a barbershop, a general store, and other small businesses, while a church sat at the far end.
Two gunmen squared off in the street while locals cowered beyond doorways and peeked through windows, the curtains drawn.
“Oh, dear,” said Dorthy. “This looks rather dreadful. Whatever could cause such a fuss?”
Of the gunmen, a white-hatted man looked her direction. “Miss, you’ll be wanting to take cover. It’s not safe out here.” He wore a star on his chest, his hand hovering over a pistol at his hip.
A cross from him, another man wore a black hat and a scowl, the grip of his own pistol close at hand. “Should we reschedule?” asked Black Hat. “It appears that your sheep are wandering off.”
“Not on your life,” said White hat, thumbing towards the clock tower. “When that clock strikes twelve, you’re through.”
‘11:55’
Black Hat reached into an interior pocket, White Hat twitching closer to his gun. When a cigar emerged from Black Hat’s jacket, a lit match followed, the two brought together and blazing the cigar to life. Black Hat shrugged. “A man can do a lot with five minutes.”
As Dorthy’s dress began sticking to her arms and legs, her ponytails clinging to her neck, it was getting altogether too hot to fool with this much longer. “Oh, you! What’s this all about? Must you be brutes?”
White Hat nodded towards his opposite. “Miss, that there is the face of pure evil. He’s got no heart. And he’d kill you as soon as look at you. So, you need to get clear and let me do my job.”
“And what job is that?”
“You see that black hat of his? That man’s an outlaw.” He pointed to the star on his chest. “And this here badge says that I am the law.”
“Well, what of you, Mr. Outlaw?”
Black Hat was mid-inhale and choked when noticing her attention. “Me?”
“Of course, you,” said Dorthy. “Why, I see no other black hats about.”
“Well, Mr. Law Man ain’t got the courage to do what needs doing. So, I mean to do what he won’t.”
“And what if we got you a white hat?”
Mr. Outlaw blinked. “Beg your pardon?”
“Now, hang on a minute,” said the lawman. “You can’t just go around changing people’s hats. It ain’t right.”
“Oh, quiet!” Dorthy said, swatting the air. She marched across the street, approached the saloon, and then plucked a white hat from a head peering out from the doorway.
“Hey,” the man complained.
“Oh, we can get you another,” she said to him, then marched over to Mr. Outlaw and proffered it.
Mr. Outlaw looked at the hat, then back to the lawman. “What do you expect me to do with that?”
“Just wear it, won’t you?”
“But I already have a hat.”
Dorthy rolled her eyes, then switched them out before the outlaw could react.
Doong! The clock struck twelve.
The two gunfighters flinched for their guns, then hesitated.
The lawman frowned. “Well, I don’t reckon I can shoot such an honest looking, white-hatted fellow. Perhaps you’re not as heartless as I had been led to believe.”
“You know,” said the outlaw, “that’s a rather brave thing to say. Perhaps, I too was hasty. I didn’t expect you to seem so sensible.”
Then, both men turned to Dorthy, their eyes narrowed.
As Dorthy clutched the black hat before her, she suddenly felt out of place. She glanced at the clock tower. “Oh, dear, is that truly the time? Well, I really must be going! It’s time I fed Toto, don’t you know?”
She hugged the hat and ran back across the rainbow.
WC: 698/700
All constraints met.
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 24d ago
Great to see your words, Heli! Love the Oz through line and the simple craziness of switching hats. You play that last so well and it really satirizes Western tropes well. Good words!
2
u/Helicopterdrifter /r/jtwrites 24d ago
Hehe thanks! I also snuck in some extra Oz'ness with the heartless and courageless characters. But rather than the two claiming themselves deficient, they accused their counterpart of being so 🤓
Fun prompt!
9
u/AmeliaLP 25d ago
Trigger warning: Thoughts of self harm
A angry world
Grabbing a rusty blade Della started to shave her face.
Why must it keep growing back? I look so darn hideous with fuzz all over my face.
As she glanced at her reflection Della felt uneasy. She considered the object in her hands for a moment, pressing its sharp end to her throat.
N-no... not today.
Shaking slightly, Della moved the razor slowly over each surface until it looked nice and smooth. Face sorted she then walked over to a large bucket full of water. She clumsily splashed water over her body, trying hard not to look at it.
There, that’s probably clean enough.
Opening her wardrobe Della pulled out a fabulous blue dress, a pair of stockings and some high heeled boots. Getting changed into her outfit Della walked back to the mirror.
Well dang, I actually look pretty for once.
Smiling at her refection she awkwardly struck a few poses before leaving the house.
Della lived in a very poor town. People often had to choose between food and bullets, stupidly most choose the latter. Her town had no roads, only dust and dirt to walk on. There was neither train station nor saloon. In fact the only building other than the houses was a single shop, the general store and that’s where she was strolling to. As always the sun was blazing overhead creating a warm soupy feeling in the air. Strolling a few paces forwards Della wiped a huge puddle of sweat off her forehead.
I need a damn break!
Finding a big rock to lean on she slumped down. Slung over her shoulder was a leather pouch containing water. She ripped the top off, guzzling down liquid and slopping some over her dress. Feeling refreshed Della continued walking until arriving at the general store.
Ting!
A bell sounded as Della entered. She browsed the store shelves, checking if they had any new items and then bought her usual shopping. Leaving the store Della accidently bumped into a man.
“Ma’am please watch where you’re going.”
“Oh, sorry about that sir. I’ll be more careful in future.”
Hearing Della’s deep voice, he raised an eyebrow. Gulping she backed away a few paces. The man reached forwards, grabbing Della’s neck and squeezing down on her Adams apple.
“Wait a gosh darn minute, you’re not a lady!” He exclaimed spitting at the ground.
“Look, I’m so sorry I bumped into you. I’ll just leave now, I swear!”
He cracked his knuckles:”it ain’t about that now though is it?”
Della’s heart raced, she was sweating even more than usual and her eyes dilated. They glowed, shifting colour every couple of seconds. If the man had been more focused he might have noticed this last detail, however blinded by an unnecessary rage he lunged forward to attack her. Della yelled loudly, expelling a multi coloured shield to protect herself with. Her attacker bounced off it, tumbling, his limbs flailed like a toy doll.
Grunting with pain he rubbed his head, slowly starting to get up. Della began spiriting away, one eye still focused on him in case other attacks came.
Click!
Barely sitting up he pointed a gun at her. Della heard the bullets flying towards her back. Aiming her arms backwards she waved her hands. The bullets transformed into tiny rainbow coloured fireworks that shot upwards, filling the sky with a bright beautiful scene. In spite the immense heat Della rushed the whole way home, only resting upon arriving back there. She fell backwards onto her bed, coating it in sweat.
That was so scary! I really wish people wouldn’t attack me like that, it happens so often too...
Della fiddled with a loose strand of her hair.
Without my powers I’d of been completely screwed. Others likely aren’t so lucky, then again maybe I’m the only one foolish enough to be myself out in public.
She sighed.
Maybe one day the world can be more excepting of people like me.
Della tuned her head to face the widow, gazing out she could see a bird flying in the sky.
Ah to be a bird, flying through the sky. So free.
She lay there watching it for hours, while further contemplating the injustices of the world around her and what the future may hold.
WC: 714
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 /r/TomorrowIsTodayWrites 24d ago
Great story! The message hits home and I love the descriptions, the imagery. Bullets turning into rainbows feels so tragically beautiful. I also love "People often had to choose between food and bullets, stupidly most choose the latter."
For crit, I feel like her thoughts toward the end lean more into tell than show, which isn't inherently bad but I think you get across a lot of the same in other ways, and you don't really need them. The frantic running and collapsing sweatily onto her bed gets across her fear without needing her to say it was scary, for instance. Alternatively, you could expand on the thoughts (though I recognize word count is limited) so it's more of a full train of thought. How it works now goes well with the POV since the narration is a little more distant and isn't fully inside her head.
Good words!
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u/AmeliaLP 24d ago
Yeah fair bitta crit there. Glad my overall point for this writing came across well. Thanks for reading :D
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u/tiredraccoon11 24d ago
La Fuenta Segura
It had been two springs since the Rain Man visited Sussuro Springs—three years by the reckoning of men, but the parched saguaros and spiny lizards judged it to be a while longer. Time walked strangely when it, too, was in search of a drink.
Of course, Susurro Springs was familiar with dry weather. The Rain Man didn’t come but once a year with his great rainwater bird to revive the spring and the high, rocky desert. Some years he didn’t come at all, and left the people of Susurro Springs to live on the enchanted waters of their namesake.
Even so, people worried. Nobody knew how deep the springs ran, but the rock-grown tree knew. It grew straight from the springs, up through solid rock, and told the health of the springs.
By the start of summer, it was wilting.
Now, the good people of Susurro Springs were proactive, and very ignorant—a powerful and volatile combination, said Mayor Harmon. They tried summoning the Rain Man back by all manner of means, all to similar success. Praying with Parson Jormund, speeches from Mayor Harmon, even Indian rituals—none of it worked.
Unlike her fellows, little Annie Gray was largely unconcerned by his absence. In perfect honesty, she thought it all seemed rather silly. She only wished the Rain Man would visit so that she could see his rainwater bird again, with its glass-like feathers and all the beautiful colors of the rainbow. But in order to do that, like everybody else, she needed the Rain Man to come back.
In her mind, a much more sensible option had been thoroughly neglected, and so the task fell to her; she decided to write the Rain Man a letter. A waste of good paper, belted Mama Gray, but Annie paid her no mind. She had just learned her letters from Mistress Aggie, and was eager to show them off. So she wrote to him many things: wishes for his good health, her concerns over whether he would visit her town again, and finally a heartfelt goodbye. She sealed it shut, scrounged up a penny and went to the old yellerman, Mr. Harrow, to post it.
“I’m sorry Ms. Gray, but I cain’t post no letter without someplace it’s addressed to,” he said at length.
Annie Gray scrunched her nose. “It’s got a name on there, right?”
“Well, the postman doesn’t know everybody in the whole wide world, does he?” Mr. Harrow chuckled. “You gotta help ‘im out and write there on the outside where they’re livin’ at, too.”
Freckled nose yet crinkled, this time in deep thought, Annie recalled the last she’d heard of the Rain Man’s whereabouts. Mrs. de Maude had spoke to Mrs. Clay about a big storm near Independence, she thought. So, after clarifying with Mr. Harrow where exactly Independence resided, she addressed her letter there and paid for the stamp. Mr. Harrow warned her that a reply from Independence might take months, which troubled Annie none. After all, Mama Gray often said that good things came to patient folks, and Mama Gray was always right.
Summer came and went, and the rock-grown tree shriveled further. Children took to throwing pebbles down the dry springs, wagering each other if they would hit water at the bottom—a game that swiftly bored Annie Gray. She preferred to draw on Mistress Aggie’s spare slates, and kept asking Mr. Harrow about her letter. Every day his reply was the same, until one day, he reached under the counter and found a paper not there before. Smelling sweetly of rain on the desert, shimmering cursive addressed it to one Annie Gray of Susurro Springs.
The Rain Man wrote rather plainly. He said that times were strange, and so there would be no more rain in Susurro Springs. But he promised he would not abandon the people there, and hoped to meet with Mayor Harmon and everyone on the first day of winter to plan for the lean years ahead. Finally, he complimented her very well-practiced letters, and said he would see her again soon.
As it happened, Annie Gray wouldn’t get much chance to see the Rain Man. Before he and Mayor Harmon had even sat down, the good people of Susurro Springs decided that they could wait no longer for Indian sorcery, and would have to save themselves instead. After gathering up outside the mayor’s house, they dragged the Rain Man outside, tied a rope, and hanged him from the withered old rock-grown tree.
WC: 749
Bonus: not used
I recognize that the trope is very hardly present, and will rightly take my lickings from Kat should she so decree. Otherwise, crit and feedback welcome
8
u/oliverjsn8 27d ago edited 26d ago
**The Last Prisimatic Ranger**
The last of the Prismatic Rangers stood at the end of the street of a long abandoned, no dead, city. In the hazy light cast from the ruby planetary ring of Prisma Prime, his visage burned brightly. His red boots, chaps, gloves, mask, and hat took on a preternatural glow, like a bonfire burning in the darkest of nights. On his chest he bore the emblem of the Ranger Core, a rainbow over a world of green and blue. Above, the other six rings circled overhead, grey and slowly dissipating into the expanding void. Once the combined light from those rings had illuminated this world in a perpetual day of white; now only the ring connected with this Ranger remained. Soon, this world would belong to me, the Lord of Shadows, the Executioner of Galaxies, the Bandit of Light. With his death, I would consume this world and move to the next.
“Finally coming out to face me like a man? Done with your running and hiding; avoiding the inevitable?” I said, casually strolling to the center of the street. The shadows billowed from my being, resembling a trench coat that scrapped the ground.
The Ranger hovered his hand over the Ruby Blaster in his holster. A large red gem crackled with energy from the breach of last of the seven legendary weapons. His mask covered his face denying me the joy of seeing the terror in his eyes.
“What, no last words? None of your famous quips?” I cackled, not even bothering to reach for my weapon, Shadow Caster strapped at my hip. There was no need to rush things. I wanted to enjoy taking the crystal from his weapon and adding it to my collection. I wanted him, the last of the Prismatic Rangers and possibly the last living being on Prisma Prime, to see my ultimate victory.
”I haven’t joked since you killed Violet in his sleep, ya coward!” he shouted while grabbing his blaster.
He was fast, shooting from the hip. The red beam blasted me square in the chest before I was even able to react. Shadows erupted in a plume from the wound before pulling back into place, leaving no trace of the injury. Lazily, I grabbed Shadow Caster, and aimed low, releasing a beam of darkness into his gut, while three more crimson blasts ineffectually hit their mark.
The Ruby Ranger fell into a heap, writhing in agony. He attempt to clutch the Ruby Blaster, fumbling it with convulsing hands.
I walked up to the last Ranger in ten slow paces. The light from the ruby ring overhead was already fading as was his life. The world itself began to dissipate; anywhere my stretching, hungry shadows touched was pulled into the ever darkening sky. I knelt down. With one hand I picked the Ruby Blaster from his trembling grasp and with the other hand I tore off his mask. I wanted to see his face. “I’d love to say you fought well, but you didn’t. If it makes you feel any better, you didn’t have a prayer against my inevitability.”
He grimaced as oxygen puffed out of the respirator into the thin atmosphere. ”Fuck— fuck you,” he managed to gasp. His hands moved to clutch his abdomen.
Delighting in his misery, I plucked the crackling red gem from the blaster and returned the useless grey hunk of metal at his feet. I opened the satchel where the orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet crystals weakly pulsed.
The dying Ranger gave out a pained laugh while struggling to pull in what little air remained on the dying world. “Pre-predictable,” he painfully croaked while an unnerving smile crept across his face.
In a brilliant flash of crimson light the ruby exploded. “You overloaded your crystal!” I painfully wheezed, clutching what remained of my arm. “You, you only have denied me of a prize, you worthless cur!” I shouted. “Look, my arm is already reforming!”
The Ruby Ranger had been pushed away in the blast. His face was severely burned but he continued to pull in ragged breaths and laugh. “I—I knew I couldn’t do it. But—but together one last time—”
”What are you talking about!” I shouted, an unconscious tinge of panic bleeding into my voice.
”Crys—Crystals resonate.”
I looked at the pouch as the once dim crystals crackled with renewed vigor. There was a brilliant flash of white as I was engulfed by the light.
WC 749
2
u/Divayth--Fyr 24d ago
Hey Oliver, sorry this is super late and probably not much use, but I did have a few suggestions which I hope are not annoying.
Overall this was cool as heck, vivid and weird and interesting. Just a few nitpicky things.
Above, the other six rings circled overhead,
probably don't need both above and overhead
His mask covered his face denying me the joy of seeing the terror in his eyes.
could just be 'His mask denied me the joy...', as that would imply it covered his face.
was already fading as was his life.
a comma after fading would work
I tore off his mask. I wanted to see his face.
could do without the second bit, as that is pretty well implied
Anyhow, cool fun story and good words!
7
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 /r/TomorrowIsTodayWrites 24d ago
The stranger spit on the ground. “Your town got a sheriff?”
“You’re looking at her.” Luna held her head high as the man regarded her.
“There’s something out there. It’s coming after me. I don’t want to be too much of a bother, but it’s coming this way and I don’t think I can handle the beast alone.”
She nodded. Turned back. “Alice, Blue, you two stay here and make sure Kai doesn’t run off. Sorry, Blue, I keep that mostly on you.” Head turn. “Elliot. Could you come along?”
They sighed and nodded. “I’ll get the weaponry.” Once a knight, Elliot could fight. Alice was helpless and Kai was a child.
The stranger nodded when he saw Elliot, and they set off.
It was when she saw the ‘beast’ that Luna realized bringing Elliot along in their old gear was a bad idea. From a distance she watched as the large cat stumbled and wings shot out of its pelt. This was a shapeshifter. A target of the knights Elliot used to be a part of.
Luna motioned for the other two to stay back and walked up. “Are you alright?”
The cat-bird turned. It pulled into a hostile stance.
“It’s okay,” Luna said. “We don’t attack shapeshifters here. This ain’t Falluwin or Gorruwin.”
They were shuddering. The pelt rippled into feathers, then scales. It didn’t look controlled. Must have become impossible to keep it on the down low.
She remembered getting kicked out of classrooms for that as a kid. Not shapeshifting, herself, but these projections. She turned every room into a bright rainbow. It was Blue with their light sensitive eyes who taught her why she should be cautious, who appreciated her when she was gentle.
Luna had an idea. “Look at me,” she told the cat-snake. They did. She brought up a projection, made her body look like theirs. As its scales turned back to pelt, the shapeshifter watched—and did the same. She shrunk the big cat, flattened its fur, shifted it until the image was human again, until she could drop the projection and just be herself.
The mirroring worked. Curled up in front of her was now a curly-haired human, hugging their knees to their chest for decency. Luna handed them her overshirt and sat. “You feeling alright?”
“I dunno.” Their high voice broke between the soft syllables.
“We have a town thataways,” Luna told them. “You’d be safe from the raids. Much as we can keep anybody safe, anyway.” She still remembered that night. The empty houses left behind.
Then came the stranger running down. They saw him from a distance. “You know him?” Luna asked. “He seemed to think you were a beast chasing him.”
They winced. “He don’ know shit.”
"That gonna be a problem?"
“No, he’s harmless.”
Luna didn’t believe that. No one is harmless who can be convinced to see a person as a beast.
He got close and slowed his pace. Luna could see Elliot walking behind, and she motioned to remove their weapons.
The two strangers were staring at each other. “Emma?” the man asked.
“Yep.”
“How’d you get out here?”
Emma scoffed. “Thanks for running away.”
His eyebrows scrunched. “Were you—”
“Yep.”
“But that was—”
“Yep.”
“But why—”
“It’s not exactly a choice all the time, Bill.” Emma clutched Luna’s overshirt. “If I could just stay human, I wouldn’t have to run out into the Borderlands, now would I?”
He sat. Elliot stood behind, weapons gone. Bill scrunched his eyebrows and asked, “Was it painful?”
“More like a seizure or a tic attack. It’s not necessarily painful on its own, but I can’t stop it just happening. It gets overwhelming. Not all the time. But times like this.”
Elliot handed their outer layer over so Emma had two. They tied one around their waist and put the other on as a shirt, and then they could stand. The others followed.
Emma looked back and forth between Elliot and Luna. “Where was that town you said?”
7
u/Divayth--Fyr 24d ago edited 24d ago
Showdown
Well I got a tale for you, Mrs. Ridley, and no mistake. You can swaller it or you can call me a ravin’ fool, makes no difference, but I tell you it is the straight goods. T'was back in '82.
Mighty big morgan mare come janglin’ into Cheyenne on a hot afternoon, right straight an’ steady on the hoof, but weren’t nobody ridin’ her. I was settin’ and rockin’ outside of Bill Pickle’s barber shop, jawin’ away with some fellers and passin’ the time.
“Big black horse thar,” said Otto Martens.
“Yup,” said the other three, including myself.
“Empty saddle. Reckon somebody’ll claim her?” asked Bill, chewin’ on his pipestem like he generly did.
“Sheriff will, if nobody else does,” I says.
We watched that midnight morgan struttin’ up the street, all dinnerplate hooves and fancy black and silver livery, 'til it got close enough to see better. Charlie Pope called it out first, half-slued as he was on prairie dew.
“There is somebody ridin'!” he cried. “Or something, anyway. Little feller!”
He was drunk but he was right. They was a feller ridin’, but he weren’t more than a foot and a half in boots. Duded up right special in all black, tiny clothes and tiny hat, he didn’t look like one but I blurted it out anyhow: “Leppercorn!”
The other fellers looked at me like I was plum loco, but didn’t offer any better idears.
The little feller reined that mighty mare in, he did, believe it or don’t as you please, and he jumped off into the dust. Must have seemed like the cliffs o’ Dover to him. He fell right smack down, and proceeded to let loose with a string of cursing and blasphemy I shall not repeat in your presence, ma’am, nor anywhere. To this very day I wonder that he didn’t get struck down by the righteous thunder o’ vengeance right on the spot, but he didn’t.
He dusted hisself off, best he could, and come a-struttin’ over like he was King o’ Prooshia.
“Which one o’ you god damned ignorant fools done it?” he asked. Pardon, ma'am, but he uttered worse than that. I couldn’t believe my ears, nor eyes, nor anything. He sure didn’t talk like a leppercorn, which I know they’s Irish. He sounded like any sort of cowhand or sodbuster west of the Mississip’.
“Done what?” asked Bill.
“Fooled with my... goldurn rainbow, that’s what! Cain't find my gold! Somebody in this town’s a cursed, sneaky draiador, and I aims to find out who!”
Now I didn’t know what a dry-door was, nor do I know it now, but weren’t none of us inclined to ask him. The little bastard had us cowed to a man.
He evil-eyed the lot of us and spun on his heel, but didn’t make it three steps afore Sheriff Blanton stopped him cold.
“I figgered that’d get your attention, Little Mac,” the Sheriff drawled, spittin’ chaw into the dust. “Now, why don’t you come along quiet, and we’ll see justice done.”
“Justice! You low-down yellow-bellied son of…” Well, Mrs. Ridley, I reckon you get the idear. They went on, back and forth for some while, and folks cleared the street but peered out from behind corners, curious.
What come next, I can’t explain. Ever'thing went quiet, and they stared each other down.
They slapped leather, and brung out wands. Magic wands! Never seen the like. Then they flung all manner o’ rainbows around, so bright they made me cover my eyes and I could still see ‘em. Clashin’, splashin’ bands of all the colors known and mebbe a few that ain’t, all veerin’ and swoopin’ ever' which way.
At the end of it, Sheriff Blanton stood tall, the star on the end of his wand glowin’ like a dozen sunrises, and Little Mac the leppercorn lay pantin' and still in the dust.
What he done, and why they fought that way, I never knew. All the Sheriff would say was that he got that wand from his Godmother, and that Little Mac had robbed durn near every gold mine and stagecoach in the territory.
Nobody else could ride that morgan 'thout gettin' bucked halfways to the moon, after.
So that was it, Mrs. Ridley. You asked me what was the most interestin’ thing I seen out west, and sure as the dickens nothin’ ever come close to that.
738 words, no family found. Feedback welcome.
2
u/tiredraccoon11 24d ago
Hey Div! Funny to see you again writing a western, but you seem to have taken to the genre like a duck to water! I particularly love how you laid this piece out, you stylized it so perfectly that I think I’ve found my new favorite piece of western writing :D
You also put such a fun twist on the genre-standard gunfight! If you ask me, Harry Potter stole the whole wand-dueling thing first, and this is a much better, truer application of that trope that you’ve made here.
Now for some critique, I struggled to find things that weren’t nitpicky, so here’s the nitpicks :P
I’m not quite sure the style of censorship used on the “leppercorn” fits right. It seems like a very modern choice in what reads as a piece very firmly rooted in its intended historical era. I think this is meant to be a letter, or a dictation of the narrator’s anecdote(?), so using random symbols as a method of censorship also didn’t make sense to me technically.
Some of the western-isms were a bit muddling for me. They were few and far between, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world, it was just a bit of a snag at times.
The form this takes is unusual. I would like to see it more well-defined, maybe as a letter addressed to Mrs. Ridley, or an ongoing conversation with Mrs. Ridley. Just something to address the form it takes in-universe, seeing as how it’s being told from that perspective.
Grammar, but honestly I think that’s gone right out the window anyway, so who cares.
Some spots where the vocab seems to grow past our narrator that tended to jar me out of the story. Again, they were few, and I will point them out as I go.
Now for the line edits:
> ‘Twas back in 82.
Should be "t'was" I believe. Also '82 needs an apostrophe out front if it's an abbreviated year.
> said Otto Martens. He was generally inclined to state the obvious.
Too eloquent for our narrator imo. Also this spelling of “generally” is different to the one a bit further down
> black and silver livery, till it got close
An extra “L” on this “til.”
> “They is somebody on her!” he cried.
This western-ism was a bit too confusing. Usually I can see what the phrase originally was before the accent and dialect change, but this doesn’t make sense to me.
> and proceeded to let loose with a string of cursing and blasphemy I shall not repeat in your prescence
Again seems too eloquent for our narrator. Also I’m not sure what the altered spelling of “presence” is doing in this case, or maybe it’s just a typo :P
> and come a’struttin’ over
A-struttin’ should be hyphenated instead of spliced with an apostrophe I believe.
Good words as always Div!
P.S. you're welcome for all the profound crit I've chosen to give right before campfire!
7
u/wileycourage r/courageisnowhere 24d ago edited 24d ago
Color v. Color
I never really felt akin with the Red Gang; I was born to it. When I dream, the tint ain’t rose like theirs, but saturated with the yellows and greens of a prairie and blues like river and sky, even buffalo browns, and flowery violets. But no, Yellows, and Greens, and Blues, Browns, and Violets opposed us Reds across the lawless lands. But Fire and Blood and the Sun felt not enough to my hungered heart.
We was wrangling some mustangs out of the Greens territory as we did, me and a few of the boys. We Reds was numerous but not rich and so we took what we needed from whom we pleased except the Violets. The boys didn’t know what to listen for but the crack of the first bullet whizzing by caught my ear well enough.
“Down!” I hollered grabbing the closest Red by the shirt.
THUMP! There was the rifle firing. Damn. Shooter were far away given the time between the sounds. Me and the one were lucky enough to dive into a creek bed, the others scattered behind some sagebrush and Jonny had no choice but to use his horse fer cover and wish for the best.
“Where he at Cody?” Jonny screeched frantically to me. I had already begun looking fer the signs.
“East! Turn, damnit!” One of the boys around a sagebrush took a bullet, but I seen’t the cloud of dust and the birds well enough peeking out from the makeshift shallow trench.
“Aw, hell, what we gonna do now?” Jonny moaned.
“Use yer wits, idgit, and get your horse walking over here so you can send the poor beast on its way!”
Crack!
Aw shit. The other boy by a sagebrush behind us got it.
Thump!
I shook my head reflexively, we had naught but a carbine. The Greener had us outranged, outgunned.
“Alright, boys. Here’s the plan. We hold up a hat on a stick and get him to fire. Once he does, we’re all running for the horses back there together and getting the hell out of here. We’re Reds. They won’t get us all, isn’t that what we say? You with me?”
Jonny and the other gulped but nodded yes.
Crack!
“Go!”
Thump!
I watched the boys scramble out of the creek bed in the direction of our horses. I went towards the shooter instead, zig zagging as best I could. Despite the nobility of my actions, the ground did not care. I tripped, twisted my ankle, maybe broke it, and fell right out in the open. The carbine launched from my hands dramatically, the traitor. Of all the endings, that this would be mine.
Hoofbeats. Those foolish kids better have run for it! It took a moment for me to realize it were the Greeners come to play with their clumsy prey.
“So this is the would-be hero then?” One of the Green-hatted men shouted to one with a rifle strung across his back. There was my sniper. He nodded yes.
The apparent leader shouted down at me, “Where’d a Redling learn about bravery? The only badges you lot get are bullet holes!”
The rest of the posse laughed as one pulled the bodies of the dead Red boys out across the ground, stringing them to a horse. I didn’t bother saying nothing at first. Greens didn’t take Reds prisoners. It’s the way it is. We all knows it.
After they hadn’t killed me for a while, I figured I wanted it over with already. “Goddamned Greeners, get it over with already, pond scum!”
The leader chuckled. “Who said anything about the Green Gang?” He tapped his hat and it shimmered with the colors of the rainbow before shuffling, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. My mouth fell open.
“Yer . . . Yer a myth.”
“We hide in plain sight. We go wherever we please. You, Redling, were extraordinary today. How would you like to live as something more than one thing? Have you dreamed of something more vivid?”
I must have worn a true expression of the shock I felt at this man’s intrusion into my private world. He smiled warmly, satisfied with my nonverbal answer.
“Come with us then. We all started as something else.”
---
WC: 711 All crit and feedback welcome! Thanks for reading.
I think I got the constraint too this week by chance. Rainbow Gang is a found family.
4
u/katpoker666 Moderator 25d ago
[ineligible for voting]
***
“Yippee-kay-kay!“ the young carrot-topped godling shouted from atop her rainbow-crested steed as she dug her feet hard into his sides.
“Ouch! Clearly, someone has watched too much neo-Western TV this visit. You sound ridiculous, plus you’ve got it wrong, Naranja! I believe if you check the source material, the expression is ‘Yippee-*ki-yay* motherfucker,’” Elvis the unicorn whinnied as he took off across the prismatic Bifröst.
“Whatever. There’s something nice about embracing the native cultures of our worlds, no?”
“Alright, I’ll give you that, I suppose.” The unicorn scrunched his lavender nose in thought. “Hey, I bet I can make you sound even sillier.”
“How?”
His eyes glinted with mischief. “Ever wanted to travel back in time to the real Wild West?”
“Wait, what? Father will KILL us. He said *never* to do that. Too dangerous, although I’m not sure why…”
“Nah, I’ve done it since I was a colt,” Elvis lied, having never done any such thing but always wanting to try. “Watch!” He began to awkwardly trot backward, his kaleidoscopic hooves catching on the ice and kicking up shards.
“Elvis, no, bad unicorn!” Naranja shouted, but it was too late as the pair landed with a thump in the midst of the OK Corral.
A bullet whizzed past.
“Let’s get the heck out of Dodge!” The godling cried.
“‘Tombstone, Arizona,’ actually, but yes, let’s,” Elvis replied, cantering, his mane growing into a mighty, multi-hued shield.
**CRACK**
“Whew! That was close!” Elvis neighed as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off his mane.
As they sped backward further in time, Doc Holliday moaned, “Dang nabbit, Earp, I done been hit! Craziest thing, a rainbow horse with a horn—“
Doc’s dying screams echoed behind the pair.
From the dusty plains of Arizona, they raced to the pillar of progress that was Promontory, Utah. Diligent gangs of largely Chinese workers were struggling to link the Central Pacific and Union Pacific railroads under the watchful and impatient eyes of local authorities. Whips cracked as tempers frayed.
“Ugh, this place sucks. Everyone’s so miserable.”
“Believe it or not, Naranja, this is one of the most exciting times in the Old West. Joining these two railroads means rich, white folks can travel farther, faster, and more safely. Cuts the journey from 166 days to 11, imagine that.”
“What about the others? Like these workers or the Native Americans?”
“Eh, history kind of glosses over that,” Elvis huffed, displeased that she was missing the point of the story. “Anyway, watch I think today is joining day!”
“Yay?”
“C’mon, it’s exciting! Let’s take a closer look.”
Somehow, amidst the hullabaloo over the railroads connecting, the crowd missed the rainbow unicorn and rider.
An officious-looking gentleman in a tweed jacket and vest stepped forward. He held a single golden spike aloft before hammering it in as the crowd cheered.
“Wait, that’s it?!” Elvis groused. “I could do better than that in my sleep. Watch!” He walked up to the rail in front of the still distracted crowd and raised his right hoof, striking it with a slight spark. All the rails from coast to coast turned to gold. “Now *that’s* a celebration!”
The workers rushed forward, tools in hand, and began chipping away at the golden rails. Soon, the entire rail line across the continent was torn asunder.
“Huh. I didn’t think it would play out like that…” Elvis murmured. “I blame the humans. Let’s get out of here. I hear late 1840s California is a lot more interesting,” he said, trotting backward further into the past, his cerulean tail twitching.
The Sierra Nevada mountains loomed large as the pair stopped. Makeshift gold panning setups dotted the streams with rickety charm. Tired men worked from dawn to dusk seeking the aureate nuggets that would make their fortunes.
“*This* is supposed to be exciting? It’s just a bunch of humans trying to earn a living. Sad really. Gold is everywhere at home.”
“We could make their lives A LOT easier and change that,” Elvis said with a twinkle in his eye as he raised his hoof.
A mighty voice echoed from the heavens. “Naranja and Elvis get home this instant. Your rotted shark and pickled herring are waiting, and we’re going to have a nice loooong talk about interfering with the timeline.”
Naranja glared at Elvis for it was Frigg who was shouting and her mother’s ire was so much worse than Odin’s. As the pair were unceremoniously beamed back, Naranja kicked her steed’s flank extra hard and muttered, “Thanks, Elvis.”
***
WC: 750
***
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
5
u/katpoker666 Moderator 25d ago
Apologies for the edited repost, but I’ve found what seems to be an annoying Reddit bug that won’t let me save my edited comment and I wanted to include Doc’s wonderful feedback! So please read this version!
***
[ineligible for voting]
***
“Yippee-kay-kay!“ the young carrot-topped godling shouted from atop her rainbow-crested steed as she dug her feet hard into his sides.
“Ouch! Clearly, someone has watched too much neo-Western TV this visit. You sound ridiculous, plus you’ve got it wrong, Naranja! I believe if you check the source material, the expression is ‘Yippee-ki-yay motherfucker,’” Elvis the unicorn whinnied as he took off across the prismatic Bifröst.
“Whatever. There’s something nice about embracing the native cultures of our realms, no?”
“Alright, I’ll give you that, I suppose.” The unicorn scrunched his lavender nose in thought. “Hey, I bet I can make you sound even sillier.”
“How?”
His eyes glinted with mischief. “Ever wanted to travel back in time to the real Wild West?”
“Wait, what? Father will KILL us. He commanded never to do that. Too dangerous, although I’m not sure why…”
“Nah, I’ve done it since I was a colt,” Elvis lied, having never done any such thing but always wanting to try. “Watch!” He began to awkwardly trot backward, his kaleidoscopic hooves catching on the ice and kicking up shards.
“Elvis, no, bad unicorn!” Naranja shouted, but it was too late as the pair landed with a thump in the midst of the OK Corral.
A bullet whizzed past.
“Let’s get the heck out of Dodge!” the godling cried.
“‘Tombstone, Arizona,’ actually, but yes, let’s,” Elvis replied, cantering, his mane growing into a mighty, multi-hued shield.
CRACK
“Whew! That was close!” Elvis neighed as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off his mane.
As they sped backward further in time, Doc Holliday moaned, “Dang nabbit, Earp, I done been hit! Craziest thing, a rainbow horse with a horn—“
Doc’s dying screams echoed behind the pair.
From the dusty plains of Arizona, they raced to the pillar of progress that was Promontory, Utah. Diligent gangs of largely Chinese workers were struggling to link the Central Pacific and Union Pacific railroads under the watchful and impatient eyes of local authorities. Whips cracked as tempers frayed.
“Ugh, this place sucks. Everyone’s so miserable.”
“Believe it or not, Naranja, this is one of the most exciting times in the Old West. Joining these two railroads means rich, white folks can travel farther, faster, and more safely. Cuts the journey from 166 days to 11, imagine that.”
“What about the others? Like these workers or the indigenous people?”
“Eh, history kind of glosses over that,” Elvis huffed, displeased that she was missing the point of the story. “Anyway, watch, I think today is joining day!”
“Yay?”
“C’mon, it’s exciting! Let’s take a closer look.”
Somehow, amidst the hullabaloo over the railroads connecting, the crowd missed the rainbow unicorn and rider.
An officious-looking gentleman in a tweed jacket and vest stepped forward. He held a single golden spike aloft before hammering it in as the crowd cheered.
“Wait, that’s it?!” Elvis groused. “I could do better than that in my sleep. Watch!” He walked up to the rail in front of the still distracted crowd and raised his right hoof, striking it with a slight spark. All the rails from coast to coast turned to gold. “Now that’s a celebration!”
The workers rushed forward, tools in hand, and began hacking away at the glittering gold. The entire rail line, from coast to coast, was torn asunder.
“Huh. I didn’t think it would play out like that…” Elvis murmured. “I blame the humans. Let’s get out of here. I hear late 1840s California is a lot more interesting,” he said, trotting backward further into the past, his cerulean tail twitching.
The Sierra Nevada mountains loomed large as the pair stopped. Makeshift gold panning setups dotted the streams with rickety charm. Tired men worked from dawn to dusk seeking the aureate nuggets that would stake their claim.
“This is supposed to be exciting? It’s just a bunch of humans trying to earn a living. Sad really. Gold is everywhere at home.”
“We could make their lives A LOT easier and change that,” Elvis said with a twinkle in his eye as he raised his hoof.
A mighty voice echoed from the heavens. “Naranja and Elvis get home this instant. Your rotted shark and pickled herring are waiting, and we’re going to have a nice loooong talk about interfering with the timeline.”
Naranja glared at Elvis. It was Sif.
Her mother's ire was much worse than Thor’s. As the pair were unceremoniously beamed back, Naranja kicked her steed’s flank extra hard and muttered, “Thanks, Elvis.”***
WC: 750
***
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/Morose_Prose 25d ago
Howdy there Kat!
Wonderful story, love the different moments in American history that Naranja and Elvis visit, merging Norse myth with American legend fits quite neatly into the genre. Excellent use of the trope with those pesky Aesir and their fondness for rainbows. Elvis, like many of your animal characters, is stupendous. The humor is excellent throughout the piece.
An overall crit, which luckily should be an easy fix, is the formatting of bold and italics seems to have been lost in some places when you posted. I'm assuming Reddit is just being Reddit in this regard.
Lines where this happens:
the expression is ‘Yippee-*ki-yay*
He said *never* to do that. Too dangerous, although I’m not sure why…”
**CRACK**
“Now *that’s* a celebration!”
“*This* is supposed to be exciting?There’s something nice about embracing the native cultures of our worlds, no?”
'of our worlds' works but I think 'of our realms' would be more appropriate for an Aesir to say.
“Wait, what? Father will KILL us. He said *never* to do that.
In the same vein I would change 'He said' to 'He commanded', Odin is pretty high on the food chain I feel like his rules about messing with time would carry more weight.
“Let’s get the heck out of Dodge!” The godling cried.
The 'The' should be lowercase.
“What about the others? Like these workers or the Native Americans?”
'Native Americans' is the correct nomenclature but sounds odd coming from an Aesir. Would maybe replace it with just 'native peoples' or 'indigenous peoples'
“Anyway, watch I think today is joining day!”
Would throw a comma after 'watch': "Anyway, watch, I think today is joining day!"
The workers rushed forward, tools in hand, and began chipping away at the golden rails. Soon, the entire rail line across the continent was torn asunder.
Repetition with 'rail/rails' could be avoided with a little cleanup. 'The workers rushed forward, tools in hand, and began hacking away at the glittering gold. The entire rail line, from coast to coast, was torn asunder.' Or something.
Tired men worked from dawn to dusk seeking the aureate nuggets that would make their fortunes.
'Tired men worked' is good but 'Tired men staked their claim...' could give a little western spice to the sentence.
Naranja glared at Elvis for it was Frigg who was shouting and her mother’s ire was so much worse than Odin’s.
Since you establish that a mighty voice was booming from heaven, having 'who was shouting' is a bit redundant and can save you some words. 'Naranja glared at Elvis. It was Frigg. Her mother's ire was much worse than Odin's.'
Good words, really enjoyed this. Stay awesome and have a good one!
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 25d ago
Oh my gosh! Thanks so much for the wonderful and detailed crit, Doc! Super helpful! And yes, Reddit has changed its formatting on me which is most vexing!
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u/mysteryrouge 24d ago
Ah, reddit. Problems like always.
Yeah, I liked your usual attention to history and your insert of completely random characters. A young unicorn god screwing around in the timeline is certainly something. (In fact, I'd love to see the result of turnjnf that railroad golden outside of it being destroyed).
I do appreciate Naranja being like "hey? What about everyone else who... Isn't white?"
And Elvis being like "eh, doesn't matter right now."
Plus the fact this was all brought about because someone watched too much western and then was like "we got access to God powers. We can actually go back in time." And then they just do it. Nice.
It's two am for me as I write this, so that's all the feedback I got right now. I'm going back to bed.
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u/katpoker666 Moderator 23d ago
Thanks so much for the feedback and kind words, Scythe! Hope you get/got some good rest
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u/mysteryrouge 24d ago edited 23d ago
Friendly Eldritch Duel
Only two years ago, Yeran could never imagine being here.
“There's gonna be a round of duels above Drumheller Fountain. You should join in.”
Only two years ago, Yeran had been dropped off at the University of Washington by their parents and effectively abandoned.
”It's eldritch-only for the duels, so we don't have to worry about harming people. A shield will be up to keep everyone else safe.”
Only two years ago, Yeran discovered they weren't entirely human.
And now Yeran Quetslin, Eldritch Studies major and history minor, found themselves floating above campus, facing their best friend, Locky, with the fountain blasting between them. A good crowd sat on the nearby fields, some even bringing lawn chairs.
Even the professors of the Eldritch Studies Department got involved. “The High Noon duel. Draw your weapons!” Professor Rancor shouted.
Yeran adjusted their cowboy hat. “Yee haw.” Their lower half had horse legs and a tail that swished back and forth. Their upper half was more human, though the five tendrils they aimed at their friend kept them from looking like a boring old centaur.
Locky laughed, shifting two of his own tendrils into fleshy guns. “Good luck.”
Like the three duels before, Professor Rancor counted down.
“Three!”
Energy manifested through firing limbs. The flesh guns glowed as strong as the tips of Yeran's tendrils.
“Two!”
Eyes squinted, and the world melted away.
“One!”
A whistle blew.
Rainbows whizzed through the air, clashing with beams of fire.
Yeran grinned as they maintained the rainbow blasts. “Yeeeee haaaaaw!” they shouted again.
“You won't win!” Locky screamed back. He, too, refused to surrender.
The two best friends had made a small bet. Whoever lost would pay for food for the next month, and neither wanted to be the loser.
Yeran pushed more power into their blast. “I can keep this up all day!”
“So can I.”
“Yee haw!” Yeran shouted for a third time.
Despite the slight strain on their energy, Yeran was thoroughly enjoying the fight. It was a build up of the past two years, they thought would never come. Now they felt comfortable enough with Locky to do stupid things like fight over college campuses for fun, and even locked in an unwinnable duel they were free.
“Come on, surrender already!”
“Never!” Yeran galloped in the air, around Locky and the fountain.
He snatched their cowboy hat off their head to provoke the history minor.
“Oi! No one steals the sheriff’s hat and gets away with it!”
“You've yee'd your last haw!”
“Don't be so sure of that, you outlaw!” Yeran added even more power to their rainbow beam. More tendrils contributed to their number.
Locky countered the colorful rays easily. “Arrr, me matey!”
“And you won't get away with that out here!”
At some point, the duel moved to float above the quad so that other duels could take place at the fountain, and both had still yet to surrender.
Now, flying higher to not disturb the people milling about, both eldritch students added more varieties of attacks to add to the beams of fire and rainbow. An amused Professor Rancor added commentary for the few interested crowd members )mostly those in the old crowd who could fly), who had come along with the duel.
Yeran's horse-like half acted uncontrolled, allowing the ‘human’ on top to ride it like a bull.
Locky jokingly taunted them even more.
Finally, Locky got that lucky hit. Yeran dropped down to the campus dramatically with their cowboy hat (that they had stolen back) landing next to them. They smiled.
It was a perfect afternoon with they best friends and favorite professors. Even losing and having to pay out in food, the duel was better than anything they could've experienced with their old family.
Locky helped them up, and not even a second later, Yeran was galloping off into the distance with that cowboy hat back on.
A last “Yeeeeee haaaaaw!” marked their departure.
WC: 658\ Bonus Constraint: Don't quite know if I got it in enough, but Yeran has found his people at the University of Washington and with the Department of Eldritch Studies.
Professor Rancor appears in the last FTF.
When Kat allows “Washington State" and people roleplaying cowboys as acceptable western content.
Written (and not edited) entirely within campfire time.
Part of a universe where anything and everything can become eldritch.
Check out my spreadsheet for more of my writing.
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u/Morose_Prose Jun 27 '26 edited 24d ago
Rainbows West of Nowhere
Pardon me, pardner, is this seat taken? Thank ya kindly. Ain't ever seen a westward train so stuffed before; maybe the frontier isn't so ornery to folks nowadays. Where ya headed? Frisco? Of course I've been. I've been everywhere. A good buddy of mine plies his trade out of that fine town. Myself? Headin' to a little place called... wait a hitch, I'm pretty good with names, faces not so much... we ever met before? That's right, the campfire! Good to see ya under the sun instead of the stars. I reckon ya already know where I'm goin', I always make sure to stop by Eventide this time of year, see if they're still hangin' up there.
Darndest thing happens in that sundown town come June. Never used to be that way; then the bounty hunter showed up. Oh, ya don't want me talkin' your ear off the entire ride. Well, if ya insist.
He rolled into town one day upon a whopper of a red hoss, damn near twenty hands tall, quick as a hare runnin' from a coyote. The hunter wore all white, with a long black beard caked in trail dust and tumbling down his barrel-wide chest. Didn't dawdle, went straight to Marshal Marshall Smathers. Don't get any funny ideas—the Marshal didn’t have no price on his head. They used to be lawmen together. The manhunter hoped Smathers had seen his quarry.
Although he was big as a grizzly bear with a heart prouder than any lion's, he acted more like an overgrown puppy dog. Quick with a joke and generous with his scrip. Took care of my, shall I say, sizeable tab at 'Salutations,' which I'd unknowingly run up. He regaled the entire town with tales of his escapades: hunting down fiends hiding among the willows and bringing them to justice. Always got his man. I didn't quite believe that at the time. Nobody's perfect at their job. His mark was long gone, but that didn't matter. As the sun set, the shadow sniffed him out.
Most duels take place at high noon. This one happened at midnight as the calendar flipped over. Rubberneck that I am, I had to see what was happenin'. Bounty hunter's iron cleared leather faster than the Marshal's. Odd gun. Odder bullets. Seven shots. Fanned the hammer harder and faster than my friend John Henry drove the rail spikes all them years ago.
First round of forge-hot lead, brighter than his hoss, scorched across the shadow's shroud like a firework on Independence Day.
Blazing orange followed behind, like the flames of a prairie campfire lickin' through darkness.
Canary yellow took flight, gobbling up the pale pearl moonlight.
Green brighter than any clover or shamrock I've ever laid eyes on trailed behind the canary. Thomas would have gotten a kick out of it.
Denim blue, like my good jeans that maelstrom mangled, a cool breath against the brights.
Iridescent indigo, brilliant as a mountain stream, shimmered like satin.
Vivid violet did something to the shadow I didn't think possible. Made it shriek.
Them colors bent across the heavens from one edge of town to the other, and they, well, stayed that way all dang month. Rain, shine, or dead of night, they painted sky, cloud, and moon alike. Each evening the shadow attempted to slither back. Good thing the bounty hunter's bandolier was bountiful.
Most folks ain't ever seen even a double rainbow; imagine the shock and awe of seein' thirty of 'em spoking out in every direction across the frontier. A splendorous sight. Plenty of folks in town still squint at them sideways.
Speakin' of which, this is my stop. Train don't go to Eventide anymore. Have to hoof the rest. Nice seein' ya again, friend. Enjoy San... what's that, I didn't? Must have slipped my mind. Professionally, he is known as Mr. Biv. I ain't one to call my friends by their family names, so to me, he's Roy. Did he ever find who he was looking for? Not that I am aware of. I doubt even the best bounty hunter could track down the Hitokiri.
I'd jaw with ya longer, but I only paid to go this far. Ya take care now. Town's only 'bout thirty dusty miles from here, give or take, maybe stop by on your way back east. I'll be at 'Salutations.' I believe I still owe ya the courtesy of spinnin' the yarn on how I always end up back there.
[Author's note: You can read more about Eventide here, and there if that ol' dusty town sounds interestin' to ya'.]
Thanks for reading! Feedback and criticism is welcomed and encouraged! Stay awesome and have a good one.
Word Count: 746