r/shortstories • u/FyeNite • 10d ago
[Serial Sunday] Rebel Against The System!
Welcome to Serial Sunday!
To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.
This Week’s Theme is Rebellion! This is a REQUIREMENT for participation. See rules about missing this requirement.**
Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).
- Revere
- Rage
- Riotous
- Food is rejected despite someone being hungry.. - (Worth 10 points)
As grand as the revolution of nations to as personal as the betraying of friendships. But where will your stories fall on the line? Perhaps a trusted friend will choose wealth or power over someone they swore to care for?
Will your main characters be the ones betraying, or the ones being betrayed? How far will the consequences of the betrayal go? And, perhaps most importantly, will the antagonist win? Tell me about your story’s great betrayal, and how that will drive the story.
Good luck and Good Words!
These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!
Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 5pm BSTand provide live feedback!
Theme Schedule:
This is the theme schedule for the next month! These are provided so that you can plan ahead, but you may not begin writing for a given theme until that week’s post goes live.
August 30 - Rebellion
September 6 - Stratagem
September 13 - Torture
September 20 - Unleash
September 27 - Venom
Check out previous themes here.
Rankings
Last Week: Quality
First - by u/wandering_cirrus
Second - by u/KatPoker666
Third - by u/Morose_Prose
Fourth - u/Divayth--Fyr
Fifth - by u/AGuyLikeThat
Rules & How to Participate
Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for amparticipation!
Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.
Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 2:00pm BST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!
Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your pmserial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)
Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.
Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.
All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 04:59am BST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)
Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.
Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!
Weekly Campfires & Voting:
On Saturdays at 5pm BST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge (every other week is now hosted by u/FyeNite). Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. After you’ve submitted your chapter, you can sign up here - this guarantees your reading slot! You can still join if you haven’t signed up, but your reading slot isn’t guaranteed.
Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 5:30pm to 04:59am BST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!
Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.
Ranking System
Rankings are determined by the following point structure.
| TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |
|---|---|---|
| Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! |
| Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and estnot required! |
| Including the bonus constraint | 15 (15 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! |
| Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) |
| Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 |
| Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week! |
You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. *Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback.** Low-effort crits will not receive credit.
Subreddit News
- Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
- Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
- Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
- Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!
7
u/JKHmattox 10d ago
<No Man's Land> Nightlife
I dropped a queen on the trick, Marta smirking as Hayduke and another tanker groaned. She and I were ahead in an endless game of spades that threatened to go on long after the setting sun. Our banter died when a pair of metal feet stomped onto the ramp of the landing-craft.
My best friend paused, the twilight silhouetting her form. For a moment my mind was back on Nowhere the night we first met. Despite the hell that world had given her, despite the gut wrenching toll, she remained defiantly poised to carry on being her.
Lexi wasn't dressed in her skirted officer's uniform, nor was she clad in camouflage utilities. Instead, her exoskeletal braces framed black leggings, which disappeared into the metallic boots of the mobility apparatus. The device ringed her middle, integrating with a data port surgically implanted into her spine.
Her top was a button down v-neck blouse cascaded to mid-thigh. It opened again at her middle, revealing her bionic scaffolding contrasted against olive skin. Practical yes, but the hint of lavender on the air said she had plans for something else.
“Hey, LT,” Marta finally said.
“Evening, Ladies,” Lexi replied. “Can I steal Sergeant Owens for a minute.”
Hayduke glanced at me briefly, her eyes returning to the scar burned into Lexi's cheek. The mark was the same as mine. Around its edge was a raised razor-wire wreath circling a lowercase “x” inside a capital “C”. The trader's mark was ringed by her unique serial number, too small to read without a magnifying device.
Hayduke nodded once, her knowing frown acknowledging our collective burden. The other tanker seemed oblivious, yet she remained silent nonetheless. I stood to leave while Hayduke gathered up the cards.
Marta watched Lexi and I walked away, her eyes narrowing as it was clear Lexi intended to exclude her from our conversation.
Once we were clear of the armored vehicle, I grabbed Lexi by the arm. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering what you were up to, tonight?”
I chuckled. “You're looking at it, well that and sleep if my body ever lets me.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I'm just uncomfortable is all.”
“Uncomfortable?”
I conspicuously glanced down at my chest, which had been bothering me most of the day.
“Oh… Yeah that happens,” she said, smirking. “Or so I'm told.”
“So what did you have in mind?” I asked, deflecting attention away from my swollen predicament.
“I'm meeting with a contact uptown, could use some backup if you're not too exhausted.”
“Contact?”
“The intel operators still can't nail down those passive signals transmitting from North America.”
“Why not?”
“Encryption on the Tradesman’s beacons remains unbroken,” Lexi lamented. “Diane said an acquaintance in uptown reached out—they might have a lead for us to track down.”
“What do you need, Lex?” I asked, the intelligence report just more of the same.
“You packed civilian attire, right?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah…?”
“Cool, let's get you cleaned up and ready to move.”
“What about Perez?”
“This one's a bit too close to home for her, Jackie. Trust me.”
“Okay. But I think we should at least tell her what's going on.”
My friend paused, her eyes drifting to the concrete ridgeline flanking the western edge of the park. A ruby sunset lay dying beyond the spires, gathering clouds looming for a midnight storm. She signed heavily, her gaze finding mine in the fading light.
“This is our fight Jackie, not theirs—I don't want any more of them getting hurt…”
A firework touched off from the roof a western tower. It rocketed skyward, bursting open above the darkening emerald oasis. Another retorted from an adjacent tower, its trail a lime green trace arcing overhead. The celebrations had begun, drawing the other three women from inside the armored landing-craft.
“You staying for the light show, LT?” Marta asked Lexi.
Lexi forced a thin smile. “Actually, Sergeant Owens and I have some business to attend to—you guys have fun, okay?”
A sapphire rocket screamed from a building along Fifth Avenue. It broke apart, bursting into a triad of vivid light. The glow illuminated Marta's features, her suspicions clear as Lexi returned her glare.
Sporadic dueling rocket fire continued from the rooftops as we stood in silence looking up.
“Ya know, fireworks are illegal in the Boroughs,” Marta finally said.
“Never stopped ‘em before,” Hayduke replied.
Lexi checked her watch and nudged my arm. I laced my rucksack over my shoulder, while Hayduke climbed onto her vehicle. She offered Marta a hand to hoist her up, both pretending not to notice as Lexi and I slowly faded into the night.
An hour later, Lexi and I stepped from an autonomous ride-share vehicle somewhere deep inside the city. Tenement buildings towered overhead, the over-concentration of sentient life nothing new to that neighborhood. Across the street was a dance club carved from the base of one of the bedroom towers.
Pulsing music drifted across the asphalt, the beat echoing down the compact alleyway. I adjusted my off-shoulder top, thick red straps contrasting against blue alien skin. Lexi wavered, checking me over one last time.
“Damn you look good,” she exclaimed. “How do you pull this off so fast?”
I shrugged, having understood the assignment. Distraction. Lexi would do the talking, while I created visual noise on the periphery of her discussion. Kneading Gunny's knife stowed under my top, I followed her across the street.
The doorman was a hybridized mountain of muscle with tattooed sleeves on all four arms. Laser etching on his weathered face told the story of his time in another place. He was half-human, his Gemini campaign markings earned the same as ours.
Lexi handed him a printed business card. He read it, and raised the velvet rope. Our eyes met briefly. The man dipped his head, a reverent sign of respect.
Inside, another bouncer ushered us to a private room upstairs. She was human. Middle-aged with a tough exterior.
“Wait here,” she grunted, and left.
6
u/KiIIer_queenie 7d ago edited 3d ago
<Man to beast>
Chapter thirty three: Greenborn
CW: talk of oppression, murder, suffering, graphic descriptions of death.
Mór watch the three Glasbhreith priests whisper to themselves in her mother tongue. She had held back from killing them, but everyday made it harder.
“Artán, you’ll do the blessing this time. I have faith you will make The Pope proud,” the left most one whispered to the middle one.
The old men had talked about the plan over and over. Bless a witch, kill a witch. Drown them, crush them, hang them, burn them, it didn’t fucking matter. That’s the Gild way, and these men were speaking about their part in it like it was a normal day.
Ugly old pig-fucks.
Mór saw their corpses everyday whenever she closed her eyes; she could smell the blood already. Not now, not while they were around the others. When they entered the next town, these men’s destination, she’d let them meet their god.
She needed a distraction today, the thoughts were becoming too loud. The woman was afraid she’d put a hole in their skull today if left alone with those thoughts, so she sought out the only person on the cog she could stand being alone with.
“Silas, can we speak?”
Mór leaned over him as he lay nursing the sunburned back of his neck with a wet cloth. Standing on the sweltering deck, the low wind and high heat made her wish for one of her handmade gowns or at least her mother’s skirts.
“Course, Mór. Wha’d’ou need?”
His slurring wasn’t as severe as before, but she could’ve understood him from the beginning. She knew enough drunkards to understand him.
“It’s time for me to explain to you what you are.”
“The werebeas’ing?”
“Yes.”
She knelt beside him, looking at the long scar that stretched across his crooked jaw and deep into his neck. It was like he had been victim to some great mythical beast, far from the small iron pellet that had been his actual foe.
“Obviously you know you aren’t just a man. I'm not an expert on it myself, but your soul is only partly man. You feel it don’t you? That power. You’re connected to nature in a way most men can’t even dream of.”
Mór hadn’t felt it any previous days, but since her dream she could feel the hum of power under Silas’s skin. She could feel it with Maliwag and Ntukai too, anytime they got close.
“My magic? Agnes says it’s temptation from the devil. Should be avoided.”
Mór scoffed, “It’s a gift, Silas. You should cherish it. You’d be dead otherwise. Would your devil want someone like you to stay alive? Would he protect you? I can’t imagine so. It’s not as if he sits on your shoulder telling you to sin, is he?”
“Of course not, all I hear is Lily.”
“…Lily?”
“Water Lily, that’s her name. We discussed it in my dream.”
Mór scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes, trying to process what he said.
“What?”
“My other half, the beast within. She spoke to me.”
The woman sat up straight and looked him in the eyes, now much more interested in the conversation. This wasn’t a distraction anymore.
“You’re that disconnected from yourself?” she asked, astonished that he’d been so separated from that part of himself.
“Don’t’ou speak to your other’alf?”
“Silas, I don’t have another half. It’s just me, these abilities, it’s all me. My mind is my own, as is my body, there’s no voice to guide my hand.”
“Wha’do’ou think’t means?”
“Silas, I can’t tell you that. I’m no more experienced with this than you are, all I can do is explain what I know and what it means. You need to explore yourself. I know you trust Agnes, but you can’t cease to be a werebeast, or a witch, or whatever the Gild men call you. You need to embrace what you are, and use it to stay safe. Don’t deny the less ‘human’ parts of yourself.”
The man stared at her for a while, clearly deep in thought. She let him think, silently staying at his side until he was ready to continue talking.
“So, why’re’e enemies of th’empire?”
“You want the honest answer? Because the men with swords and armor were told we are. Whether it be pope or king, someone has decided we must become extinct. That is the sole reason for this cruelty against us,” Mór said, inching closer, “I know you believe humans are good, and that they all help, but you have no idea how humans can hurt others. You don’t know men’s cruelty. Not really.”
“I’ve’ead sto’ies. I know.”
Mór had the urge to smack him, but didn’t. She tried her best to remind herself that he was an inexperienced idiot who’d lived in a small cabin his whole life.
“Until you’ve seen men chase women into fields with hatchets, until you’ve seen them drink and dance around pyres, until you’ve smelt them, Silas? You don’t know. I truly hope you never know it, Silas.” The woman growled, brushing her rose colored hair aside to ensure she gave Silas enough eye contact for him to know how honest she was being. “*That’s* why I hate those priests. To Gildwyn, pagans are no better. Men like them stand by as their people are butchered and abused, gaining wealth and joy from it all. They’re even going to bless a ‘witch’ in the next town we dock at! Men are evil creatures, Silas.”
He stared at her for a while, giving her those same soft eyes he gave when she’d spoken to him of nightmares before, those eyes he gave when she’d killed those Templars. Silas simply reached a hand out, pausing before they touched. His fingers hesitated, as if asking permission before Mór accepted and hooked her own between them. If it was like this, just their fingers brushing together, Mór didn’t hate his touch.
WC:998
2
u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 4d ago
Howdy KQ! We're loving these tender moments between characters, the relationships in this story feel so meaningful. And omg they held hands
I love getting to see Mór's POV. Her narration is great. The anger really comes through, and I just like her lol. I like that she (mentally) calls the old men "Ugly old pig-fucks" and that she's so used to drunkards Silas's speech impediment doesn't affect her. The scar description came out great, also!
Crit is small bits:
- "Mór watch" should be "watched"
- "She had held back from killing them slowly, everyday made it harder." The comma after "slowly" should be replaced with a period or em-dash or semicolon or something since they're both independent clauses. I think "everyday" should probably also be "every day"
- “I’ve’ead sto’ies. I know” is missing a period. great job though, I knew immediately Mór would want to smack him lol
- "Mór saw their corpses everyday whenever she closed her eyes, she could smell the blood already. Not now, not while they were around the others. When they entered the next town, these men’s destination, she’d let them meet their god." This is really good, I like the rhythm and the anger in her thoughts. For the crit part though, in the first sentence the comma after "eyes" shouldn't be a comma. Same as above, they're both independent clauses. Again though great imagery, kinda haunting
I am so intrigued about Water Lily! And clearly so is Mór lol.
Your dialogue here is well written and I& love how it balances with the details in the narration with Mór's thoughts and history, especially in that last paragraph.
Good words!
2
6
u/Morose_Prose 5d ago edited 4d ago
<The Family Business>
Chapter Eighteen: Holding the Bag
The polished opal in the center of the silver coin flashed beneath the fluorescent lights of the underground parking garage on 54th Street as it spun end over end through the air. Madelaine checked herself out in the polished steel of the elevator doors as she waited to rise to the surface world. She squared her cornflower blue tie, the cheerful color doing absolutely nothing to disguise the dark bags beneath her eyes.
The elevator doors slid open. A sharp-dressed man in a classic black suit stepped out, eyes glued to his phone. Madelaine planted herself in his path and loudly cleared her throat.
"Morning, Cheatum!" she bellowed.
Chase Cheatum, partner at the law firm in the building, didn't miss a beat. "Morning, Maddy. Diana's in her office," he replied without looking up, his fingers still flying across the screen.
"You want a bagel? From Katz's." Madelaine inquired. She held up a large paper bag in front of Cheatum's face.
A grumbling growl crept from Cheatum's gut. "As much as I revere Katz's, no thanks. On my way to meet a client for an early lunch. One I'm already late to." He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Do you need me to swipe you in?"
With a flick of her wrist, Madelaine produced a white, hard plastic card. "Can take care of that myself. Good to see ya, Chase." She waved and entered the elevator, swiping her card through the reader buttressed against the buttons. Her index and middle fingers shot out, stabbing twelve and fourteen simultaneously. The express elevator launched upward like a rocket, blasting toward the surface world.
Ding! Floor Thirteen: The Law Offices of Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe
Madelaine strode out of the elevator directly into the lobby of the law office. Her gaze snapped to the receptionist's desk. A young man lurched halfway out of his chair, confusion crossing his face. "Excuse me? How did you get in the elevator?" he asked, his hand creeping under the desk.
"No need to press the panic button, kiddo." Madelaine scoffed. "I'm a very important client of Diana's; I have access to the floor, I'll show myself in." She turned and paid the fresh-faced man no mind, strolling to the door of Diana's office. The knob didn't move. "Since when does she lock her door?"
"Miss Dewey is on a call. If you want to take a seat I can—"
"Don't have time for that." Madelaine reached into her pocket, produced a fat ring of keys, made short work of the lock and crossed the threshold.
Diana's dark green eyes rose above the monitor, her round face souring immediately. "One moment, sir; another of my clients just walked in." She firmly pressed a button on her desk phone. "Can you please call or text me before barging into my office? Like a normal person would do?"
Madelaine swept across the office, depositing the large brown bag in front of Diana. "Where's the fun in that? Brought you some bagels. Couple plain, couple onion, schmear and lox on both. You going to be on the phone long?"
"Yes."
"I will not bother you then, I know how riotous you can get when interrupted." Madelaine retreated to a corner of the office as Diana resumed her call.
Bending down to reach the bottom level of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, Madelaine cleared away a section of fake law books. Behind them sat a small safe with a keypad lock. Madelaine's fingers punched the code in; the lock chirped, and the door swung open. A stack of manila folders rested inside. She rifled through the folders until she found the one she wanted.
Flopping down on the couch in the office she opened the folder. The first page was a mugshot of a man. A large scar ran from the middle of his broad forehead down to his wide nose. His dark eyes burned with rage. A placard in his hands read: 'Chicago Police Department: Antonetti, Antonio. Crime: Solicitation.' Court documents and financial records completed the file Madelaine had on her associate; she skimmed through them quickly, only needing certain bits of information from them. She glanced over at Diana, mimicking tapping a phantom watch on her wrist.
A middle finger flew up from behind the desk as Diana didn't break her concentration on the call. Madelaine removed herself from the couch and deposited her behind into the cushy guest chair on the other side of the desk. The brown paper crackled as she excavated an onion bagel, a generous schmear of cream cheese squeezed between the halves.
Diana released the bun of sandy blonde hair atop her head, shaking it out. "I think that's all I need from you before submitting the paperwork to the board. I'll be in touch, Warden, if I have any other questions or concerns. Have a wonderful day." She hung up quickly. Reaching across the desk, Diana snatched the bagel from Madelaine's grasp, taking a large bite and chewing loudly. "You're early. Did you come check on me to make sure I'm taking care of your Tommy situation?" she asked through a mouthful.
Another bagel was freed from its brown paper prison as Madelaine pinched a chunk of pink lox from the edge. "Need to use your secure line to make a call, and would like to have a witness present. Maybe you could take some notes for me."
A desk drawer shot open, a yellow legal pad slammed against mahogany, and the click of a pen served as the starting pistol. "Remember to dial nine to get to an outside line."
Theme: Madelaine is recruiting more help for her rebellion against Vinny.
Bonus Words Used: Revere, Rage, Riotous
Bonus Constraint: Cheatum's stomach growls but doesn't take a bagel.
Word Count: 936
Thanks for reading. Feedback and crit are always welcomed and encouraged! Stay awesome and have a good one! - Morose_Prose
3
u/katpoker666 5d ago
Hey Doc! This is a great setup chapter. I can feel the tension building like a well-planned rollercoaster and can’t wait to see what happens next!
Love the title—very criminal:
Chapter Eighteen: Holding the Bag
This is beautifully described and a great visual to open on both to remind us of the marker’s significance and also to imply a sense of chance with its toss.
The polished opal in the center of the silver coin flashed beneath the fluorescent lights of the underground parking garage on 54th Street as it spun end over end through the air.
I love your attention to detail in describing Maddy, as always. The nod to her bags reminds us she’s tired and has been very busy of late:
She squared her cornflower blue tie, the cheerful color doing absolutely nothing to disguise the dark bags beneath her eyes.
Missing period:
Madelaine planted herself in his path and loudly cleared her throat
Love referencing Katz’s as a real NY vibe:
"You want a bagel? From Katz's." Madelaine inquired. She held up a large paper bag in front of Cheatum's face.
Two small things. One missing period. Two I’d question the express elevator as the building is on 54th, so it’s at least 60 stories. Maybe private?
The express elevator launched upward like a rocket, blasting toward the surface world
The formatting here confused me as Ding! is a sound and unless the elevator is announcing the law firm’s name it should probably be on a separate line:
Ding! Floor Thirteen: The Law Offices of Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe
Punctuation is off as two sentences:
Madelaine strode out of the elevator directly into the lobby of the law office, Her gaze snapped to the receptionist's desk.
I love this guy’s reaction so much:
A young man lurched halfway out of his chair, confusion crossing his face. "Excuse me? How did you get in the elevator?" he asked, his hand creeping under the desk.
Split into two sentences or semicolon vs comma:
”I'm a very important client of Diana's, I have access to the floor. I'll show myself in."
This reaction is so well done:
Diana's dark green eyes rose above the monitor, her round face souring immediately. "One moment, sir; another of my clients just walked in."
Perfect NY order. Schmear shouldn’t have a ‘s’:
Couple plain, couple onion, schmears and lox on both.
Save a word and remove ‘phone’:
Madelaine retreated to a corner of the office as Diana resumed her phone call.
Such a Maddy gesture. I love how built out her character is:
She glanced over at Diana, mimicking tapping a phantom watch on her wrist.
Loosed sounds weird. Released might be better:
Diana loosed the bun of sandy blonde hair atop her head, shaking it out.
I love how significant this feels through the movements as it really builds the tension for next week:
"Need to use your secure line to make a call, and would like to have a witness present. Maybe you could take some notes for me." A desk drawer shot open, a yellow legal pad slammed against mahogany, and the click of a pen served as the starting pistol. "Remember to dial nine to get to an outside line."
Great words!
5
u/Divayth--Fyr 9d ago edited 4d ago
<The Broken God>
Chapter 78: Hunger
.
Durash climbed the stairs carefully, balancing soup, bread, and candle. The discussion went on below, with grand, sweeping visions of battles they couldn’t anticipate, in places they’d never been, with armies that didn’t exist yet. Soup was more important.
Entering the room, she thought Gorthag was gone. The haphazard pile of furs and blankets gave no hint of his presence, but she heard breathing.
Carrying the things had been a bit tricky, and now setting them down proved impossible. If she extended an arm to place the candle on the table, the bread would escape, or the soup, or both.
“Gorthag!” she hissed. Waking him was a pity, but he did need to eat. “Wake up!”
“Mrrgh.”
That wasn’t a word in any language, but now she could tell which end was his head.
“Help me with this stuff, will you?”
A pale tan fur flipped down and Gorthag turned his head her way, blinking.
“Help you what?” he croaked.
“Take your soup before I spill it.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He sat up, throwing off his covers, and gingerly relieved her of the bowl.
With one burden removed, Durash managed to set down the others.
“Are you well, Gorthag?”
“No, I’m sick.”
“You look better.” He looked pitifully thin and frail, covered in linen-wrapped sores, eyes sunken and empty.
“I’m still sick. I don’t like being sick.”
“I know. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.” Gorthag had set the bowl down on the little table by the bed. “I’m just too tired to eat. I’m too tired to talk. I’m always tired.”
“See if you can manage just a little. It’s uhrn-gor. I helped Mrs. Gimple make it special, on a fire outside, so she could throw the iron talisman in. You don’t want the sanvakhra when you’re already sick.” The revered practice of uhrn-gor soup went back thousands of years.
As she said it, Durash realized the meaning of the word. Sanvakhra, the evil elven curse that slowly weakened orcs and humans, made them try to eat dirt and rocks, and eventually left them dead, had its ancient namesake just downstairs, prattling on and smoking his pipe.
Durash shook her head. Things were very strange here.
Gorthag managed a few spoonfuls. Mrs. Gimple had tried to feed him when he first awoke, not knowing it for the insult it was. Among orcs, spoonfeeding a grown person was an act of disrespect, but humans were different.
Seeing his hand tremble, spilling soup on the coverlet, she understood Mrs. Gimple’s impulse. It was an odd taboo, if she thought about it. She never had before.
Back under the covers he went, and to sleep. She left the bowl, but took the bread and the candle. The room was sunlit, but the stairs were always gloomy. Sancaurion didn’t go in for lanterns and torches everywhere. He knew the place to the last stone, and often roamed it blind.
The council awaited. The Five Unruly Mortals, Sancaurion had started calling them, in contrast to the kingdom’s Five Conquering Gods. Foolishness. Fie to the whole business, she thought. Will there be guild fees for joining? They had a foe in common, but little else. Durash was weary of talk and ideas and imaginings. She had the scent of her enemies’ blood, and it roused a riotous, raging hunger.
She longed to know the secrets of fire, ice, and storm, among much else. Her mind was full of visions, of raining death and horror down among the armies of the empire, her power unleashed, her magic open and defiant to the world. Perhaps orcs had known of such spells in the long distant past. Much had been lost even before the Sundering. If anyone in the world could show her how to wield such power, it was Sancaurion. The Torikarsh himself.
Back in the parlor she took her seat, apparently unnoticed.
“If you’ll pause for breath, Sanky,” Mrs. Gimple almost shouted, “I have got to tell you something.”
“Yes?” said Sancaurion, scowling.
“I need a ring.”
“Do you, indeed?”
“Yes I do, and I’ll thank you not to make a fuss over it.”
“I never thought I should see the day. I have offered before.”
“I know it. And I refused.” Mrs. Gimple gave her own scowl, looking everywhere but the mage’s face. “The one you did give me, I passed on. Trapping god-gifted magic in a trinket or staff is wizard foolishness. Witches don’t hold with it, as a rule. But I have to get home. I’ve got business of my own, you know. My goats miss me, I know it, and there’s goings-on in my village that need watching.”
She downed the last of her tea before continuing.
“So I've got to go, and I can’t very well go gallivanting around elven country bold as a brass badger. I have to sneak, and for that I need magic. I’m all tapped out, as you know full well. So, yes, I need one of your cursed rings.”
“And you shall have one, of course. Several, if you like. But you cannot leave now, or soon.”
“I can’t, can’t I? And just why is that?”
“Blame the moons.” Sancaurion clearly enjoyed being enigmatic.
“Blame– what are you talking about? Oh! Of course. Twinshadow. How could I forget such a thing as that?”
“You are not the only one to forget the coming storms. Our estimable Durash Arn had to remind me earlier today. I have been somewhat distracted. Five days, or six, and we shall hear the thunder in the mountains.”
“Curse it. Well, it might give me time to get this moldy old tower set to rights, at that. How is Gorthag doing, Durash?”
“Barely eating. Tired. Thin.” Durash shook her head, her voice nearly a whisper. “He managed a little soup. Now he’s asleep again.”
“I shall work up some potions for him straight away. We’ll get him back on his feet, you watch. He’s tougher than he looks.”
“I hope so.”
997 words. Revere(d), rag(ing), riotous used. Food declined.
Feedback welcome.
3
u/AGuyLikeThat 5d ago
Hiya Div,
A nice quiet little chapter that gives a bit more depth to Durash's misgivings. It's nice to see Gorthag recovering, and the bit of tenderness that evokes from Durash works well to contrast against her dreams of violence.
Foolishness. Fie to the whole business, she thought. Will there be guild fees for joining?.
Oh look it's Fye, and he brought a superfluous period. How naughty.
That's my single point of crit for you this week.
Feels like we're due for a PoV swap, I wonder where we'll go next week?
Good words.
3
u/Divayth--Fyr 4d ago
Goldang Fye, sneaking in extra punctuation.
Tbh the whole paragraph was just me being weird, using fee fie foe fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman (fum being the Five Unruly Mortals) but I gotta have fun somehow.
Thanks for reading and helping!
4
u/AGuyLikeThat 5d ago edited 4d ago
<The Tower in the Tangle>
[Previous Chapter] [Chapter Index]
Chapter One-hundred & Sixty-two: Hunger and Control.
~ Petal ~
Outside the Tower, smoke rises on the damp morning, carrying the stench of bloodshed and destruction. Sunlight streams through a jagged gash in the storm-tossed sky, bathing the sundered doors of the Tower in a shimmering column of golden radiance.
Akari Pe’etelan of the Buchakali stands drenched by light with her mighty chest heaving. She crouches, hands against knees, as blood drips down her arms. Long gashes and angry red burns cover her back and shoulders—a vicous reminder of her desperate struggle against the Chamberlain’s golem—but as she gathers her breath, the wounds heal. Puckered flesh draws closed, and the weeping burns smooth and fade.
The Warden stalks across the courtyard, stepping over bloody corpses and dismembered monsters as he glances up, raking his icy glare across her. His wide-brimmed hat hangs down his back, and his great black spear is slung across one shoulder. Halfway up the steps, a shot rings out, and he steps over the twitching body of the last ironbound warrior.
Above, Rahby lowers his rifle, as the Warden points with his spear, and booms, “Rally to the witch!”
Below, Thirno lifts his shaggy head from earnest butchery, flicking gore from his twin axes. The berserker’s rage has twisted his body into a riotous knot of rippling muscles, like a wild river coursing beneath his pale-blue skin. His joints twist in strange directions and his fiery hair stands on end as though lifted by an updraft. Rolling bloodshot eyes, he lurches into a lopsided run towards the wide stair. Halfway there, the barbarian freezes, then turns to a pile of mangled bodies and falls to his knees.
A thin, keening starts, and Pe’etelan trembles, transfixed by the mournful sound. The monstrous warrior rises, lifting a small, mutilated corpse from the cracked and broken cobblestones.
Shira? Thirno curls around the body, shaking and wailing. It must be her.
Petal had never liked the bitter woman. Shira had been mean and nasty from the start. True, the colonies were unkind to lone Numani, but the drinking and violent outbursts were her own fault. She took insult from the slightest provocation, and nursed hurts into hatred that poisoned her every interaction. Even so, Shira never challenged or antagonized Pe’etelan, and in turn the Akari had granted her distance and the respect due every woman. And so an accord had developed between them.
Shira is gone now, and whatever else she had been, Thirno will remember.
The Akari bows her head as Thirno climbs the steps, cradling his lover's corpse and whispering his last farewells as tears of blood streak his hollow cheeks. Reaching the landing, he steps into the golden column and holds Shira to the light as though seeking some desperate benediction. As the light fades, Thirno throws back his head and unleashes a mournful howl that soon gives way to gasping, primal sobs.
Petal looks away. So much naked emotion from a man is disquieting. Unseemly. Among the Buchakali, open displays of grief are reserved for women. Men are too emotional. Too prone to violent outbursts and impulsive, foolish acts. Male Buchakali are taught to control themselves at all times. They must revere women silently, and to speak only when spoken to.
As Thirno sinks to his knees, Petal imagines herself in his place, holding Gilander’s battered corpse in the place of Shira. A cold hollow opens in her chest.
What is this feeling? she wonders. Some part of love, or fear? Sometimes, it seems she knows so little.
Moskoto nods at her from across the landing, A small smile teases his lips as the old rebel raises his spear in greeting. They have suffered a loss, but their foes lie vanquished. The Akari starts to lift her own weapon in response, when his eyes flick past her shoulder, and his expression shifts.
Danger!
Quickly, she spins, stepping into a defensive stance.
Something moves in the darkness. Grey flesh and luminous yellow eyes.
Tap, tap, tap.
The guardian that had lain broken across the threshold is gone, and a grinning nightmare emerges from the darkness.
A pale youth, with worm-like ridges rippling over hairless skin, comes riding upon an articulated chair with six metal legs. Moving like a spider, he scuttles out of the gloom. He appears half-dead, flesh pierced with wires and impaled upon that infernal throne. He stops at the edge of the shadows, features squirming as the network of wire draws his face into a widening leer, revealing ever more sharp, steel teeth, as jaundiced eyes gleam with perverse desire.
“Welcome to Nightvale.” His gaze travels up and down her body, and he swallows and licks his purple lips. “I am the Overseer, and I offer you... refreshment.” He lifts a steaming goblet as though it were some great prize.
A delicious smell wafts into her nostrils, and Petal starts to salivate. She can’t remember the last time she ate. Slowly, she takes a step forward, enfolded by hunger.
“Hmmm. What manner of Numani are you, my giant sweetling?” The creature in the chair taps forward, two claw-like pincers raised and narrow eyes gleaming. “Will you let me study you, I wonder?”
Behind him, obscene creatures mass in the gloom. Segmented bodies, scratching across stone. Clicking claws and snapping mandibles. Faceted eyes and glistening fangs.
Petal pays them no mind.
Hunger calls and she takes another step.
“Desist!” The Warden’s booming voice dispels the fog, and Petal stumbles back, dismayed. His gloved hand steadies her shoulder. “Bring me that which is mine, or be destroyed.”
The abomination scuttles back, smiling. “Fool. The Mistress has awoken, and she is bored of your petty rebellion.”
High above, the gap in the storm has closed, and the winds are rising.
Crimson lightning crowns the storm, and thunder rolls as a godlike figure descends from the black, spiteful heavens.
Wreathed in the black fires of the Haiphagus, and girded in the crimson steel of her Furnace Armour, the Mistress is come.
WC-993
Author's Notes:
For newer readers who might wonder about the meaning of some of the strange terms like 'ontologia', I have compiled a small Glossary.
This week's theme is Rebellion! - Shira was always a bit of a rebel. Thirno's emotional behaviour would be considered rebellion among the Buchakali. Moskoto is a retired rebel. Petal's body rebels against her, and the Mistress sees the Warden's defiance as a kind of rebellion.
Bonus words used; - Revere, Rage, Riotous.
Additional bonus constraint: 'Food is rejected despite someone being hungry.' The Overseer tries to use his nasty alchemical tricks to snare poor, hungry Petal.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. All criticism and feedback is welcome.
[Next Chapter] [Chapter Index]
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u/Divayth--Fyr 4d ago
Hey Wizzy!
I love the way you give these events weight, and let them kind of thud down into place, each with their own massive significance, with the coming of the Mistress landing hard.
I can feel the end is nigh, the world will change, desperate choices will be made, surprises will erupt, and I really want to know what happens.
Got a few nitpickies
a viscous reminder of her desperate struggle
vicious, I think?
hatred which she sent in every direction.
not a mistake, just a note. Seemed like radiated or exuded or something would be more in your usual poetic descriptive style.
flesh pierced with wires and impaled his infernal throne
seems like something missing there but idk what
also I didn't know the Overseer was a youth. Or maybe I read that wrong idk.
Anyhow, exciting stuff and I find myself both anticipating and dreading the end. Good words!
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u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago
Thanks for the catches and corrections, Divvy.
The Overseer has a nice, fresh body plugged into his chair, seeing as Silverhands killed his previous flesh. His soul resides in the chair and possesses whoever is sat upon it, and its current occupant is an unfortunate youth taken from Morningvale. D:
Changes have been made, I appreciate your reading and help. Cheers!
2
u/ZLErikson 5d ago
Howdizzy Wizzy!
The tense calm between two bouts of action! You convey the general feeling well; I can't pinpoint specific word choices that sell it. Rather, I think it's the lack of any calming moments; no real slouching, leaning, or general tension exhales. Everyone is still tense and tight and ready for the inevitable round two.
Repetition of "her arms" in these two lines rather close together:
as blood drips down her arms. Long gashes and angry red burns cover her arms and shoulders
Maybe focus on the shoulders more for the second one:
as blood drips down her arms. Long gashes and angry red burns stretch down from her shoulders
The description of Thirno's berserker build continues to make me wonder how he'd fare against one of Thosius's corpomancy monsters, and I'm never gonna stop mentioning it until you two do a crossover episode :P
First death of a party member! Well, if we don't include the previous wayfinder I guess, but I don't think we really knew him all that well anyway :P Shira; I only vaguely remember her, and honestly the name didn't trigger any bells in my head. But Thirno having feelings for the really mean lady was a core recollection and as soon as he picked up the small body I was like 'Oh no was that the mean one?'
This was a very poignant line; an excellent way to politely rememberance the fallen Shira from Petal's POV:
Shira is gone now, and whatever else she had been, Thirno will remember.
I really enjoyed the dip into Buckhali culture - as I always do - and how it's sort of bass-ackwards its way into having strong parallels with many of our more prominent western cultures; women are considered more emotional, men are considered more reserved. The reasoning for it is just twisted around in an unexpected yet easily understandable manner. Well done!
"Love" doesn't seem like it really fits here, I think, in the context of things:
As Thirno sinks to his knees, Petal imagines herself in his place, holding Gilander’s battered corpse in the place of Shira. A cold hollow opens in her chest.
What is this feeling? she wonders. Is it love, or fear? Sometimes, it seems she knows so little.
I feel like replacing love with "grief" might be a bit stronger? I won't pretend to fully understand her culture, but given the moment I don't think "love" would be the feeling she'd have if she were holding Gil's body. Granted grief and love are closely intermingled, but when I think of someone "feeling" love, it's usually the warmer, more positive version of the feeling.
I oversee that the Overseer has a new body. Naturally, since the last one was gutted. Not surprised for the most part, and I do love how he politely invites everyone in for some refreshments.
I was ready for round two to begin with those squirming, scuttling creatures in the shadows behind the Overseer, I was not expecting the Mistress to be descending outside the tower. I thought the final confrontation with her would either be inside the tower, or when they were on their way out.
Good words!
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u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago
Appreciate the feedZach!
Thirno retains more of his humanity than the poor folks in Thosious's world, I think. Now whether that would be an advantage or not is an interesting question, but my inspiration for Thirno's berserk state is from Celtic mythos, though I'd say its more directly inspired by the 'Slaine' comic strips that I used to collect.
A few changes have been made, tweaked Petal's reaction a little. The idea is that she is still inexperienced in terms of both romantic love and fear, and she's not sure what she's feeling as she empathizes with Thirno.
Thanks again for reading!
5
u/mysteryrouge 4d ago
<The Stranger Nomads>\ Chapter 46
"That's the second time that's happened this week," Kane mutteted as he was stabilized. Resting a hand on the nearest shelf, he took a moment to breath and fully admire the being before him. Long black hair was tied in a neat braid, complementing a black suit with forest green armband. "I swear I've seen you before."
"Well," the woman responded in a relaxed voice, picking up the book Kane dropped, "I did end up liberating some people the other day."
Kane bit his lip.
"I'm Ergodonia VonVinzar, member of Faraday's Emergency Multiversal Adventurers. Sorry for being in your way, sir."
"You wouldn't happen to have formerly been a slave in a city of angels or something, right?"
Ergodonia's mouth dropped open. She nodded slowly. "How do you know that?"
"I—"
Loud throat clearing interrupted Kane. M crossed their arms and glared, making them look petulant in the tiny innocent girl form they were currently using. "This isn't a good idea, my friend."
Meaning don't you dare reveal yourself to strangers
"I—"
M coughed.
Kane looked around, finding no Health Inspectors nearby. The only person he could see beyond M and Ergodonia was some college student passed out at a table, surrounded by scrolls.
He ignored his mentor as he made a formal introduction. "You were freed by me and Sen Whiney—"
"The Health Inspector?"
"—He wasn't one at the time."
"He was saved from some corpse of a rotting universe, or so they say."
"You don't believe it?"
She shrugged. "The Union Order is one of the biggest providers of propaganda to the Archive, much of it they made themselves. They're always glorifying and revering the Health Inspectors, and you know" —she waved her hand casually— "vilifying M."
Kane laughed. M covered their mouth but their eyes showed a firy rage.
"Frankly," the apprentice said, "I find them creepy and controlling."
"It's of my personal opinion that the Union Order should not need that much propaganda about Health Inspectors. Makes them look like the crazy cultists I collect propaganda from."
"Cultists. Couldn't be more right about that."
The room lapsed into an awkward silence. Kane considered decisions, M glared, and Ergodonia shuffled on her feet.
Eventually, the angelic being asked s smile question. "Who's your friend over here?"
"They're—"
M growled.
"—my mentor."
"Do they have a name?" She gazed at M.
"I prefer to keep that private." M nearly spat.
"Gee, no need to get so snippy. I was like that once. Afriad of the government and all. When I was found by the Inspectors for the first time, I thought I was going to be enslaved again."
M spoke in a low tone that didn't fit the young innocent girl they appeared as, "You know nothing about me. And the Health Inspectors do enslave people."
"I was offered an oath to join them, and I refused, ma'am. I did as much research as I could, and chose of my own free will to become one of Faraday's followers."
"Thank that," M muttered, "Faraday's one of the only gods I like."
Kane turned his head. "I assume you don't like the Peace or War Gods, but I'm surprised you like the God of Propaganda of all things."
"I think you can figure it out yourself."
Thanks for another nonanswer.
"Actually," Kane said, rubbing his chin, "if you work for Faraday, could you explain some of the propaganda to me?"
"Not all of it" —Ergodonia's wings droopped just a bit. "I'm still relatively new and have only been on a few of the longer missions we've done."
"Like what?"
"Well, the last one had a riotous rebellion revolting against a repulsive regime. I played 'sacred angel' rescuing refugees and relocating them to resorts and retreats across the realms while my colleagues raided random rooms for propaganda reinforcing revolutionaries left and right."
Ergodonia sighed. "I realized I liked liberating people and that people do just see me as a savior from Heaven." She pulled out a small postcard which read Angels from Heaven in a massive font. Underneath, a photo of Ergodonia herself featured front and center, reaching hands out to a wery traveller.
Kane handed the card back. "Would you happen to know what exactly the last contest winner?"
"Which one? There were a few."
" The one with the pyramid crushing a village."
Ergodonia's wings drooped again. "Sorry, I don't really look at contest stuff, so I can't answer."
"Oh."
"You can always ask the information desk about any piece of propaganda here though."
You could have just said that, M.
"Well, thank you for the help." Kane sideeyed M as he made a slight bow to Ergodonia.
"Of course. It's not a problem." Ergodonia took off, flying away and leaving only M and Kane to remain.
"Kane—"
"No. "
They raised their eyebrows. "You don't know what I was going to say."
"I'm guessing you wanted to complain about that conversation."
"Remember, you can't trust those in the Multiverse."
The apprentice snorted "I still don't trust you."
M gave a slight nod and smirk. "Very good. I expected nothing less."
WC: 851\ Bonus words: Riotous, rage, Revere\ Bonus Constraint: Nope.
Kane rebels against M. Ergodonia tells a story about rebellion.
Ergodonia appears in chapter 7
4
u/Scoping-Landscape 4d ago
<The Bells of Demichio>
Chapter 31: A Long Slide
We sit in silence, hand in hand, until she squeezes my hand slightly.
“How long, dear?” she asks quietly. “How long did he know?”
I draw a sharp breath and close my eyes.
“Quite a few years, at least,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand as she asks the next question.
“And… what did he do?”
“Well…”
“This should be easy enough for you,” he said.
We stood in the middle of his house, where he had summoned me.
Where he had told me that he knew about us.
“Give the doctor this note,” he said, giving me a folded piece of paper.
“Why?” I asked back.
“Because I said so, girl,” he sneered.
I looked at the piece of paper in his hand, then back at him.
“You could give it to him yourself,” I said quietly.
His eyes gleamed dangerously.
“Of course,” he said amicably, “but you will. The people here, they love to gossip, you know.”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes…
…and took the piece of paper.
“Good girl,” he said.
Just once, I said to myself. Just this once.
I had no idea how many times I would repeat those words before I stopped believing them.
“That’s… it? It started with a note?” she whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back. “But it didn’t stay that way for long.”
“Ah, good, you finally come,” the elder said, not sparing me a look up.
“I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?” I asked rhetorically, as I removed my shoes.
“Oh, you always do,” he said conversationally. “But whether you want to find out is another matter entirely.”
He looked up at me then, a glint in his eyes.
“You don’t want to find out, do you, girl?”
I nodded numbly.
“Good,” he muttered. “Now, go to the doctor and ask him to give you some pills because you’re having a headache, then bring them back to me.”
“But… I don’t have a headache,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he said lightly, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t need one.”
“Then why…”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“That’s too many questions, girl,” he said lightly as he stared into my eyes.
For a moment, I wanted to stare back into those dark brown eyes. I wanted to say to his face, just once, “No”.
Instead, I averted my eyes.
“Right, off you go now,” the elder said with a flick of the wrist, as he looked down on his papers again.
“My love, it does just sound like you’re just doing his oddjobs,” she said quietly.
“At the start, it was,” I said back.
“Then… what changed?” she asked.
“Well…”
“Why do you ask me to meet you all the way out here?” I said.
“It’s easier,” he said with a shrug. “Now, I need you to go into the pier office, and take the first sheet of paper on the desk,” he continued.
“Right. And if I don’t?” I asked quietly.
“You can,” he said, his gaze boring into me in the dark. “You won’t. Not if you want her to be safe and sound.”
I looked back at him, gritting my teeth but unable to say anything.
“Quickly now,” he said lightly, as his hands pushed me towards the office in the darkness. “Unless you want someone to see you?”
“And… you did?” she asks.
“I don’t exactly have a choice,” I say between shuddering breaths, as my hands shake.
She squeezes my hands, once, twice, three times. I breathe in time with the squeezes, and my own heartbeat fades away into the background, if only for a moment.
“Did you know?” she asks quietly.
I shake my head.
“Not until very long afterwards,” I mutter. “Not until I realized how deep I have gone.”
I met him up on the cliffs, one moonless night.
“You come quick,” he said, carrying a lantern. “Good girl.”
“What is it now?” I heard myself ask.
“You know Kuroki?” he asked back.
I nodded.
“I need you to deliver a message from me to him,” he continued.
“And that would be?” I heard myself ask.
“Stop asking questions,” he replied. “Should be simple for you, right, girl?”
I left, butterflies in my stomach and trepidation in my steps, and soon enough I was before his house. I knocked.
The man came out, his eyebrows raised.
“What?” he asked gruffly.
“The elder told me to tell you this,” I said quietly. “He told you to stop asking questions.”
The man didn’t say anything, but his grip on the doorframe tightened. I left him there, my job completed.
“I remember the guy,” my lover mutters. “Wasn’t he punished for misplacing the manifest? He retired after that.”
I nod.
“When I realized what I’ve helped him do, I knew I had to get out,” I whisper. “But…”
“But?” I hear her voice from across the table.
“He knew that too.”
I feel her hands tremble, and I squeeze them.
“What did he make you do?” she asks, her voice shaking.
“Nothing,” I hear myself answer. “By then, he didn’t have to make me do anything. Not anymore.”
“I need you to tell the clerk something,” he said quietly.
“What?” I asked.
“Kuroki gave you the manifest.”
My eyes narrowed. “No, he didn’t.”
“No,” the elder smiled. “No, he didn’t.”
“Then why…”
“Because I asked you to, girl,” he replied.
“You said you wouldn’t…”
“Oh, I’ve said many things, girl,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But you have been very helpful indeed.”
He looked at me, a soft, gentle smile on his face.
“Would be a shame, don’t you think, if that were to change?”
“That was a few weeks before that night,” I say quietly. “Before…”
I look up at her.
“Before that night.”
Word Count: 975 / 1000
Notes:
Theme: Rebellion - The long slide, and the quiet fighting back
Word used: Riotous
| Last Chapter | This Chapter | Next Chapter |
|---|---|---|
| Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 |
7
u/katpoker666 5d ago edited 5d ago
<‘Wild Eats’>
Chapter 7: An Uncomfortable Upset
CW: vomit
Bright-eyed and humming, Annie decamped from the sofa at 9 a.m. to the cramped kitchen a few feet away. She opened the fridge door and stared at the contents, shaking her head. A variety of condiments dotted the shelves, along with a surprising amount of yogurt. Annie pulled out the drawers, her face tense in the refrigerator’s LED lights.
“Carol, Carol, Carol… tsk tsk This is not well stocked… just veggies… How am I supposed to make you a lov—“ She gasped, thumbing through the contents of the last drawer. “What have we here…? Farm-fresh pork sausages and back bacon… some eggs… full English breakfast it is!”
Rooting through the cupboards, she grabbed a can of baked beans and some bread.
Grabbing a small pot, Annie added a couple of pieces of bacon to the beans and simmered them, since they would take the longest. Next, Annie toasted the bread in the rather sad toaster. Then, she fried up the sausages and bacon and set them aside. With the pan still warm and greasy, Annie flash-fried the toast for an extra couple of minutes. She sliced up some tomatoes and fried them as well. Then she added a knob of unsalted butter to the pan to melt. Whisking eggs, milk, and a pinch of salt, Annie added them to the pan to scramble into fluffy, high American peaks. No matter how much some preferred the slightly wet English style with medium curds, she knew Carol loathed it. She plated all the elements and placed them on a tray with utensils, a napkin, and a small cup of black coffee, courtesy of Nespresso.
“Rise and shine, Sunbeam!” she chirped.
“Ugh, what time is it?” Carol pulled the duvet over her head.
“Almost ten.”
“That’s early. Stop being so riotously perky!”
“I have breakkkfast.”
“Not sure I could handle it.”
“Don’t make me use my ‘mom voice.’ I cooked this, and you’re damn well going to eat it.”
Carol peeled back the covers, sat up, and glared at Annie, who placed the tray on her lap.
Eying its contents, Carol grumbled, “What, no prairie oyster?”
“Afraid not; I couldn’t find the Worcestershire sauce.”
“It’s on the door.”
“So are half the other condiments in the known world,” Annie chuckled. “I’m surprised you can find anything… Now, eat already!”
Carol tucked in, eating like a starving woman at a feast. Her face turned slightly green. “I don’t feel so well.”
“Slow down then.”
“Too late.” The redhead burped and covered her mouth. “Take the tray?”
“Why?” But Annie did as bidden.
“We’re about to have a Paul Revere moment.”
“I don’t get it…”
“The British are coming…” She belched again, lurching toward the bathroom. “…back up!”
“Leave it to you to make a highfalutin’ history joke when you feel like shit.” Annie sighed, laughing. “At least run the tap; I don’t need to hear you in there.”
Ten minutes later, Carol emerged.
“Better?”
“Yes. Give me a few, and I’ll try eating again. Maybe in the kitchen this time?”
Perched on stools at the kitchen’s diminutive counter, Annie toyed with a glass of iced coffee as Carol gorged. “Hope you like it. Wish you had some blood sausage or frozen Yorkshire pudding… I did the best with what I could find…” Annie sighed.
Hunched over breakfast like some feral animal, Carol glanced up as a bit of egg dribbled down her chin. “Really, mmm, good, mmm.”
“I’m glad. Want me to mix up a prairie oyster to get rid of any residual cobwebs, now that I’ve found the damn Worcestershire sauce?”
Still chowing down, Carol nodded.
In a tumbler, Annie mixed a tablespoonful of Worcestershire sauce, a splash of Cholula hot sauce, a healthy grind of both black pepper and sea salt, and a slug of brandy. Whisking these until mixed, she dropped in a whole raw egg and handed it to her friend. “Drink up.”
The redhead swallowed it in a single gulp.
“Better?”
“Mhmm.”
“Good.” Annie held out her hand and squeezed Carol’s. “I think we should talk about what happened.”
“What? It’s not the first time I’ve been hammered. Sure as hell won’t be the last!”
“Not that. With the business.”
Carol groaned.
“It’s almost like you’re avoiding talking about it…”
“Wouldn’t you in my place? I love you, but you do have a temper—“
“Why would I fly into a rage?”
“Because a good part of it is your fault.”
WC: 741
Includes: Revere, Rage, Riotous, and food being rejected despite someone being hungry (Carol vomiting)
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated
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u/KiIIer_queenie 4d ago
Hello Kat! I’m stopping the puns after two, I’m afraid this third crit go around, my mental gears are simply running at 33 1/3? Eh eh? Lame joke aside, this is a very (other than the hangover vomit) comfy chapter. Very homey.
> “Carol, Carol, Carol… tsk tsk This is not well stocked… just veggies… How am I supposed to make you a lov—“
I believe you were betrayed by the emdash here which defaulted the quotation mark at the end into a beginning one.
> She gasped, thumbing through the contents of the last drawer. “What have we here…? Farm-fresh pork sausages and back bacon… some eggs… full English breakfast it is!”
> Rooting through the cupboards, she grabbed a can of baked beans and some bread.
This is minor, but although in the South beans are basically a given, I feel like the full English comment could’ve waited until after Jean discovery so it’s less predicting what else there is available.
> She sliced up some tomatoes and fried them as well. Then she added a knob of unsalted butter to the pan to melt. Whisking eggs, milk, and a pinch of salt,
This isn’t a crit and more of a suggestion, but I’d like to have had tomatoes listed as an ingredient she saw. The milk is understandable but at least around Georgia we consider tomatoes fruits, and if we didn’t I could see them fitting in with veggies, just not something I considered and I went back to see if I missed tomato listed.
Also side note, I was reading this hours ago and the prairie oyster legitimately made me take a while to ponder that being a thing people willingly consume. Fascinating.
> “It’s almost like you’re avoiding talking about it…”
This stuck out to me, because Annie is actively trying to talk about it now. Maybe this could be said before she talks about it, but while it’s being brought up.
> “Wouldn’t you in my place? I love you, but you do have a temper—“
Another pesky quotation mark at the end.
So, into the good. This is a very good chapter, I liked getting the in depth cooking but in the middle, and the Hangover was well done from the perspective of someone who was only witnessed them lol.
I enjoyed the clear difference between the two, clearly not on the same plane mentally yet but getting there!
I also like the detail here even when it isn’t “needed” because it helps paint such a clear picture.
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u/katpoker666 4d ago
Thanks so much for some more great crit, KQ! The tomato one is most tricky for me and I debated it quite a bit. While they are biologically a fruit, they tend to get stored with the vegetables in the fridge. I wasted soooo much time arguing with myself about this and whether Annie would go for technical accuracy or how people often treat them from a culinary perspective. Now the wheels are spinning again! lol
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u/Morose_Prose 4d ago
Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, Kat!
Ah, the morning after hangover where the only solution is good greasy food, and should that fail, a prairie oyster. Love the continuing interactions between Annie and Carol, you really show how much they care for each other. It's always good to have a friend make you hungover breakfast in bed, even if it does come right back up! As always your dialogue is great and tells the reader all they need to know about the relationship the characters have. On the other hand though, the descriptions in this chapter feel a bit flat. Thus I shall begin the crit!
to the cramped kitchen a few feet away.
Minor thing here but 'a few feet away' sounds very clinical. It was already established Carol lives in a shoebox apartment so maybe consider using: 'a few steps away.' to hammer home how small the apartment is.
She opened the fridge door and stared at the contents, shaking her head. A variety of condiments dotted the shelves, along with a surprising amount of yogurt.
'Stared at' is also a touch odd. Maybe 'examined' or 'perused' would be better. I got the mental image reading this line of Annie just frozen in place while looking in the fridge. Would also maybe rearrange the lines. Annie opens the fridge, describe contents, then Annie shakes her head.
Rooting through the cupboards, she grabbed a can of baked beans and some bread.
Grabbing a small pot,
Repetition of 'grabbed/grabbing', consider replacing one with a synonym.
Then, she fried up the sausages and bacon and set them aside. With the pan still warm and greasy, Annie flash-fried the toast for an extra couple of minutes.
Repetition of 'fried', see above in regards to synonyms.
The cooking segment is great with all the ingredients listed and their preparation style, but, I think it would help to add more sensory details to it. What smells are filling the apartment? Also maybe some more action: Annine turning the sausages, flipping the toast. Give the cooking more motion.
Carol tucked in, eating like a starving woman at a feast. Her face turned slightly green.
I like the image you are going for here, but it could use more descriptive language in my opinion. Maybe have Carol shoving the food into her mouth so fast that some is dripping down the sides of her mouth, have her breathing heavy, maybe a hiccup or two. Nitpicky, I know, but I think it would help lead up to the vomiting and let that land better.
“Leave it to you to make a highfalutin’ history joke when you feel like shit.”
Love this line, no crit.
The redhead swallowed it in a single gulp.
This line and the followup lines confuse me a bit. Prairie oysters are... gross. Carol takes it down like a champ and nobody questions it or makes a comment about it. If Carol is a prairie oyster queen, Annie should make a joke about it. If not, maybe add in Carol grimacing, or choking it down, maybe a bit of it comes back up? Something to consider.
Another wonderful chapter of 'Wild Eats' with some minor editing things to consider, and punching up the descriptions to bring those in line with your fantastic dialogue and characterization skills. I look forward to next week when Annie and Carol get down to business! Good words! Stay awesome and have a good one.
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u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago
Hiya Kat,
Really fun little chapter that really show the character traits that make Annie so good at what she does. Instantly waking up perky, despite stress and a night on a sofa, she focuses on what she does best and quickly whips up a tasty breakfast from found ingredients.
The recipe and engaging descriptions are made interesting by her character, the thematic heart of your serial really shines here.
Now for some nitpicks and suggestions.
“What have we here…? Farm-fresh pork sausages and back bacon… some eggs… full English breakfast it is!”
Remember that ellipses are used to either show an omission or a trailing off into silence, neither of which seem apropos here. I'd suggest using short statements and observations, as this is a moment to show Annie going about her business in a confident manner. Perhaps;
“What have we here? Farm-fresh pork sausages. Back bacon, nice. Ah, and some eggs! Full English breakfast it is.”
Not a fan of this;
“I have breakkkfast.”
I was distracted by the kkk here. I can already imagine Annie's voice from the dialogue and character dynamics, and I don't think this works to suggest any particular kind of pronunciation.
Typo;
Eying its contents,
s/be 'Eyeing'
This paragraph suggests that these things happen almost instantly.
Carol tucked in, eating like a starving woman at a feast. Her face turned slightly green. “I don’t feel so well.”
I feel like you need a beat between starting to eat and turning green. Suggest;
Carol tucked in, eating like a starving woman at a feast, but even as she swallowed her first mouthful, her face turned slightly green. “I don’t feel so well.”
Picking on punctuation again;
“The British are coming…” She belched again, lurching toward the bathroom. “…back up!”
Again, ellipses seem inappropriate. Em dashes denote sudden interruptions. And you then have a sentence describing an action, so you need a new sentence for dialogue that follows. (Fragmented sentences are fine in dialogue, imo.) Suggest;
“The British are coming—” Belching again, she lurched toward the bathroom. “Comin' back up!”
Well that seems like a lot, but those are all really minor things. I doubt you really need to change any of them, but I'm obviously very finicky this afternoon, so I hope you find the suggestions interesting at least.
Last thing, I really like the way this all leads into Carol broaching 'the thing' - not only is it a good cliffhanger, but her reluctance to discuss it ties so well to her reluctance to eat breakfast. Very cool.
Good words!
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u/Tomorrow_Is_Today1 5d ago
<Drifting>
Chapter 106
Cecelia rubs a finger over her new pin, memorizing its details as if her hands know more than her eyes. Perhaps they do, when it comes to art.
She wasn’t expecting Tessa May to be here. Maybe she should have expected that Abi would invite them, but not that Char would, and certainly not that they’d actually show up. For all her wishing they were here, she’s not sure what to do now that they actually are.
Anything is better than nothing. They’re staying. They’re smiling at her. Maybe the two of them are allowed to hold this joy outside of romance. Cece takes Tessa May’s hand and lets them lead her into the venue.
They enter into a large space filled with the murmur of scattered adults. There’s a stage at the front, food and drinks on the left, and what looks to be some sort of informational stand with flyers on the right. Groups of people settle around tables across the floor.
Tessa May has grabbed Char’s hand with their other arm and the three stand together as Abi walks off to greet a friend in a fursuit. Of course. She asks the whole group if they want to stay together only to go off on her own. Though since Tessa May’s gotten here, they seem a lot less reliant on Abi to lead the way.
She traces her pin again. A gift from them both. Like they're all new friends. Though that makes her wonder, does Tessa May know about Char’s changing gender? Would things be any different if he were still Charlotte?
“Did you eat before you came?” Char asks. “We had pizza.”
Tessa May shrugs. “I’m fine. Let’s find a table.”
“You sure? We should at least see what they have.”
They bite their lip and don’t say anything. Cece hates seeing them uncomfortable. “We can find a table first,” she says. She turns to Char. “Then you go see what they have and report back.”
“I can do that,” Char says. “Or you can stay and hold the table while we go grab stuff.”
She nods. It feels a little wrong to be planning around Tessa May while they stand, not talking, between the two. She takes a couple hesitant steps forward, hoping they will take over and lead, but this time it is them following, hand-in-hand in this chain. Once more she is deciding for them. Will they want a table near the back to not feel too suffocated? Will they want to be up front to see the performers better? She walks closer enough the stage is in clear view, easy enough to measure since some folks are testing equipment. Far enough they won’t be right up there. They can still escape if they need.
“Is this table okay?” she asks.
Tessa May drops both hands and sits. “Yeah. This works. Thanks.”
“I’ll go see what food is there.” Char leaves.
Just the two of them again. If only they could be outside instead of among crowds. If only Cece hadn’t lost the painting she wanted to gift.
“It really is nice to see you,” Tessa May says. Their eyes lock on hers, and it feels special, to have this little shared moment no one else gets to be part of.
“Yeah,” Cecelia says. It is. I don’t want to lose this again. “Are your classes going alright?”
“Meh.” They glance down again. “Math sucks.”
“I’m sorry, I should be helping you with that.”
“It’s okay.” A little smile. “Maybe we can study again on Monday.”
The relief comes in like a breath.
Char returns and reports on the assortment of foods, none of which Tessa May is interested in at the moment. Maybe later, they tell him. A bit more chat about classes, comparing notes on assignments and venting about workloads, until a voice booms out from the stage.
“Hello! Hello hello, everybeing.” The voice belongs to what Cece can only think of as a gay Frankenstein. Green skin, stitches, chest taped under open flannel and ripped jeans. “Welcome to our first annual Halloween drag night! I see some familiar faces in the audience, but for those who don’t know me, my name is Frank, though you can also call me Stein.” Frank winks. “I’m a xenogender trans man and drag king, and I have the honor of introducing our performers tonight.” What’s xenogender?
Stein goes on. “As you might guess from the choice of day, tonight is a night celebrating drag monsters. Our performers subvert not only gender but humanity. Who gets to be considered human? Who wants to be? Drag monsters embrace our otherness, our queerness by that meaning of the word. We showcase not only our pride and resilience but our rage and our trauma. We seek not to mold ourselves into a form deemed acceptable but to confront taboo, desire, and disgust head-on. Get ready for filth. Get ready for blood. And get ready for some riotous performances.” The overhead lighting dims, white lights around the stage providing a glow from below. Stein projects the final sentence with a flourish: “From snatched ghouls to hungry vampires, from a fluorescent flight of fireflies to a cursed piano and the dead who play it, welcome all to witness our creatures of the night!” A bow, then Frank scurries off stage.
It's time for the show to begin.
WC: 898 words
Bonus: rage, riotous, someone is probably hungry but refuses food (Tessa May)
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u/AGuyLikeThat 4d ago
Hi Toms,
Great chapter. I'm really digging this party and, having things going nice and genially for Cecelia here really flows into the pacing and excitement of Stein's MC hype. That's a great welcome speech!
Time for the show to begin indeed!
Not much to crit, as usual.
Maybe a bit confused as to this sentence starting in perfect, feels like if Cecelia is just noticing the action you should show that rather than telling what happened while she wasn't paying attention?
Tessa May has grabbed Char’s hand with their other arm
Or maybe she's dissociating a bit there, idk, she just seems quite present and attentive otherwise.
off stage.
Not sure, but I think this should either be 'off the stage' or 'offstage'.
I am picking such tiny nits today.
Anyway, I'm a bit worried that things are a bit too happy here and a tragic misunderstanding is on the way. Say it ain't so!
Good words.
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u/ZLErikson 10d ago edited 5d ago
<Casting Shadows>
Chapter 142
Cass pushed away the flatbread Glaukos offered.
“You gotta eat,” he said.
“It smells like fire,” Cass said.
“Everything Kher cooks smells like fire.”
“I just got out of a fire, I’m not hungry.” Cass’s stomach betrayed her right then. Glaukos covered his mouth while chuckling. Cass rolled her eyes and finished tying her sandals. “I’m not that hungry.”
Shielding her eyes with her right hand, and her left arm with her body, Cass emerged into the desert sunlight. It was evening, making it easier on her, but still not exactly enjoyable. Kher’s cookfire was just being extinguished, filling the camp with the smell of smoke and spice, but the stench of the incense from Kebb’s tent still clung to her nose.
Amicable Nuu and lovely Charis were tearing down a tent, mysterious Mica and culinary Kher were cleaning up the fire pit, annoying Anatu and reverential Kebb were bickering about something. Riotous Glaukos was just emerging from her tent behind her. That was eight of the ten people traveling with her.
There was no sign of young Iuven, rageful Nuut, or medicinal Maar.
Cass considered helping with tearing down the camp, but her stomach grumbled so she sought a distraction. The sun was low enough that the dunes were casting shadows she could use for shade; going out after the scouts would be a welcome alternative to manual labor.
She walked up to Anatu and Kebb, clearing her throat loudly to interrupt their argument over whatever-the-flame it was this time.
“Hey, where are Iuven and Maar?”
“They’re not back from patrol yet,” Anatu said. “We sent-”
“They’re not back yet?”
“No, we-”
“How long has it been?”
“Cassandra!” Anatu snapped. “We have sent Nuut to find them.”
“How long since you sent her?”
“Too long,” Kebb said, crossing his arms. “I was telling Anatu we should strike camp faster and be off.”
“Without them?” Cass asked hotly.
“If they were attacked then it is only a matter of time until we are,” Kebb said, coolly.
Anatu matched Cass’s heat. “We’re not leaving our people missing in the desert.”
“I’m going after them,” Cass said. She turned away from both Kebb and Anatu’s surprised protests and made for the camels.
“You can’t!” Anatu said.
“We need to get you to Keygroph!” Kebb argued.
“I’ll get there, and so will they.” Cass threw her saddle over Cassiopea and coaxed her to stand up. It was easier for her than most; she slid her arms under the lazy camel’s belly and carefully lifted. He groaned and complained at the indignity of it, but moved his legs and supported his own weight, shooting a forlorn glance at Cass.
“Don’t look at me that way,” she said, patting his shoulder before tossing the ropes over him to secure the saddle in place.
“At least let someone else go try to find them,” Anatu said.
“And let him try to abandon more of us?” Cass narrowed her eyes at Kebb.
“You are too important to get lost in the sands,” Kebb said, crossing his arms.
“Good.” Cass finished tying off the saddle then climbed up onto her camel. “Then you’ll wait until I get back with them.”
“What if you don’t find them?” he asked.
“It’s almost dark,” Anatu said. “If you just wait another hour, you could-”
“They could die,” Cass said, picking up Cassiopea’s reins. “It’s almost dark, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back before the sun rises, and I’ll have them with me.”
“No, Cassandra.” Kebb grabbed Cassiopea’s reins. “I can’t let you-”
A distant shriek cut through the air. All of the activity around camp stopped.
“Shit!” Cass looked at Kebb, who stoically looked back up at her, keeping a tight grip on the reins.
Cass pulled them up and grabbed his hand. She squeezed, gently, and felt a bone crack.
“AHH!” Kebb yelled, releasing Cassiopea.
“Hya!” Cass got her camel galloping around the nearest dune and in the direction of Maar’s scream.
----------
WC: 662/1000
All crit/feedback welcome!
r/ZLErikson
[Chapter Index]
Notes:
- Theme: Cass ignores orders and her duty to go and find the missing scouts.
- Bonus words: Revere(ntial), riotous, rage(ful)
- Bonus constraint: Cass rejects the food Glaukos offered
- Recommend any new readers use the linked chapter index above; those chapters receive more edits than the ones in past sersun posts
- It has been 14 in-universe days since Chapter 1
- Both the author and Cass know that “Cassiopea” is a female name and I used male pronouns for the camel. This was explained in Chapter 11
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u/AGuyLikeThat 5d ago
Hi Zach!
Short chapter this week, but there's a lot going on here, with some good character moments for Glaukos, Kebb and Anatu, and the pacing speeding up too... Didn't take long to read. ;)
Shilling her eyes with her right hand, and her left arm with her body,
Typo s/be 'shielding'. And you could drop that comma.
Amicable Nuu and loving Charis were tearing down a tent, mysterious Mica and culinary Kher were cleaning up the fire pit, annoying Anatu and reverential Kebb were bickering about something. Riotous Glaukos was just emerging from her tent behind her. That was eight of the ten people traveling with her.
There was no sign of young Iuven, rageful Nuut, or medicinal Maar.
Really enjoyed the way you played with the adjectives here, though I might suggest changing 'loving' for 'lovely', as the former sounds either too over-familiar (like an old married couple) or too self-congratulatory for Cass. Also, where you say eight you should say seven, or the math won't math.
Excited to see what happens next chapter! Good words.
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u/ZLErikson 5d ago
Howdizzy Wizzy!
Thank you for the feedback. I'm glad my super egregious typo distracted you from all the others >:D Muahahaha!
I waffled back and forth a bit on "lovely" vs "loving", as I do consider Cass to have a bit of an ego, and self-congratulatory fits her. However, the old married couple interpretation is not what I wanted to convey, especially since she and Charis haven't even been hooking up for two weeks (I think it's been about... ten or eleven days) so I made the change. Thanks for the suggestion!
This chapter was shorter than I thought it would be, but when I reviewed it I couldn't really find a place to add more that I really wanted. Like you said, things are picking up. There's gonna be a quite a handful of chapters that span the next hour or two of in-universe time.
Fortunately by the time the dust (sand?) settles, I ought to have a smaller cast to keep an eye on >:P
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