Tag / fantasy

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 27: Sleepless in Tír na nÓg

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

The queens hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in over a month. No queen ever slept easy when their country was at war, but Fiadh and Mairead had another problem keeping them awake. A small, squirmy blond problem named Alexander. 

He’d always been a happy child, with a ready smile and a musical laugh. But then he’d fallen, and that cheerful, confident boy disappeared. It wasn’t surprising. He’d witnessed something that no child should see, trapped and alone. 

After that, Alex refused to be left alone for even a few minutes. When his mothers couldn’t spend time with him, he trailed behind his sister, Grainne. And if she couldn’t be with him, he’d go to the kitchens or follow the pages as they did their duties. 

Every night, Alex drank soporific tea to help him sleep. He would fall asleep peacefully in his own bed, then wake up screaming. The only way he could fall asleep again was snuggled between his parents, safe. 

It was getting to be a problem. 

Alex kicked in his sleep. He rolled. He slept sideways. 

And he still had nightmares. 

There was a tea for dreamless sleep, but it was a powerful blend, too stong for a child. If Alex drank too much, there was a chance that he’d be asleep for days. Fiadh had remarked that she and Mairead should down a few cups and actually get some rest. 

Then there was the matter of Grainne. She’s always been a serious girl, but she’d become sullen. She trained from dawn til dusk with any weapon she could get her hands on. She threw herself into magic practice, especially geomancy, which she’d always struggled with. 

As much as Fiadh and Mairead had tried to shield Alex and Gráinne from the war, it had found its way to them. And its touch had changed their children irrevocably. 

Things came to a head at breakfast one morning. “Mam and I need to leave for a few days,” Mairead announced. Alex and Gráinne looked up sharply. 

“We’re meeting with some potential allies,” Fiadh told them. 

“You can’t do that here?” Gráinne frowned. 

“This group hasn’t exactly been friendly with us in the past. It’s better to meet them on neutral ground,” Fiadh replied, then stabbed her sausage with such force that her fork scraped the bottom of her plate. 

“Better to have strange bedfellows than no bedfellows,” Mairead said. “Especially now. Uncle Lex is going to come stay with you for a few days.” 

Normally, they would have loved this. Uncle Lex spoiled the kids rotten and was something of a mischief-enabler for Alex. But at this announcement, Gráinne shoved her chair away from the table. “I’m going to the practice yard.” 

“Sit for a minute. Let’s talk about this,” Mairead started, but the princess was already gone. 

“I’ll grab her,” Fiadh offered, then started after Gráinne. 

Mairead looked across the table at Alex. He’d been voracious before, but now he stared at the food on his plate as if it were made of stone. “You know you’re safe here, right? Nothing will ever hurt you here. And Uncle Lex will keep you both safe.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. 

“Do you really hafta go?” Alex asked, still staring at his meal. 

“I can’t let Mam go alone. But I will miss you and your sister terribly, even if it’s only for a few days.” 

“Then don’t go.” 

Mairead let out a small, sad sigh. “I’m not worried, mo stór. And do you know why?”

Alex finally looked up. “Why?”

“Because I know you and your sister will look after each other.” She smiled. “Whatever happens.” 

“But I can’t fight like she does.” 

“Taking care of someone isn’t just about fighting. It’s about being there.” She scruffed Alex’s yellow hair. “Do you think you can do that for her?”

Alex nodded. “I think so.” 

“Good.” Mairead stood up and kissed Alex’s brow. “You didn’t finish your breakfast…but I think there’s a bit of apple tart left over from last night. Should we share it with Mam and Gráinne?”

Alex shook his head. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that had been absent for too long. “They can have cold breakfast.”

Yep, another one. But, hey, I’m caught up now! Poor young Puck (Alex) had a bit of a traumatizing incident with far-reaching consequences when he was young. There were a couple images in my head of him trying to sleep after, and the first one is in here. The second one will be in the next part. I don’t love dividing my stories for FFM into multiple parts, but at 600+ words I didn’t think I’d be able to give the final scene the room it deserved.

Also, it’s around this time in his life that Alex started to be called Puck. He’s not quite there yet, though.

Other FFM stories from this universe:

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield
FFM 8: Queen of Nothing
FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science
FFM 18: The Goddess in the River
FFM 24: Summer Blues

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 22: To My Daughter

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

To my daughter, on her fifteenth birthday, 

It is incredible to think of how much you’ve grown. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms and watching you take your first steps. I am sorry I can’t be with you to celebrate your special day. 

Fifteen is a momentous occasion for a young witch as yourself. You have watched me practice my magic for years. Now you take your first steps towards the true life of a witch. 

I am giving you your grandmother’s grimoire, as you will one day give your daughter mine. Learn from it, and grow in power and grace.

Much love to you on the auspicious day.

– Mother

#

Dear Mom,

Thanks for the gift. It’s really pretty. Are you sure this is grandma’s grimoire though? It just looks like a book on flower arranging.

Love,
Haven

P.S. I already told you I’m never having kids.

#

Sweet Haven,

Yes, that is your grandmother’s grimoire. Don’t you remember her lush gardens and gorgeous bouquets? Each flower was chosen specially and arranged just so for a purpose. Good luck bouquets for starting a new venture, a vase of herbs and flowers for health, and her special “something blue” for weddings. Follow one of her recipes and see what works for you. 

I miss you my darling. I hope to return before the year is out. 

Love, 
Mom

P.S. You’ll change your mind. 

#

Dear Mom, 

I tried one of Grandma’s bouquets for wealth with jade, lavender, and basil. It just made me sneeze. I did find twenty dollars in a pocket of my old jeans though, so maybe there’s something there? 

I might try to make a bouquet for good luck. 

Love,
Haven 

P.S. No, I won’t. I babysit Cooper every time he comes to visit and he’s a screaming tyrant. 

#

Darling Haven,

I hope you’re using your newly “blossoming” magic to help others. Witches wouldn’t survive in this world if we were selfish or unkind. 

Love,
Mother

P.S. Babysitting your five-year-old cousin is not equivalent to having and raising your own child. Your child will mean the world to you, more than you ever would think possible. There are difficult times, but the joy outweighs all of them. 

P.P.S. Unfortunately, I agree. Cooper is a screaming tyrant. 

#

Dear Mom,

I gave the bouquet to my friend Angela. She’s auditioning for the school play. 

Sincerely,
Haven 

P.S. I hear you, but I don’t want to have kids. It’s that simple. And if your kid is your whole wide world, why have I been living with Aunt Mercy for 8 months now??

#

Dear Haven, 

Please tell me the results. Will you audition for the play too?

Love,

Mom

P.S. I hear you, but I also must impress upon you the importance of carrying on our bloodline. There are few witches left in the world, and more and more magic becomes lost with each generation. That is why I’m traveling, and that is why Aunt Mercy is looking after you. As I have said, I plan to be home before the year is out and we can spend Yule together. I miss you. 

#

Mom,

Angela got the part. School plays aren’t my thing. I joined the cinema club. 

-Haven

P.S. Why does it have to be me to carry on the bloodline, though? I didn’t ask to be born a witch. No one told you I had to be an only child. There isn’t a prophecy about me or anything like that. There might not be a lot of witches, but there are still plenty of them in the world with daughters of their own. And maybe those daughters will have lots of other daughters. 

P.P.S. You didn’t think that helping your daughter learn witchcraft was witchy enough for you? So you left to find better witches? More witchy witches? 

#

Haven,

I’m so happy to hear that. Send her my regards. What movies will you be watching? 

– Mom

P.S. Because every bloodline is unique and powerful in its own way. We need to preserve that magical diversity. You are so incredibly special, even if you don’t feel it. 

P.P.S. Your comment hurt my feelings. I wish I was there to watch you. 

#

Mom,

We’re not watching movies. Movies are for kids. We’re watching films. We’re starting with Jaws. 

– Haven

P.S. You know you’re basically comparing me to a panda, right? 

P.P.S. Then why aren’t you? 

#

Dear Haven, 

I’m coming home. I won’t be able to stay long, but I’m so excited to see you, my darling. 

Love, 

Mom

#

Dear Mom,

I can’t wait! See you soon!

Love, 

Haven

Inside the envelope are three petals of a forget-me-not.

This was another challenge day!

Element 1: Write “Challenge me!” in the comments.

Element 2: Challenge other people by replying to their comment with a document type they must use as well as a topic that a document (of any type) in the story must cover. I was challenged by G. Deyke and got a grimoire and flower arranging.

Element 3: Choose one or more of the challenges you got and write an epistolary story using them.

This was also inspired by the novel Kiki’s Delivery Service by Eiko Kadono. It’s a bit different from the movie, but still utterly charming.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 18: The Goddess in the River

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

The air wasn’t as frigid as Rosalie thought it would be, but there was a sharpness to it. A wildness that was rarely found in the human world. The two women stood in a Carpathian mountain valley, the only mostly-human souls around. Green was starting to emerge from underneath the snow that had yet to melt away, but it would still be weeks before the wildflowers would bloom. “She’s here. If she’s anywhere, she’s here.” 

“That way.” Gráinne pointed to a spot where the snow had melted into a silver river. The rapid water splashed up on the banks, as though calling Gráinne and Rosalie to its edges. 

Rosalie looked over at Gráinne with wide eyes. “Can you…”

“I can try to call her. But she may not respond.” 

Rosalie nodded. “I know.” 

The young women knelt beside the water, never minding the mud and cold that seeped through their jeans. Gráinne dipped her hand into the icy water. She released her magic into the river, a soft moss green momentarily coloring the waters

The water flowed around Gráinne’s wrist, unchanged. They waited. Nothing. 

“Rose, I’m sorry. But she won’t come for me.” 

“It’s okay,” Rosalie said softly. 

But it wasn’t okay. Gráinne was next in line to the throne of Tír na nÓg. If even she couldn’t reach the goddess, there was no way Rosalie would be able to, either. 

Gráinne sighed and stood up. “Maybe we could make an offering?”

Rosalie didn’t move. “I don’t think a willing sacrifice is just gonna appear.” She trailed her fingertips along the edge of the water. 

“Please.” Rosalie trailed her fingers over the clear water. Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m not asking for much. Just a conversation.” 

A tear slipped down Rosalie’s cheek and fell into the water. 

The water stilled. Ripples spread outward, reaching across to the opposite bank. 

Rosalie held her breath. Light glittered off the surface of the water. It wasn’t sunlight – too cloudy for that – but came from underneath. 

The sparkles coalesced around Rosalie’s fingertips. They expanded, forming a face. It was neither old nor young, but her features were soft and kind. 

Rosalie exhaled. “Great-grandmother.” 

The face disappeared in a whirlpool. Rosalie let out a small cry. 

“Moya pravnuchka,” a voice like springwater rolling over pebbles said. Rosalie looked up. 

Berehynia stood in front of her, smiling down at the young woman. Rosalie didn’t speak Ukranianian, but she understood. My great-granddaughter. 

Rosalie got to her feet. She had waited for this moment for years, but now she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she wanted from this nature goddess, except to have Berehynia acknowledge her. 

Berehynia spoke first. “You are lovely.” 

Rosalie swallowed. “So are you.” 

“Your grandmother left this land long ago. Why are you here now?” 

Rosalie looked back at Gráinne for reassurance. Gráinne nodded and walked away to give them some privacy. 

“I wanted to meet you. And I hope that you want to meet me.” 

“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to meet you.” She brushed her delicate fingers over Rosalie’s cheek. “I have had many daughters, but your father was my first grandson. You are my first, and only, great-granddaughter.” 

Rosalie blinked, surprised. “‘Only?’”

Berehynia nodded. “Very few of my daughters have ever had children. But your grandmother was strong. She knew what she wanted, and she crossed the sea to have the life she dreamed of.” The goddess smiled. She wasn’t upset with her rebellious daughter. “Yet you’ve crossed it again, in the other direction.” 

“I…” Rosalie rubbed her hands on her thighs, her nervous quirk. “I thought if I met you, I might…understand myself better.”

“And do you?” Berehynia asked. 

“I don’t know,” Rosalie admitted. 

“You’re scared about your future, and the future of this world.” 

Something came loose in Rosalie. She started to burble everything out: wars, nuclear fallout, Agent Orange, the conflict in the Otherworld, how she had magic but not really, not in a powerful way that mattered. She talked about the boys in her classes and even some of her professors looked at her, like she wasn’t supposed to be there. Like she wasn’t just as smart and talented as they were. She talked about her dad and all the ways they didn’t understand each other anymore. When Rosalie finished, Berehynia was wiping away her great-granddaughter’s tears. 

“You are like me, malenʹka troyanda. You care until it hurts.” Berehynia took Rosalie’s hands in hers. “It is your weakness, and your strength.” 

Berehynia tucked a strand of Rosalie’s dark hair behind her ear. “You have so much compassion, little rose. Spare some for yourself.” 

Rosalie’s eyes watered again, for entirely different reasons. “Thank you, Great-Grandmother.” 

“I cannot be the mother you’re looking for,” Berehynia said. She looked toward Gráinne, standing at a distance. “But blood is not the only thing that makes a family. That girl is your friend, but she’s also your family, isn’t she?” 

Rosalie nodded. “Our parents are best friends. We call ourselves cousins.” 

“Good. Hold on to that. As for the rest…” Berehynia sighed, and it was the sigh of wind through the trees. “I feel your fears for this planet, too.” Berehynia spun, and her pale hair whirled around her. Colors appeared, green and purple tinged with brown, the dead rainbows of gasoline puddles. 

“No single person can heal the world. It takes many, many healers. You are one. You do not work alone, and you never will.” Berehynia held Rosalie’s face in her hands one last time. “I will not always be able to talk with you like this, but I carry you in my heart, little rose.” 

Berehynia kissed Rosalie’s forehead. When Rosalie opened her eyes, the goddess was gone. An otter stared at her from the riverbank, then dove under the water, and disappeared. 

After a silent moment, Rosalie went back to Gráinne. 

“Well?” Gráinne asked. 

Rosalie swiped at her eyes. “Thanks for bringing me, cos. I got what I needed.”

Oof, this was another one that initially clocked in at over 1000 words. Got it down to 999, though!

Rosalie and Gráinne are, once again, characters from my WIP novel. Rosalie is the “helper” character to Puck, Gráinne’s younger brother.

Berehynia (aka Bereginya) is a supernatural Slavic being. She’s often referred to as a goddess of nature and protection, but other sources describe her as a nature spirit.

More stories set in this universe:

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield
FFM 8: Queen of Nothing
FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 15: It’s Not Rocket Science

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

I was trying to pay attention to an article about building an electric generator when my slate got warm in my pocket. I pulled it out of my pocket, just a thin rectangle of brightly polished copper with a few words written on it. I recognized Theo’s handwriting before I even read the message. Can you come over? Stressed af.

I wasn’t getting anywhere in my work (if anything, it was putting me to sleep), and I knew how worn down final exams were making him. Can do, I replied. Set up the beacon.

It was a quick trip to Theo’s dorm room on Earth. After much hemming and hawing about transferring schools, he’d finally applied to Embry-Riddle. I might have come from a magical land, but Florida was a whole other universe compared to Buffalo. 

Theo barely looked up from his laptop when I arrived. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that,” I told him by way of greeting. 

He shut his laptop and turned to me. The worries in his face disappeared. “You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Because I don’t worry.” I grinned and took a seat on his bed. 

“Liar.” Theo sat next to me and poked the top of one of my slightly tapered ears. 

“Thank you for noticing.” Like a lot of people who have some Fae blood, lying isn’t easy for me. It took a lot of practice to get this good. “Are exams killing you?”

Theo buried his face in his hands. “Yes. A million times yes,” he groaned, his voice muffled. 

“Do you want to help me build a generator instead?” I asked hopefully. 

“For the last time, Alex, I’m not that kind of scientist.” He leaned against my side. 

This was the confusing part. Theo and I had been together, broken up, and now…now I wasn’t so sure what we were. It was something deeper than just friendship, but we weren’t lovers, either. Theo and I have always been pretty touchy with each other, even from the start. Not weird for Fae, but weird for humans, especially Americans. So I liked when he leaned into me, and he relaxed when I put my arm around his shoulders. I didn’t know what it all meant, and I don’t think Theo did, either. 

“Right, you’re a space man.” 

“Astrophyscist. Except I won’t be if I don’t graduate, and I’m not going to graduate because I’m going to fail my statistical physics class and end up living in a cardboard box holding a sign that says ‘will calculate for food.’” All his words came out in one breath. Theo pressed his forehead against my shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” I said in a soothing voice. I ran my fingers through Theo’s thick, dark hair. “You’re gonna pass. And then there’s only one semester left, you’ll graduate, start counting stars or launching rockets or whatever you do. And I’ll brag that I know the guy who sent a satellite to Uranus.”

We both laughed at the dumb joke. It was always good to see Theo smile. He straightened up a little, then took my hand in his. “And you’ll have figured out how to build a magical power grid.”

“That, or I’ll have lost my mind working on it.”

He let go of my hand and stretched his arms over his head. “You’ll figure it out.” He lied down on his side, and gestured for me to join him. His twin bed was narrow, but I squeezed between him and the wall. 

We lay there together for a moment, our knees touching, so close that I could feel his breath on my face. Theo took my hand again, rubbing his thumb over mine. “Tell me more about this future where it’s just you and me and everything’s okay.”

“No math,” I promised. “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, kill some monsters, fall in love.” 

“You’re not exactly a monster slayer.” 

“No, I’ll leave that part up to you.” You’d think the magical half-Fae prince would be decent with a sword, but it turns out a pissed off and confused human can be more useful than a trained warrior when you’re in a tight spot. 

“And the ‘fall in love’ part?” Theo asked. 

My heart stopped for a second. I was the one who broke up with him. I needed time to learn how to be a whole person, not just the Trickster Prince who’d hid behind a mask of pranks and games. It was a fun mask, but a mask nonetheless. 

Theo’s eyes were beautiful, dark brown flecked with gold. 

“Already there,” I said in a whisper. “You?”

Theo raised my hand to his lips. “And I never left.”

Surprise! You’ve been pronouncing Theo wrong. This Theo uses the French pronunciation, which is Tee-oh. He has Lebanese heritage, and there’s a big French influence in Lebanon, particularly among Maronite Catholics. Or, as I like to say, “it’s French because he’s Lebanese.”

Here’s another pair of characters from my novel, Prince Alexander, better known as Puck, and his boyfriend(?) Theo. This story would take place a few years after the novel, with Theo getting close to graduating from college. I chose to write from Puck’s first-person POV, since that’s how I’m writing the novel. Puck is also one of Mairead and Fiadh’s kids and Korbyn’s cousin.

This is also a challenge!

Element 1: We love prompts (and would love it if you fed more of them to us ;)). Today, we want you to pick a prompt from the Prompt Bank 2025. Any prompt, any number of them as long as the number is at least 1. Difficulty choosing? Let the 2025 Prompt Generator make the choice for you!

I used two prompts from bunnythewriter: (not the exact wording, but close enough!)

“Tell me more about this future, where it’s just you and me and everything is finally okay.” and “We’ll go on our gay little adventures, y’know fall in love, kill some monsters.” because it was such a Puck response.

Element 2: We would also like your wordcount to be palindromic (that is, one that reads the same backwards as forwards, such as 121 or 747 or 666). Why? We just think they [palindromes] are neat. This story is 787 words.

Optional element: include a generator of any kind in your story. Done! Puck would love to bring modern technology to the Otherworld, but the problem is that smartphones can’t run on magic…or can they?

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 14: She stays away from Cabin 7

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

There’s always a stir when a new camper arrives, and for a long time Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke’s grand entrance to Camp Half-Blood was the most exciting thing to ever happen. Then this Percy Jackson kid showed up. 

New arrivals are always exciting, and there was a lot of speculation about who Percy really was. He settled in the Hermes cabin with the rest of us for a while, but we would gossip about him whenever he was out of sight. 

“Did you see what he did to the bathrooms? He’s probably Posedien’s son,” I said. 

My friend Dani scoffed. “Come on. You know the Big Three can’t have kids anymore.” 

Then, when he, Annabeth, and Grover all went off on their quest for the stolen Master Bolt, I had a hunch they were going in the wrong direction. Hermes was the god of thieves, after all. It would make sense that he had some hand in this. “What if it was someone from our cabin?” I suggested. “I like Luke, but he’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s crafty enough to do it.” 

“Gods,” Dani sighed. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Cassandra.”

IYKYK.

For those who don’t know: In Greek mythology, Cassandra was cursed by Apollo to give true prophecies, but no one would believe her. I’ve since been converted to a Percy Jackson fan, and thought it would be funny to have Cassandra as a camper. I thought about doing a vignette for each book in the first series, but it would all be kind of the same: “I bet that at least part of the Great Prophecy is about Luke.”
“Oh my gods, Cassandra, you’re such a liar.”

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 8: Queen of Nothing

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of the story.

You don’t usually get a choice of where to go when you’re exiled. You just leave in a hurry. Maybe I’m lucky in that regard. I could choose Dublin, or Niagara Falls. Two very different places, but both easily within the queens’ reaches, and filled with their allies.

I chose Niagara Falls. It remains a place of power, despite humans’ many attempts to tame it. It wasn’t the magic alone that made me choose it. I wanted to see the place my antín and her human fell in love, touch the wild waters that had saved her life.

Mamó should have let Antín Fiadh and her human stay here. If she had, my mother would be on the throne now, instead of in a grave. 

My first friends were the crows. I would sit by the water and toss them bread, hoping that one of them might be the Morrigan. I had a quixotic dream that the war goddess would find me and bring me home, raining fire and destruction down on the usurpers. She never came, of course. The gods rarely took sides in Otherworld conflicts anymore; one of them coming to the mortal realm was unthinkable. 

Crows possess many admirable traits. They’re intelligent, grateful, and vindictive. That makes for an excellent friendship. They brought me gifts – shiny tin foil, lost toys, even money on occasion. But their greatest gift to me was a path forward. 

It came to me in the shape of a young man, not human, but not Fae, either. The birds didn’t scatter when he approached, but flew to my shoulders and the bench. Staying close to me.

“Hi. I’ve seen you here a lot. I thought I’d introduce myself.” He waved. “I’m Paul.”

I wasn’t afraid, but I was cautious. “You’ve noticed me?” 

“I thought you might be…” he lowered his voice. “One of us?”

His glamour was weak. He looked human enough, but I could see the shimmer of a tufted tail he wasn’t entirely able to hide. I silently debated what I would tell him. If he was one of Antín Fiadh’s spies, he was doing a poor job of it. 

“Who’s ‘us’?” I asked. 

“You know…Gestalts. Us.” 

Gestalts – people with a mix of human and Fae blood. There were few in Tír na nÓg. The only two I knew of were Antín Fiadh’s children. That alone might have made me distrustful of Paul, but my loneliness was stronger than my caution. I hadn’t just lost my family. I’d lost my entire world. 

“You’re right,” I told him. “I am like you.” I didn’t give him my true name. Even in the mortal realm, names have power. Instead, I took inspiration from my avian friends. “Call me Korbyn.” 

We started meeting regularly, and soon Paul introduced me to his other Gestalt friends. “There’s a lot of people like us around. You just have to know where to look,” he told me. 

Things started to get easier. I still wept for my mother, meeting others with Fae blood eased my inner turmoil somewhat. I wasn’t happy, exactly, but I was finding my place, and there was comfort with my new friends. I started thinking that I might be able to make a life for myself in this world. I wouldn’t forget who I was or where I came from, but maybe I could make a future here. 

Until the day I saw them. Princess Gráinne and her younger brother, Alexander, walking through the park with their cousin-by-friendship. They were all laughing. They didn’t even notice me when they walked by. 

I felt the injustice of it all hit like a physical blow. The princess and prince still had their family. They could go between worlds anytime they chose. I had lost all of that because of who my mother was. 

I watched the prince as he passed by, and a realization struck me. I’d always thought that I had not been executed alongside my mother out of mercy. I was still young, and had no hand in her rebellion. But now, I understood the truth. 

The queens had no spare. 

Gráinne would be in line for the throne after her parents, but inheritance was strictly matrilineal. Alexander would never be king in his own right. If something happened to Gráinne…

The crown would fall to me. 

But how? How could I make it happen? 

The answer came to me the next night, when I was at a party with my friends. I was hardly in a festive mood, but I went anyway. As the night went on, Paul and I ended up next to each other on the couch. He’d drank too much, a plastic cup still in his hand. “Korbyn,” He mumbled, and rested his head on my shoulder. “Why do you feel like home?” 

I threaded my fingers through his wheat-colored hair. “Have you ever been to the Otherworld?” 

“You can’t get there from here,” he slurred. “I want to go. Everyone wants to go.” He looked up at me with glassy eyes. “How can you be homesick for a place you’ve never been?”

“I might know a way,” I said. “But it would take work. A lot of work.”

Paul tried to straighten up to show he was serious. “I can do the work.”

A slow smile uncurled across my face. Paul would be my first. There would be many, many others. 

Today’s challenge: bring forth the dice!

Element 1: Write a story centered around royalty.

Element 2: Roll a six-sided die. Can’t roll a physical one due to your location and/or lack of immediate access to one? No need to worry; we have digital dice too. The number you roll determines your protagonist’s station in the royal family as per the following list:

  • 1-2: The ruling monarch (e.g. king or queen)
  • 3-4: The heir to the throne (e.g. crown prince or crown princess)
  • 5-6: The heir next in line for the throne after the above heir (e.g. the lastborn child of the ruling monarch)

I rolled a 6, so the heir next in line after the previous heir. The royalty aspect of the story was easy to figure out, since the novel I’m working on is about a royal family. Yup, Gráinne’s and Alexander’s parents are Fiadh and Mairead! Korbyn (real name withheld for Fae reasons) is Fiadh’s niece and would be next in line for the throne of something terrible happens to Gráinne.

Korbyn would like to be that terrible thing.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 5: Guardian of the Gate

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes at the end of this story.

The left head was already slavering. “Let’s eat the mite,” it growled. It inhaled deeply. The scent of the living was rare at the gates of Hades. The mortal squirming beneath Cereberus’s clawed foot gave off an intoxicating smell. The mortal’s fear and desperation only added to the aromatic bouquet. The left head licked the sobbing human’s leg. “Then we leave the gates, and hunt more! We will feast!” 

“Why would a living mortal wish to enter our domain?” The right head snuffled. “This one is only here to find his wife and child. Yes, he was bold enough to attempt to sneak past us, but he came here in pain. Can we add to his suffering, when he’s suffered so much already? He will come to Hades eventually. Raise our foot, and let him leave for now.” 

The right and left looked to the center head. That was the one who made the final decisions, and would decide whether or not to raise Cerberus’s mighty paw and release the mortal. “No living mortal may enter our domain,” the center head barked.  “But this one may not deserve to be devoured just yet. We will raise our foot and let him leave…but he doesn’t need both legs.” 

Today’s challenge was the dreaded 369er! I went with the Greek myth of Cerberus, obviously…but the evolution comes in the form of Cerberus’s heads. Each head represents one of the Freudian concepts of the id, ego, or superego. Since the ego works to balance the wants of the id and superego, it’s the center head, and has control of Cerberus’s body.

Element 1: Today, we would like your story to have a specific theme: evolution of a (real-life or fictional) myth. Please tell in the story’s description which myth you picked or created!

Element 2: We also want a specific format for today’s story: 369er – in other words, 3 interconnected 69-word stories.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 3: Love is a Battlefield

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July.

Name pronunciation:

Fiadh – Fee-uh
Onóra – Oh-nor-uh
Mairead – Mahr-ee-ed
Caoimhe – Kee-vah

More notes on this story are at the end of the post.

“Fiadh, be sensible.” Onóra finished tying her younger sister’s hair into a series of knots and braids. “You might love a human, but you’ll never be allowed to marry one.” She opened Fiadh’s jewelry box to find baubles for her sister’s horns. “Ugh–what’s this?” 

Onóra pinched a long piece of fabric between her thumb and forefinger. It might have been white once, but was stained with sweat and dark splotches of blood. “Mairead made it for me,” Fiadh replied with a smile. “One of my hand wraps. I still prefer bare-knuckle, but she insisted. I was afraid that it would make my punches too soft.” She formed a fist. “It didn’t.”

“Well, those days are over.” Onóra dropped the wrap on the floor and found some bells for Fiadh’s antlers. “You’re next in line for the throne now. If you keep going like this, both you and Mairead are going to get hurt.”

Fiadh glanced at the wrap. “We’ve both already been hurt. I’m not giving her up. Not for anything.” 

The ball was beautiful, as always. Food and wine were plentiful, as were Fiadh’s suitors. Men and women alike had traveled far for the promise of a dance with the eventual queen. Each partner was more tedious than the last. It was like they had all read from the same “How to Woo a Princess” handbook, feeding her the same praise again and again. Every so often someone would add in something about what their clan could offer the crown.

Fiadh knew that fending off so many potential mates would be irritating, but she hadn’t expected it to be so boring. They would give her gems and dote on her, when what she wanted was a woman who made hand wraps and challenged her. 

She stopped mid-dance with a handsome púca. At least, they might have been handsome. It wasn’t easy to tell with shapeshifters. “Pardon me. I must speak with my mother.” 

Fiadh rarely asked Queen Caoimhe permission for anything, and her request shocked her mother. Caoimhe nearly refused, until Fiadh swore that she would be true to her word. Only then did the queen allow Fiadh to make her announcement. 

The music stopped, and Fiadh called for attention. “I know many of you have come seeking my hand. Your words are kind, but they do not easily sway me. I believe in action. I will only marry someone who can defeat me in unarmed combat. No weapons, no befuddling magic, just a good fight.

“Anyone who wishes to challenge me, come to the training yard at dawn.” 

Eight challengers lined up on the edge of the sparring ring. Her first opponent was Aos Sí like her, but a muscled warrior with fists like stones. They would feel like boulders if they hit her. 

So she wouldn’t get hit. 

Fiadh’s opponent had the advantage in size, but she was faster. She dodged his first swings, then threw a jab to his face. He caught her fist in his massive hand, but not the hook that came for his side. Fiadh moved in. Her foe couldn’t adapt quickly enough to avoid the battering that Fiadh was giving him. If he tried to punch, she slipped out of reach and countered with an uppercut. 

He finally surrendered. Fiadh grinned at her audience. “Right, who’s next?” 

By the fifth bout, Fiadh was getting worn down. By the sixth one, she was making mistakes. She’d beaten her opponent again, but she had a bloody nose and bloodier knuckles. 

Fiadh caught her breath and gestured for her next suitor to come forward: the same púca that she’d cut her dance short with. Fiadh licked her lips. Even at full strength, a shapeshifter would be difficult to deal with. Fiadh had barred magic that affected the senses from the matches, but anything that altered the participants’ bodies was fair game. 

“Another dance, Your Highness?” The púca bowed and looked up to give her a coy smile.

“Gladly.” 

The two fighters circled each other for a moment, sizing the other up. Fiadh made the first move, feinting to the left then striking with a jab to the right. The púca responded instantly, slamming a fist into her side. For a minute they exchanged blows with equal fury. An unexpected hit to Fiadh’s jaw sent her sprawling. 

She gasped. No one had ever knocked her down in a fight before. As she got to her knees, she saw that the púca had partially shifted. Their arms and hands were thick as an ape’s, packing more power with each punch than before. 

Fiadh didn’t stand. She put her hands on the ground changed. Her limbs lengthened; dark hair sprouted along her body. Her antlers enlarged and flattened, until she’d taken on another form: the Irish Elk. 

The púca barely had time to react before Fiadh swept them up with her antlers. She tossed the púca to the ground, not quite gently, and rested a massive hoof on their chest. Not enough to hurt, but enough that they would feel its pressure. 

The púca surrendered. 

Fiadh gave a short victory bugle. She snorted and stomped her hoof, awaiting her next opponent.

No one moved. Then a hooded figure stepped forward. The challenger held out a hand, and Fiadh touched her nose to it and inhaled. She stomped her hoof again, indicating she was ready for the final fight. 

The challenger tapped Fiadh on the nose. 

Fiadh wobbled where she stood, then collapsed. Her elk form melted away as she cried out, “I’ve been defeated! I’ve been bested!” 

The crowd gasped, and all eyes went to the stranger. She pulled the hood away from her face. A face that was utterly, utterly human. The woman helped Fiadh to her feet.

Fiadh grabbed the woman’s hand and raised both of theirs in the air. “Meet my betrothed: Lady Mairead!” 

The uproar was instantaneous. Queen Caoimhe’s face was red with rage, while Onóra just looked shocked…and then started applauding. 

Mairead kissed Fiadh’s cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Why didn’t you wear the wraps?” 

They’re baaaaack! Fiadh and Mairead are characters from the novel I’m currently writing. They’re the main character’s parents. They’re both dead by the time the novel starts, but they have such a fun (and long) backstory that I’ve been writing pieces of it for FFM. There were a few stories about Fiadh, Mairead, and their kids last year. I’ve had a lot of fun writing these “bonus stories” that take place before the novel starts, so I’ll probably have a few more of them this year.

This story was also inspired by the Khutulun. Legend says that she was a great wrestler and would only marry a many who could defeat her. Any losers had to give her a horse. According to some stories, she had 50 horses before she had a husband. Good for you, girl.

This is also for today’s challenge: I Cannot Use That.

Element 1: Pick an item you have interacted with today. Its size, function, location or current state of existence do not matter. What matters is that you have interacted with it today and that you include said item in your story. – the hand wraps

Element 2: That said, your protagonist is not allowed to use the item you chose at all in the story. The reason why is up to you.

Element 3: As tempting as it would be to allow for the briefest of “I cannot use that” shenanigans, we are rather hungry for words after a long hibernation. Your story must be at minimum 300 words long. Because it’s day 3 and this is element number 3, you know? – this was the easiest one for me to do!

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 1: Spider Whelp

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes are at the end of the story.

“A ring of disguise. I know you have one.” 

“Thought you might be coming here, spider-whelp.” The human woman said. “Your kind never gets far on their own.”

“They are not my kind.”

The human grinned, baring a broken tooth. “I’ve heard differently.” 

Shoved against the wall, knife to his throat. “Let’s see what you’re hiding under here.” Calloused hands tore the hat off his head. Moonlight white hair spilled down to his chin. 

“That’s what I thought.” The point of the high elf’s blade trailed across flesh, to the spider insignia that stained the drow’s flesh. The high elf elicited a hiss. “You’ve been marked.” 

“I know you’re good,” the human continued. “You’ve killed plenty of my guys. But plenty of the other side’s guys, too. Keep going like that, you’ll be dead before the month is out.” 

There was an understanding between the drow and whoever hired him. He would kill no women, and his loyalty after the job was done was malleable. Most thought he was worth the price anyway.

“I have money,” he told the human. 

“I know. You’ve gotten plenty of it from me. I don’t want your money,” she replied.

The drow scoffed. “All anyone wants in this city is money.” 

“The ring has a price, but it’s not measured in gold.” She fished it from her pocket, a copper band with a tiny glass mirror where a stone would be.

 The drow’s red eyes gleamed. “What is it then?”

“You work for me. Exclusively.”

A mass of bodies under the earth, chanting and calling out to their goddess. They were divided, the men and the women, praising their true queen.

Silver webs shone against the dark, and Lolth came to them. Her many eyes swept over the mass of her worshippers. She picked from the women first, Her newest clerics.

Then, the men. Praying, but not daring to hope that the Queen of Darkness would deign to bless them.

She chose him.

He would not raise a hand to a woman, not even to this one, who both deserved it and had what he most wished for in the world.

But the price was too high.

“I work for no one but myself.” He took a step back.

“That’s what I thought you might say.” 

She drew her sword.

The burst of dark energy had slain the high elf before he could draw the drow’s blood. He had slain many others in the same way. 

With each spell, he could only hope that Lolth did not feel him drawing on Her power. Let her forget about him, and the gift she had given him. She had many, many others to do her bidding. Let him disappear into the crowd again. 

He could feel that borrowed power tingling at his fingertips now. He would not use it.

The drow fled. 

FFM #1 Challenge! Write a story with a nonlinear narrative.

I was really stuck on this one at first. Then I remembered I play DnD, and I have a character for an upcoming campaign that needs a backstory. The character in question is a male drow warlock, who came to Waterdeep from the Underdark. He’s really hoping that Lolth will just forget about him and let him figure out how to be a person.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 12: The Blacksmith and the Lover

Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models

July is Flash Fiction Month! I’ll be sharing short short stories here through the month of July. More notes can be found at the end of this story.

“You know you are not to come in here.” The blacksmith set his hammer down on his anvil. His dark eyes glowed in the firelight of the forge.

“You humiliated me.” Tears streaked down Aphrodite’s face. Even in a fury, the goddess remained beautiful. It was the beauty of an erupting volcano, spewing vermillion and gold lava and flames in a display that even the gods would envy. Her anger was heart-stopping, breathtaking, and dangerous to all who stood in its path.

“You have humiliated me many times before, my beauty,” Hephaestus replied in his gravelly voice. “I have been faithful to you. All I asked is that you extend me the same courtesy.” 

“Because no one else would have you!” Even Aphrodite’s angry shriek was strangely beautiful, like a high-pitched note sung exactly right. “Your own mother was disgusted by you!” 

The flames erupted around the mismatched pair, turning the air around them molten. Sparks leapt and caught on Aphrodite’s gown, so sheer that Hephaestus could see her unblemished skin. Skin that he so longed to touch, but she never let his coarse, dirty hands near her. That only enraged him more, knowing how freely she gave herself to Ares whenever she wished it. 

Aphrodite batted at the flames. The door to the forge opened again. A small girl, who came up no taller than Hephaestus’s knee, entered. She was pale and pure as fresh snow. She shared her mother’s opalescent eyes, but unlike Aphrodite, there was no cruelty in them. 

Hephaestus closed his hand into a fist, smothering the all the flames in the forge. With some difficulty, he knelt to speak to the girl. “Harmonia, why are you here?” 

“I’m sorry for interrupting your work, my Lord Hephaestus,” she said with a tiny bow. “I came to find my mother. I had a stomachache.” She rubbed her abdomen. 

Hephaestus and Aphrodite’s eyes met. The child had felt their conflict. Yet, just by being here, she had begun to soothe their anger. 

“Aphrodite, there’s a bin on my workbench. Will you bring it to me?”

Without a word, the goddess did so. Hephaestus offered it to Harmonia. “Look what I’ve made for you.” The girl eagerly accepted the wind-up toys and tiny automaton that danced on her hand. 

Painfully, Hephaestus rose. He sank into the chair he kept beside his anvil with a relieved sigh. “She is truly your finest creation.” 

Aphrodite smiled at the girl, who was utterly absorbed with a wind-up crab. “Best not let Eros hear that.” There was no place for her to sit, so she leaned against Hephaestus’s anvil. “You truly are a magnificent craftsman.” 

Hephaestus grunted. “It is all I can give to Olympus. I know had you been given a choice, you would not have taken me.” He looked down at his twisted foot. “Nor would I have blamed you. This will not surprise you, but I would have chosen you every time.” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “As would any god or mortal man.” 

“I cannot go against my nature anymore than you can,” Aphrodite replied. 

“I will never give my approval to your meetings with Ares, but I know asking you to stop would be like asking the wind not to blow. Now that all of Olympus knows, I ask for your discretion.” 

A rosy pink tinted Aphrodite’s cheeks. “You will have it, husband, as long as I have your kindness.” 

“You will, my beauty.” 

“Thank you.” Aphrodite took Hephaestus’s hand.

I’ve always loved Greek mythology, and Hephaestus has become one of my favorite Olympians. It’s not just because of all the cool stuff he’s made (though he’s made like 90% of important mythological artifacts), but also because he’s perpetually the underdog of the 12 Olympians, and, unlike most Greek gods, actually forgave Hera for literally throwing him off Mt. Olympus. Most Greek gods take the “You think you can weave better than me? You’re a spider now” route.

Harmonia is one of the lesser known Greek goddesses, and Ares and Aphrodite’s daughter. She is the goddess of, well, harmony, and smoothing over strife. I’m also ignoring the myth of Harmonia’s cursed necklace/cloak. I figure if all those other Greek myth retellings can mess with the original stories, so can I.

I have one more story featuring Hephaestus and Harmonia coming up sometime this month.