Elf vs. Orc 6He got a nasty start a few hours later, when he came in to check on her.Elf vs. Orc 6 in Fantasy More Like This
He'd tied her hands, her feet, thrown a loop or two around her waist, and roped everything to the bed, the chair, and the fire iron, just for good measure, He'd done everything short of hog-tying. She wasn't going to get loose in a hurry.
He wasn't sure why he was bothering, really, since he had a horrible feeling that if she said "Will you untie me?" he might do it, and if she said "please," he'd definitely do it.
Still, she didn't seem to be a threat conscious, so maybe that was okay.
Then, because his feelings were still churning and there was nothing for emotional turmoil like hard work, he'd gone off, fed the chickens and the gargoyle, picked peas, turned the compost heap, washed his hands and made soup. By the end, he was really quite exhausted, and ready for at least a nap in his chair.
Then he came back in to discover that her fever had vanished and she was shivering violently with cold.
Elf vs. Orc 7This was easier said than done.Elf vs. Orc 7 in Fantasy More Like This
She gave him some very practical suggestions about how to tie the ropes. A bit of slack between the feet, enough to shuffle, not enough to run. A rope around the neck as a kind of leash in case she attacked him. He could tell she'd done this sort of thing before.
Sings-to-Trees, at that point, would have been happy just untying her completely and pointing her in the direction of the outhouse, but he had a horrible feeling he'd disappoint her if he didn't at least try to hold up his end. So he steeled himself to stay awake a bit longer and got the ropes set up, and hauled her out of the bed.
Then she wound up needing to use him as a crutch anyway, since her knees kept buckling, so it was a bit of a moot point.
"Can you hold this?" he asked, handing her the leash rope after a few brutal hops toward the door.
"What if I try to escape?"
He sighed. "Just yank it if you feel yourself getting any ideas."
She started laughing, then they took another step and the
Elf vs. Orc 2Celadon Toadstool was delirious.Elf vs. Orc 2 in Fantasy More Like This
The funny bit—uproariously funny, it seemed to her—was that she knew she was delirious. The world was billowing around her. It looked as if someone had meticulously painted the inside of a cottage on silk, and then hung it in a gentle breeze. The corners floated inward and collapsed back out again with a sigh.
That someone would go to all that trouble, painting a cottage on silk, was hilarious.
She knew she was wounded. She couldn't quite remember how she'd been wounded. Imagine not remembering a thing like that!
This also struck her as hilarious.
Her name, in Orcish, was Urrsharruk-gah, and she had skin the delicate gray-green of the gills of cave mushrooms, and eyes the color of stolen gold. Her hair was thick and dark and she wore it tucked under her helmet to keep enemies from being able to grab it, which was problematic, because she'd lost her helmet somewhere along the way, and she wasn't in the best of shape anyway.
Even in her immense good humor
It Was A DayIt was a day a little bit like todayIt Was A Day in Free Verse More Like This
the way the clouds threw shadows over the hill
the day you realized that you weren’t going to find your future.
You were never going to go to Mars
You were never going to open the door that led, inexorably, to Narnia
(or even Telmar, you weren’t picky, and you were confident of your ability
to lead the revolution.)
Inigo Montoya was not going to slap you on the back
and invite you to take up the mantle of the Dread Pirate Roberts.
There would be no sardonic Vulcans or Andorians;
you would never be handed an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.
That was a strange day.
It ranked up there with the day that you realized that everybody else saw the you in the mirror, not the you inside your head. Not the you that was lean and tough and clever, not the you with perfect hair and a resonant voice that never said “Um….?”
Not that you.
No, they got the one that was fat and wobbly and stiff inside with
The DressOver the years, people have gone to truly extraordinary lengths in pursuit of fashion. A catalog of peculiar gowns would fill several volumes, even without getting into bizarre hats, wigs, gloves, codpieces, shoes, eyeglasses, and all manner of other demented accessories, and I will not so tax the reader except to mention a few highlights.The Dress in Fantasy More Like This
Dresses of strange materials are not uncommon. Among the oddest were the mycorrhiza gown of Milicent von Pratt, a wrap of finest fungal threads. This sensational outfit required almost two weeks to put on, requiring Lady von Pratt to paint herself with an agar and compost growth medium and lay prone in a fungal bed for most of that time. It was only worn once, and deteriorated significantly during the course of the evening, requiring her ladyship to retire quickly from the entertainments.
And then there was the finchbone dress worn by the Dowager Duchess of Eastmarch, made from the tiny skeletons of nearly a thousand finches, carefully wrapped and hu
Elf vs. Orc 8Celadon woke up in the elf's arms.Elf vs. Orc 8 in Fantasy More Like This
This sounded a lot more romantic than it actually was.
For one thing, learning to sleep in proximity to another person is an acquired skill. You learn what to do with the arm that always seems to get stuck between you and where to put your feet and whether they mind having a leg draped over theirs and who can use whose arm as a pillow without nerve damage or a sore neck. Then there's the whole complex negotiation of blanket treaties and sheets and who gets what and who needs layers and who has to stick their feet out.
Without acquiring these vital habits, you wake up pretty much like Celadon—stiff, sore, with a knee wedged into your ribs and blankets tangled around both of them like sleeping anacondas.
While it's traditional when parties of the opposite sex find themselves entangled for someone's hands to be in an embarrassing position, that actually wasn't the case. She was pretty much in the elf's lap, where one of his knees was up and digging into
Miss Tansybaum's CarnivalBy all accounts, Miss Tansybaum's Circus of the Moderately Peculiar should not have continued to operate. They were a very small operation as circuses went, they had no rides and their menagerie consisted of a single geriatric lion and a handful of obscure species, such as the Sudanese Crooning Lizards, who were obscure for a reason. Sure, Brendan the Mono-juggler could keep a single ball in the air for hours, but you got tired of watching after the first few minutes.Miss Tansybaum's Carnival in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Lord Maggothaunch's Carnival of the Un-Ordinary should have crushed them out of existence in the first year--indeed, that was among the lord's stated goals--and its failure to do so was a source of intense frustration for him. Did he not have scantily clad women and a genuine, if sullen tiger? Did he not have a genuine freakshow, with real live freaks, including a pair of dubious Siamese twins and a two-headed calf in a jar?
Miss Tansybaum did not have a freakshow (at least not in the conventional sense, although the less
Elf vs. Orc 4She let him go. She couldn't do much else. He was an elf, sure, but there were rules, and you didn't kill healers and you didn't kill priests.Elf vs. Orc 4 in Fantasy More Like This
The rage had to go somewhere. You couldn't go from halfway to gnawing your shield back to normal just like that. Celadon swallowed it, bitterly, the stone shattering, the red sea pouring through the wreckage. She threw her head back and snarled with the pain.
The elf lay sprawled on the ground beside the bed, holding his throat, his eyes closed. He was breathing in tight little gasps. She could have stomped on his head, but of course she wouldn't.
She was furious. Mostly at herself, truth be told. It had been so obvious. He'd checked her bandages, he hadn't been wearing armor, and this was as far from a cell as you could get. What more did she need, a sign saying "Non-combatant, please do not throttle," in several languages? But she'd been so mad—and scared, yes, let's be honest with ourselves—that she hadn't seen past the Enemy.
Saints of San AxolotlEcho birds are as common as muck, and about the same color. Theyre found only in San Axolotl, where they scurry along the paving stones and under the tables of the street cafes, through trash-clogged back alleys and down the walks of rooftop gardens, looking for scraps and seeds. Once you leave the city, though, the echo bird population tapers off within five miles, and the only specimens anywhere else in the world have glass eyes and are wired to their perches.Saints of San Axolotl in Fantasy More Like This
Echo birds are not mimics. There are all kinds of mimics in the bird kingdom, from the pygmy mynah to the rare and savage Cassowary Macaw, whose repertoire generally consists of the screams and curses of its last unfortunate victim. Mimicry is no longer a particularly impressive trick. Any old parrot, with time and patience, can learn to whistle the national anthem and make obscene comments, or both at the same time.
The echo bird, however, does something quite beyond mimicry. If you encounter an echo bird, all you will s
It Has Come To My AttentionIt has come to my attentionIt Has Come To My Attention in Free Verse More Like This
that people like me
are generally not welcome in fairy tales.
It's the talking birds that do it.
The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning
it's all over
down at the first hurdle
The body in the fifty-fathom well
will have to wait
the old woman turned into a hare
the murdered mother in the juniper tree
as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry
with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.
For this crime
I have been accused of a failure of wonder
of having chained up my inner child and sent her
to work in the salt mines.
But the truth
(if you really want to know)
is that I have read too many fairy tales
and lived a bit too long
to be surprised by anything that happens in
the cottages of lonely woodcutters.
I can even venture a guess
to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden
(my heart goes out to her)
and why, when the animal has saved your life,
you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.
These are o
IfIf pain was music how would it sound?If in Free Verse More Like This
If rage was a rope how would one be bound?
If love was a flavor how would it taste?
If hate was food how much would we waste?
If jealousy could be touched how would it feel?
If sadness was a perfume would it have appeal?
If anger was a liquid how hot would it be?
If death was a window what would we see?
Insanity's FaceSomewhere between dead hopes and dying dreamsInsanity's Face in Free Verse More Like This
Is a place where everything is exactly as it seems
A place where no flimsy platitudes are ever strung
And words are few as they burn the teller’s tongue
It is within this dark scorched and demonic place
That I discovered insanity wearing my own face
Screeching lunatic laughter from my own lips rejoiced
As if some inner rot had birthed and was given voice
Scratched and sliced from my own fingers’ bloody web
I tried to flee but I had already declared me dead
SaluteSaluteSalute in Free Verse More Like This
The texture of darkness heightens the pain
Jet spears of agony as brilliant as flame
There is no reprieve, no escape from the game
Twisted and tormented they all march the same
Thinking they are unique in human centuries of war
Fighting for what they don’t even understand any more
Violence for violence has made them death’s whore
Writhing in the blood and dirt at the enemy’s door
Alas history repeats like bullets vomiting spew
Humanity’s self-deception in protracted review
Declaring and chanting and proclaiming nothing new
This cause, like all others, fades in time’s endless brew
Scattering the AshesThese are but ashes of the whispers of deathScattering the Ashes in Free Verse More Like This
The purified remains from a last flaming breath
Winds bear you aloft in soft scattered streams
Taking you finally where you went in your dreams
Family and friends now turn mournfully away
Saying a last goodbye on this cool autumn day
One child stays hidden behind an old oak tree
Eyes wide with awe at what only she can see
As you soar freely over the forest-covered miles
Your soul is a rainbow of the brightest of smiles
SoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.7This is when it startsSoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.7 in Romance More Like This
From the beating of your heart
To the street lamps talk to you
Jumping off of the edge
Or asleep in your head
Everything's turning dark to you
I went to pick the up the parts
The doctors hiding the charts
He won't let me see this side of you
It's on the tip of my tongue
You know you're way too young
To have someone lie to you
"There better be a good reason for dragging us all round here, Soul " Black Star groaned, exhausted. I'd called him, Tsubaki, Liz and Patty round to mine and Maka's apartment, much to my meister's confusion.
I hadn't given her an explanation about the sonogram, just that it was important that the whole group-except Kid, of course-was there to hear it. She was still yet to realise what it was, and to be honest, I'd rather keep it that way, but I knew it was a matter of time before someone had to find out. Neither Kid nor I could suddenly appear one day holding a newborn and just come out and say it was ours, the shock
SoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.2How did we get here?SoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.2 in Romance More Like This
When I used to know you so well
How did we get here?
When I used to know you so well
I think I know
I think I know
There is something I see in you
It might kill me,
I want it to be true.
My brain felt as if it was trying to smash it's way through my skull.
All my joints were stiff, and I could taste vomit in my mouth.
Clothes were scattered all over the room, and furniture was either upturned, smashed or both.
As crunk as I've been before, I've never woke up like this.
I moved my hands to push myself up, and was mildly surprised when they made contact with hard, smooth porcelain.
Forcing my eyes into better focus, I realised that I was, in fact, lying in an empty bathtub, my pants halfway down my legs, and my shirt being used as a makeshift rope, tying my feet together.
Groaning, I sat up, blinking hard to try and erase the double vision I was now seeing.
Setting my clothes back to normal, I dangled one
SoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.8Can we work it out?SoulxKid: Just A Mistake P.8 in Romance More Like This
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better,
Mommy I'll do anything
Can we work it out?
Can we be a family?
I promise I'll be better,
Daddy please don't leave
The ivory keys sung under my fingers, their melodic cries echoing around the dimly-lit lounge and flooding through the audience's ears. It was me, alone, with nothing but the grand piano baring my soul for everyone to see. I could hear gasps of amazement, as the awed crowd admired my talent. It was nothing to be shocked about, in comparison to someone like Wes this was amateurish. His skills far surpass mine.
Minors and majors danced in a heated battle, their fluidity creating a tune both coated in melancholy and tinted with light joy. Long since had I abandoned the sheet music placed atop the keys; this was pure improvising.
I picked up to a crescendo as the song reached it's climax, the resonance filling the room to the brim with music. I wanted the audience all to hear it-what I f
1. The Black Rose1. The Black Rose in Free Verse More Like This
Out extended the unwelcome arm,
for my soul to take...
My shadow, with me, trembled,
knowing no way away,
from this inevitable ending of my own.
The pillars of my legs crumbled,
and down I fell...
The arm hesitated,
and to the side tilted the head,
from which came its orders.
Of golden bone was it made,
and its base disappeared
into the caverns its sleeve....
Shying from my sight.
The Robe was black
with a fine woven silk.
I beheld none but black,
and only by will
was any other sight
begotten to my terrified eyes.
Eyes of sapphire gazed down on me,
as my back fell to the ground in terror...
Paralyzed was I in the presence of Death,
But it made no haste against me.
"I am Time, just as history knows me."
He spoke as despondence dove to my ears.
To me did Death speak, as it always had,
but with gentle motion did it cry out...
Yelling to grasp my thought, as it knelt before me.
the leaves beneath it made no cries of pain...
as they were already dead, and decaying.
Again the sapphir
How to Fix The WorldHow to Fix The World in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
an execution, while play
The howling strings
Of the cellos
Of the veins
Of the time
To the discord
Are the who and what,
the how and the why
Ever lost to that
of the cords
of the strings
of the howling
"Fix this", they cry,
the masses whose
words fester and boil,
carried words, spoken indirect
of the leaders
of the struggles
of the home
of the brave
The final breath
of humanities dying words
"in ashes, from ashes"
She speaks, so melancholy
of the future
of the present
of the past
"World!" She pleads
with a cry, so finishing
"Heed and listen!"
To them she speaks
Of the necessary
of the desired
of the curses
of their blessings...
The Forward MovementThe Forward Movement in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Tragedy, abrupt to my very soul,
that left me far from whole.
The withered memory born unto my dreams again,
refreshed and once more binding me by chain.
The reopening scars I once upon a time, thought healed,
gape wide to open for the flood gates, red and revealed.
My witnessing eyes bleed out old tears from a rusted well,
Attempting again to put back out the fires of this age old Hell.
The rising waters find my feet and climb,
the two floods meet, where their cause is rhymed.
My heart from which the blood and tears flow,
now at where the pain does ever grow.
Close these outpouring wounds, build back up the walls...
Make for my feet, the forward movement from where my future calls.
Once again I will shed my skin,
leaving behind the marks of where I've been.
A Concrete RoseWithered bloom, it sits.A Concrete Rose in Free Verse More Like This
Daring all to move it---it sits.
Time has come, and told it, 'move on...'
And still...it sits.
Dying on the cold side walk,
Rose dares to bloom in death's doorway---
And still it sits upon bitter tears,
Of lovers' quarrels and forlorn years.
Concrete melody of a dying gasp
That rose withers, and withers until it...
How dare you tell the flower to give up its fight?
What right do you have, to tell it, 'that's not right...'
Do not go into that good night...
We are alike, you and I...
We'll fight a good fight.
Withered blood, rage against the coming dawn.
When broom sweep sweepers sweep you along---
Time may come, and time may shift...
But forever....your shadow shall forever...sit.
s7 - Love Her PiecesThere's this man, more of a boy really, who thinks it is his job to fix her. She doesn't want to be fixed, but this boy, he thinks he can. He thinks he can look into the cracks from where she withered into herself and corroded and he can replace all of the missing foundation. Simple as that, if he loved her, it'd be enough to open her eyes to beautiful, grander things. But the truth is that he can't do anything for her and that his pushing is just pointing out that she's not enough.s7 - Love Her Pieces in Short Stories More Like This
She's tired of trying to be something she's not and even at night when he's asleep, and she has her head on his chest, she's counting all the reasons he doesn't think she's good enough with his heartbeats.
He think he can fix her like all the good little boys always do. They come from well-adjusted homes and homes that have been sabotaged by life. They are modern day white knights. They try. They try with all their might to make things work with those broken women.
The thing is....she wants to rescue hersel
Fall.Fall in Typographical More Like This
We always fall
with each other.
And later, when
out of love
under her spell)
from the pedestal
you'd put me on.
from cloud n
Sacrifices: part 1Sacrifices: part 1 in Short Stories More Like This
Sacrifices Lockon x Tieria
Gundam 00 Oneshot Fanfiction
"All personnel, report to primary battle stations. The enemy team is nineteen machines equipped with pseudo solar reactors. The enemy has already found us."
With that one announcement from Miss Sumeragi, I knew that it was already over.
"Everyone, attack formation S-34," Lockon's voice told us from the communication line.
"... Yes, roger that."
I didn't know how many of the others noticed my hesitation. I still don't know to this day. Not that it really mattered, since there was no way of getting out of this fight.
The first attack was launched by the enemy, at me. I deployed my GN field, hoping that it would stop most of the attack, but the beam went straight through, scorching my machine and leaving me utterly confused.
"Wha... What? How did they break through the GN field...?" I gasped.
Little Red (Big Bad Wolf)Swathed in love and a ruby red cape,Little Red (Big Bad Wolf) in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I took to the woods to find my escape.
Enticed in a story of a faraway land,
I set out, a loaf of bread in hand.
Mother warned of a wolf, all fang and claw,
And told me, on my bones he would gnaw.
I laughed, too old for such childish tales.
But now the blackest night engulfs me,
Please, Mister Wolf, hear my plea
Little red, tell me, are you afraid?
Away from your home, you should not have strayed,
It's on girls like you that I prey,
The red of your cape is slipping away,
But please, little red, tell me,
Are you afraid?
The forest consumed me, soothing, like a drug,
Still, I couldn't help think of that wolfish thug,
Red against the trees, with blood they were stained,
Glistening as the moon waxed and waned,
I gazed up at the beauty of night,
Wondering how on earth I could feel fright,
In such a gorgeous wonderland.
But now the blackest night engulfs me,
Please, Mister Wolf, hear my plea
Little red, tell me, are you afraid?