Tag / flash fiction month 2025

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 11: OPERATION HIVEBREAKER

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.

OPERATION HIVEBREAKER

BACKGROUND: 

Planet 347-cΦ is a Goldilocks-type planet in the Steorro System. Its sole intelligent inhabitants are the insectoid species Apidaar. Apidaar are divided into two sexes, male and female. Strict sex roles are maintained in their species. Males are scouts, and females are warriors. Apidaar do not possess interplanetary technology, including interplanetary weaponry. 

All Apidaar respond to a colony queen. The queen controls her subjects through a combination of pheromones and psionics. There are three (3) major colonies active on Planet 347-cΦ at the time of writing.

Planet 347-cΦ has a high mineral yield of anti-rhodonite that has not been accessed by the Apidaar. Its old growth forests have large amounts of lightning wood trees. Both materials are rare and have many industrial uses, including fabricating interstellar ships. 

RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:

Deploy oxygen bombs in the upper atmosphere of Planet 347-cΦ, centered on the three Apidaar colonies. These will disrupt the biological functions of the Apidaar. Once inside the colony, a team of constructs will deploy cyfluthrin gas to destroy the queen, queensguard, and breeding males. One royal larva will be taken from each colony. 

RISKS:

Equipment failure – if the oxygen bombs do not deploy correctly, a ground fight will be difficult to win, even with conventional weaponry.

Retaliation – Any surviving queen may choose to retaliate against the Planetary Collective.

Public Perception – Attacking Planet 347-cΦ unprovoked may be viewed as an act of aggressive imperialism, which will result in bad publicity and lack of support.

From the Director of the Office of Material Resources: 

Planet 347-cΦ is not a member of the Planetary Collective so we don’t need to worry about the legalities of attacking it. There’s a Collective diplomat and a couple anthropologists on the planet now. Kill them, blame it on the Apidaar, we’ll get this rolling. 

-MRD, approved 2XXX – 08 – 36

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 10: Urbn Xplorerzz

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. Warning for strong language. More notes at the end of the story.

Makeup, lights, Evan in place, let’s do this. 

“Yo yo yo, what up squad fam it’s ya boi, Candlefüt and today we are splorin’ this crazy gh-gh-gh-ost town!!”

Perfect spot for airhorn sirens. Can’t wait to see some of the graphics for this. 

“Old Goose Meadow was a gold mining town waaaay back in the day.” 

Was it gold? Or was it zinc? Don’t remember. Whatever, everyone knows what gold is. The fuck even is zinc? 

“There was a huge-ass mine collapse and tons of miners died. The bodies were never brought to the surface, so the mine became their grave.”

Isn’t there more zinc in pennies than copper now? Something like that? Whatever, I’ll look it up later. Here’s the entrance. 

“BUT the mining didn’t stop, yo. Me and my team found an open shaft that might even lead us to their mass grave.” 

Give them the look, insert boom sound effect here, add some spooky music and effects. Damn, this place is darker than I thought. Who was in charge of setting up the lights? ‘Cause they didn’t do jack shit!

“Okay, I only got my flashlight. I’ll probably lose signal once I’m underground. And I’ll be truly, truly alone. I got a GPS tracker so hopefully if something goes wrong my team can–what was that?”

What the fuck? Evan knows his cue, and this isn’t it. You start slow, then he builds up with the noises and shit, then the big reveal. He’s way too early. 

“Ha, ha, nothing at all. Hope it’s not the mine collapsing. Let’s keep going further in and–dude, check this shit out!” 

This was not part of the plan, but this is sweet af. Actual miner graffiti? Hellz yeah. 

“Someone would’ve gotten in big shit back in the day for saying something like this about the company. So probably he wrote it here to–”

Fuck, fuck, did something just run past me? How? Shit, dude. Calm down, calm down, it’s just Evan.

“Oh damn, the slope’s getting steeper. We’re seeing the last of daylight behind us and damn, the smell, yo, I wish you could smell this. I don’t know what gold smells like, but I don’t think it smells like this. It’s like…bad man. Rancid.”

Team didn’t warn me about this! 

Was this a bad idea?

“You hear that? All that echo? Can you imagine how loud it must have been when there were dozens of dudes here, swinging pick axes and shit? And–holy shit!”

Don’t panic, it’s just Evan doing his thing. Only Evan. 

“Now we’re into one of the big chambers, where the miners woulda–Did you see that?!”

Just Evan. Don’t let it get to you. Just–

It’s coming towards me. Evan’s supposed to stay off-screen. It’s cool, it’s all

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

“Evan, bro, don’t–”

THAT ISN’T EVAN HOLY SHIT FUCK I’M ABOUT TO DIE I’M COOKED I’M

Today’s Challenge: Scary Stream!

Element 1: Write a story in stream of consciousness.

Element 2: Make it a horror-genre story.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 9: You Gotta Love What You Do

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.

The key to avoiding burnout when you’re working for a non-profit is to find your Thing. You need something in your life that has nothing to do with your job. You don’t bring your Thing into work, work doesn’t come into your Thing. And for non-profit people like us, that can be a really hard thing to find. We’re so passionate about what we do that when we find something that’s just for us we want to share it. 

But take my friend Ty, for example. Works for the Down Syndrome Institute. Loves the people he serves, but the job can wear you down pretty damn fast. He was on the verge of quitting after a rough few months, but he stuck it out. He and his friend Joe started a podcast where they review potato chips. That’s it, that’s the whole show. It’s twenty minutes long, they have a couple hundred listeners, but it’s fun for them and keeps Ty sane and working. 

Or Nat, who’s the assistant director at the Lanceville Women’s Shelter. Talk about a tough job. She’s always loved theatre, though, so she decided to make that her Thing. She builds sets for community theatre groups. Gets to be creative, use her hands, and she really likes not being in charge.

Me? I work for a hospice center. Comforting families, helping ease people’s pain and letting them die peacefully. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever done. It’s also the most important. Because during the hardest moments of someone’s life, I bring them comfort. 

So this is my Thing. Right here. You, and me. Stop squirming. Those knots aren’t coming untied.

Crying won’t help you. I hear it enough.  

There won’t be any comfort here.

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 7: Questions on the Roof


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.

“Where have you been lately?” Violet asked. She and Dain were at their usual place, the rooftop of a closed tailor shop. It wasn’t uncommon to see people on rooftops, given that almost every Sylph had the ability to fly. 

“Working,” he replied with a shrug. 

“Uh-huh.” Violet cocked her head. “For who? Because I know it ain’t for Jax anymore.” 

“For myself.” 

Violet crossed her arms. “Really? After all we’ve gone through, you’re gonna lie to me now?” She pulled a slightly crumpled joint out of her pocket and stuck it between her lips. 

“Yep.” A tiny smile came over Dain’s face. Irritated seemed to be Violet’s default state. It was always fun to add to it. “I’m taking a break. I’ll get back to it soon.”

Violet’s dark eyes widened. “Shit, Dain. Someone’s got something on you.”

“No one’s got anything on me,” Dain snapped back, though the blue-gray feathers on his wings started to fluff up. “It’s just something I have to do.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Violet huffed, then stood up. “I’m off. Can’t risk being seen with you.”

Dain started after her. “Relax. It’s not like that, okay?” He couldn’t have his oldest friend leave him now. And especially couldn’t have her talking to his old crew that he was on someone else’s payroll. Jax might have tolerated Dain going solo for a time, but if he knew the truth, Dain was dead where he stood. 

“Then what is it like?” Violet propped her hand on her hip. Her sparrow wings were already spread, ready to take off. 

I’m working with the cops was the worst thing that Dain could say, but the partial truth he went with wasn’t that much better. “It’s a girl.”

That might have appeased anyone else, but he and Violet had done a little more than fly and smoke together multiple times in the past. No attachment beyond friendship, they’d said. But there were times when both of them hadn’t been good about following that rule. 

Violet folded her wings. “What’s her name?”

“It’s no one you know,” Dain replied. 

“Is she pretty?” Violet asked, walking back towards Dain. 

“Why do you want to know?” He frowned. 

“Just wondering who’s good looking enough to make you give up your livelihood.” 

She wasn’t jealous, Dain realized. Or, if she was, it was taking a backseat to Violet’s curiosity. She was still searching for information. “She’s pretty, she drives me crazy, I’m taking a break because it would be best for both of us. Happy?” 

“No.” Violet went back to the edge of the roof. “You’re throwing away everything for a girl? We’ve both done stupid things, but that might be the dumbest one I’ve ever heard.” 

Violet turned away before Dain could get a proper look at her face, but he heard it in her voice. “You’ve got talent, talent that people would kill for.”

“Oh, they’ve tried,” Dain said. 

“But a pair of big blue eyes comes along and–”

“They’re yellow.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

Violet spun on her heels. “She’s real?” 

Dain’s heart fluttered in his chest. Cordelia was very real. And her eyes were big. 

And she did, in fact, make him crazy. Not in the puppy love kind of way, but in an infuriating, self-righteous kind of way. Like how she just knew what he’d been through, and how he should have chosen another path. 

But she had listened when he set the record straight. And apologized. Cops didn’t apologize for anything, but she did.

It didn’t change the fact that she was always pushing him to do what she wanted, and she didn’t tolerate any bullshit from him and…

…and he kind of liked that he challenged her. 

But Dain especially couldn’t stand how she acted so tough with her magic powers and all, but was afraid of flying in open air. So he held her hand when they flew long distance sometimes, and it was nice that he could help her. 

“She’s not just real,” Violet said, her jaw dropping open slightly. “You’re in love.” 

“I’m not in love,” Dain shot back. 

“Now you’re lying to me.” Violet smirked. 

“Absolutely not. She’s pretty, sure, but she’s infuriating and she cares about everything so much and…”

And they did kiss once. Just once. But it was after the fire and their adrenaline was pumping and it was making them do crazy things. 

It had been a very good kiss, though. 

“There it is.”  Violet grinned as the realization washed over Dain’s face. 

Dain forced his expression into a grimace. “Get outta here.” 

Yes, he was in love with Cordelia. But that didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Today’s story was inspired by this prompt from bunnythewriter: Yes I’m in love with her, but I’m not HAPPY about it! 

See, Mom, I can write straight romance, too!

Dain and Cordelia are characters from a novel I’m taking a break on (read: it’s such a mess I can’t bear to look at). As you might have guessed, they have something of a rivalmance. Dain also made an appearance in my 2023 FFM.

I would really love to finish their story one day, but it needs a serious overhaul.

by booksoverlookedblog

FFM 6: Ringside

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. This is not the story I thought I’d be writing today, but it came to me on my commute and made me laugh, so I had to share.

“I dunno.” Amy propped a hand on her hip. “You look a little out of my weight class.” 

“C’mon.” Jay gave her his obnoxious half-smirk. “Boxing with me is like sex with me. Sweaty, intense, and you’re gonna be seeing stars.” 

Amy snorted. “Does it only last three minutes, too?” 

“Depends on who I’m sparring with. You think you’ve got the stamina to keep up?” 

Amy arched her brows. “Let’s glove up.” 

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 4: Easier to Remain Silent

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 book is called Two Boys Kissing. Do you really think that’s appropriate for a school library?” This mom was one of a dozen, standing in front of me with a written complaint for the school librarian. “And this one.” Her next book surprised me. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou. “And this one. Why do you allow pornography in our schools?”

“That’s actually a part of our curriculum. We use it in the seniors’ history class and–”

The mom threw the book down on my desk. “Disgusting. Disgusting.”

It was only two books. We had plenty of romance novels in the school library already, and the history department had loaner copies of Angelou’s biography. 

“Mom, you’re not thinking. If you look at the statistics, immigrants are actually less likely to commit crimes than–”

She cut me off with a glare. “They committed crimes when they snuck into this country.” 

“That’s really not how–”

“I worked my hands to the bone to give you a better life, and I’ll be damned if someone steals everything that we earned.” 

There was no arguing with her. I let it drop. 

The call came hours before school started. “Mrs. Harris was arrested.” 

“What?” I asked, trying to take in the news. 

“For distributing pornography to minors.” My principal rattled off a series of book titles: Drama, Melissa, It’s Not the Stork. More than I could remember. “This is serious. She might have to register as a sex offender.”

“By the way,” Mom told me. “Could you look into finding someone else to do the yardwork?”

“Someone else? What happened to Diego?” 

Mom looked down at her lap. “ICE.” 

“What the hell? He has a green card!”

“I know.”  She sighed. “He has two kids. I wish I could have done something.”

What can I do? I’m not a lawyer who could defend Mrs. Harris or get Diego out of detention. I’m just one person, one small person with no real power. Maybe if I had fought harder to keep those books, or tried to talk sense into people like mom, or…

Maybe nothing would have changed. 

But I could have fought, and made it a little harder for those big, sweeping powers to do harm. 

I don’t remember when I learned to swallow my own voice, but I know I’m tired of the aftertaste. 

I used the prompt “I don’t remember when I learned to swallow my own voice, but I know I’m tired of the aftertaste.” by Erica, from this year.

Stay safe. Keep fighting.

Project 2025 and Its Threat to Free Expression, Part 1 (PEN America)
Project 2025 and Its Threat to Free Expression, Part 2 (PEN America)
Project 2025 and Its Consequences for Libraries (EveryLibrary Institute, PDF)
Undocumented Immigrant Offending Rate Lower Than U.S.-Born Citizen Rate (National Institute of Justice [pdf])
Is There a Connection Between Undocumented Immigrants and Crime? (The Marshall Project)
Ask PolitiFact: What evidence does the government need to deport green card, visa holders? (PoltiFact)

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!