Fantasy
The Binding
Nightmares run in the family. I don’t speak much about them, or speak much at all. I know my captor’s foreign tongue, and can cipher and sum with the best of them. I simply have no need to brag like the lot of them, the pieces of limp, chewy seaweed that they are.
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silver Whistle - Episode Two (You might enjoy this more if you read episode one first.)
It's Tuesday night, and the regulars are back in. Frank notes the arrival of each one. After they have ordered a scotch from Penny at the bar, they trot to their usual space in the back room. The snooker table has been pushed aside this evening to make room for a round rickety number that is determined to wobble even with folded beer mats under every leg. A curtain seperates the smoky little den from the main bar. Rex deals the cards like he's born to it, but then, that's how he approches most things. Sarge looks as doleful as ever, but that's just his face. He might have a hand full of aces for all anyone knows. Bruno eyes his cards, trying to keep the tremor from his paws. This is not the kind of contest he is most used to. Nigel and Milo, on either side of him, look just as twitchy. A Doberman has joined them tonight. His cigar glowed, but if not for that, he could have been a statue. Toffee the corgi has an eye on the odds, as always. His stack of chips was pretty high. Then the door creaked. Four mastiffs walked in. Not barked. Not growled. Just walked... but with the slow, deliberate, tread of enormous paws. The floorboards squeaked in protest under the weight of muscle. They stood at the edge of the table, watching, their fawn coats gleaming in the lamplight. Except for the largest, whose brindle for was crisscrossed with a network of scars one scored his grizzled muzzle. None of them wore a hat, or a sweater, or even a collar. Frank nudged Penny to offer the newcomers drinks. Penny opened her mouth to remind him they'd never offered a table service, but saw the expression on his face, and bit her tongue. Back at the card table, Bruno did his best not to flinch. “You boys play?” The brindle mastiff stepped forward, his impressive collection of scars rippling and apparently crawling over each other. "We play." Toffee raised an eyebrow. “Buy-in’s steep.” The biggest mastiff curled his lip. He smelled offended. A heavy pouch dropped on the table with a lucrative-sounding thud-clink. The entire table swallowed. Between the smoke and the tension, you could have cut the air with a steak knife. "Well," said Nigel at last, "Deal them in." There was considerable creaking and scooching while the regulars made space for the new arrivals. The mastiffs took this as their due. They settled in, and subtly spread out. Like a middleaged man undoing the buttons on his trousers. The game shifted. The air thickened. Poor Bruno looked like he was about to vibrate right out of his seat. Milo looked like he was a whisker away from climbing across the table and taking all four mastiffs down several pegs. Outside, the wind picked up. It howled, as if it understood the tension creaking under the beams of Silver Whistle. Inside, the stakes changed. Toffee had folded, never a good sign. Worse, he'd packed up his stuff, tipped his hat respectfully, and left. He was not, for once, smiling. Milo's pile of chips shrank with every hand. "I don't know, gents," he said, his bravado dwindling just a fraction. I think this might be it for me. I'm all out." He turned his pockets inside out. They were, indeed, empty. "You got a basket, don't you?" "Well, now, fellas, I dunno..." Milo's brown ears flicked back, trembling. "I can't just.... I mean, Dom and Sally, they're nice folks, but they would definitely notice if a chap your size showed up... I mean, you and l, we look nothing alike, siri, if you get my meaning..." The rest of the table were deathly silent. No one panted. No one scratched. This was the closest Milo had ever come to admitting he was... well... not actually a big dog. The mastiffs waited, hulking in their seats. Milo's teeth showed for just a moment, then he shoved his chips into the middle of the table. *
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shadow of the Wolf King. AI-Generated.
The wind howled a mournful dirge across the frozen plains north of the Wall, a constant reminder of the Long Night that still clung to the edges of the world. In the heart of Winterfell, where the ancient stones had witnessed centuries of Stark resilience, a different kind of chill had settled – the icy grip of unease. Sansa Stark, Wardeness of the North, sat by the flickering hearth in her solar, the weight of leadership heavy upon her slender shoulders. The realm was at peace, for now, the threat of the White Walkers vanquished and the Iron Throne occupied by her brother, Bran the Broken. Yet, peace in Westeros was a fragile thing, like the thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake.
By Alpha Cortexabout a year ago in Fiction
Mall Mermaid
The mermaid world was a sparking place of vast waters with buildings made of pearls. Coretta and her pet catfish loved to swim the depths of the ocean finding little gems and shiny trinkets to add to their collections. They created jewelry and hair pieces from them. While Coretta was creating her wearable works of art, she sat on a little island and looked over upon the happenings of the human world. From her post, she was always excited to see inside the see-through mall bustling with people as they purchased new garments to wear every day. Coretta wished she could change the colors of her scales just the same. All she had was the art made of shells and pearls to express her style. "My dear kittyfish Cleo, if I could at least get my hands on the swimwear that is so beautiful," she told her cat while formulating a plan on how to shop at the mall.
By Seashell Harpspring about a year ago in Fiction
Beyond the Baby: Unveiling the True Face of the Biblical Cherubim
Beyond the Baby: Unveiling the True Face of the Biblical Cherubim When you hear the word "cherub," a single image likely comes to mind: a plump, rosy-cheeked baby with tiny wings, often seen in Renaissance art or on Valentine's Day cards. This cute, harmless figure is a cornerstone of popular culture, but it's a world away from the reality described in scripture. The true biblical cherub is a powerful, fearsome, and magnificent being, a high-ranking member of the angelic hierarchy.
By Sthephanieabout a year ago in Fiction
The Speakeasy Jazz Club
It is 1922. In a dimly lit, clandestine Speakeasy establishment, a scene enfolds in the hidden but lively social scene. Elegantly clad Clients enjoy drinks, music, and dancing as a jazz band plays in the smoky room. Welcome to Billingsley's fashionable Stork Club on West 58th Street. Women are attired in stylish flapper dresses, and mysterious dapper gentlemen enjoy a variety of drinks and cocktail concoctions in the relaxed and comfortable setting.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Third Sun
In the skies of Velora, a planet warmed by three radiant suns, light was life. The people built their homes, cities, and faiths around the celestial trio—Solari, Ember, and Veyra—each rising in a different part of the sky, bathing the world in constant glow.
By Solene Hartabout a year ago in Fiction
What If the Internet Died Tomorrow?
On a quiet Tuesday morning, the world blinked—and the internet was gone. No warning, no countdown, just silence. Phones became paperweights. Smart homes turned dumb. The stock market froze mid-tick. For a moment, it felt like the end of the world. But as the hours passed, something stranger happened: people looked up. They spoke. They gathered. And in the absence of the digital hum, a different kind of signal began to emerge—one made of voices, footsteps, and the rustle of paper maps.
By Liz Burtonabout a year ago in Fiction
