Fantasy
Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #42 Oh, for nice calm Rocks!
Dodge crouched low, sniffing at the ashy earth, boots kicking up faint wisps of soot. The Ember Root had to be here somewhere. Flora had been very clear— 'Find it. Bring it back. Don't get yourself killed.'
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
The Drawing of My Life
When I was a child, I believed that pencils held magic. Not the kind of magic that turned frogs into princes or moved mountains—but the quiet kind. The kind that turned thoughts into pictures, emotions into shapes, and silence into color. I didn’t speak much as a kid. While other children chased each other on the playground or shouted answers in class, I sat in the corner of my own world, sketching stick figures and stars on the backs of my notebooks.
By Esther Sunabout a year ago in Fiction
Mistress Nicotina and the Neo-Thule Society. Content Warning.
Goddess for Hire (3432) My name’s Anastasia, Anastasia Beaumont, my friends call me Tassy. I’m 24 and until recently I was convinced that I was a re-incarnated Second World War resistance fighter named Anna de Beauchamp.
By Edward Lockabout a year ago in Fiction
Dodge Tanner’s Highly Unrecommended Travelogue - #61 Air Boars and Thorny Regrets
Dodge was having a good day. Which meant something terrible was surely about to happen. The clearing was quiet, the breeze gentle, and he had just spotted the perfect specimen of Silverthorn—lush, sprawling vines wrapped around the edges of the glade like nature’s barbed wire. He pulled out his enchanted harvesting blade, whispered the obligatory 'please' (Flora swore it helped, and Dodge wasn't about to argue with thorn-related superstitions), and prepared to make his first cut.
By Canyon Cappola (TheNomad)about a year ago in Fiction
Good or Bad
It was the kind of morning that felt like a blank page. The sun rose soft and amber over the sleepy town of Willow Creek, painting golden stripes across rooftops, and chasing the mist from the cobbled streets. The air held that rare stillness that makes you feel like anything is possible.
By Ashley Anthonyabout a year ago in Fiction
Love in Aisle Nine, Forever in the Parking Lot
It started with a flat tire and a cart full of groceries. I had just finished shopping at Walmart, running on little sleep and a lot of anxiety. Life wasn’t exactly kind that week—my car payment was overdue, my boss had cut my hours, and I was trying to figure out how to stretch $37 into a week’s worth of meals. As I walked into the parking lot, I saw it: the front left tire, completely deflated. I stared at it, then at the sky, as if the universe might offer me an apology. It didn’t. Just more clouds. I dropped my bags in the trunk and sat on the curb beside the car, trying not to cry in public. That’s when I heard a voice. “You need help?” I looked up and saw him—ball cap, gray hoodie, a cart with two bags of cat food and a bouquet of discounted roses. He looked kind, the kind of kind that comes without pressure. “I don’t have a spare,” I admitted. “And I can’t afford a tow right now.” He crouched beside the tire. “I’ve got tools in my truck. And I’m not doing anything important. Let me see what I can do.” I didn’t know his name, but I let him help. Maybe because I was exhausted. Maybe because his voice didn’t sound like a threat. He worked quietly, asking only once if I had someone I could call. I shook my head. “It’s just me.” He nodded like he understood that kind of alone. While he patched the tire, we talked—just little things. He told me his name was Caleb, that he worked nights at a warehouse, and that he always bought his mom flowers on Sundays, even if they were from Walmart’s clearance bin. When he finished, I offered him the only thing I had—an awkward, grateful smile and a bottle of warm water from my backseat. He grinned. “You know… you’ve got this wild ‘everything’s-on-fire-but-I’m-still-standing’ look about you. It’s brave.” I laughed, the first real one in days. “Thanks. It’s my specialty.” We ended up talking for over an hour. He leaned against the hood of my car. I sat cross-legged on the pavement. A couple of strangers in a sea of shopping carts and tail lights. I found out he played guitar, used to dream of being in a band. I told him I used to write poetry but hadn’t touched a notebook in months. “You should,” he said. “Write again. I’d read your words.” Before we said goodbye, he reached into his cart and pulled out the roses. “Here,” he said, suddenly shy. “They were for my mom. But she’d probably prefer I gave them to someone who actually needed them today.” I tried to decline, but he insisted. So I took them—and wrote about them that night. And then the next night. And then a week later, after we’d met for coffee, and I realized I was smiling more than I had in months. Walmart’s parking lot became our place. Late-night meetups, talks about everything and nothing, sharing fries in the front seat. No pressure. Just something that felt like oxygen. Three months later, he kissed me in that same parking lot. Said he’d never believed in timing before, but now he did. That cracked pavement, littered with receipts and shopping carts, was where I started to breathe again. Where someone saw me—not as a problem to fix, but as a person worth knowing. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping romance. No candlelit dinners. No beach proposals. Just two people finding each other in a place no one looks for love—and that made it real. So Love doesn’t always arrive with grand gestures or perfect timing. Sometimes, it shows up beside a flat tire, under a fading sky, in a place as ordinary as a Walmart parking lot. And when it does, it reminds us that the most beautiful beginnings can come from the most unexpected places. #LoveInUnexpectedPlaces #WalmartLoveStory #AmericanRomance #RealLifeLove . #EverydayMoments . #LoveInTheUSA #ModernLoveStory
By Dr Gabriel about a year ago in Fiction
Razello and the Crystal of Aranthor Part 4:The Beast King's Rise
The winds of Windermoor hushed. Since Zarok's melancholic exit, the Crystal of Aranthor emitted a subtle pulse, heralding an impending but untamed presence. One morning, while Razello was beneath the crystal shrine, a rift split the sky open as if it were glass. From this rift surged fierce creatures and a golden mist filled with growls. Mira, Kael, Thorne, and Pip rushed to Razello's side, weapons drawn. A solitary lion-headed bird erupted from the portal, its magical feathers glimmering as its roar reverberated across the land. Before they could react, it conveyed a message—not with words, but with intent: > “He is coming.” The creature vanished, leaving a claw mark scorched into the ground—shaped like a crown. --- The group pursued the rift into the wild Realm of Thauron, a primordial wilderness untouched by time. Trees reached for blood-red moons, and mountains seemed animated as if the ground was scrutinizing them. Yet, Thauron was not desolate. Their first encounter was with the Vargkin, fierce hyena warriors attacking from all sides. Thorne took on three at once, roaring louder than them. Kael picked them off from the heights, while Mira's barriers held firm. Pip bit one on the tail, exclaiming, “Who's laughing now?!” But something felt off. These creatures showed signs of intelligence. They were coordinated and disciplined. “Someone’s training them,” Mira observed solemnly. They soon approached a colossal temple made of bone and stone: The Throne of Roars. Inside, they confronted him. Raiken. Standing ten feet tall, adorned with a crown of tusks and muscles like boulders, his silver lightning-streaked mane radiated power. His voice resonated through the ground. "You are the children of Aranthor," he said as he rose from his throne. "You embraced the sorrow of demons… now confront the fury of beasts." Razello stepped up. "We don’t have to be adversaries. We can safeguard both realms." Raiken growled. "You defend what you possess. But I am what you forsook. I am the last king of a forgotten land. I shall make you remember." --- The fight commenced, and it was one-sided. Raiken was not just strong; he outpaced Kael’s arrows effortlessly. His roars shattered Mira’s shields, and his claws left scars on Thorne's durable armor. Pip narrowly escaped with singed fur. Though Razello fought bravely, blades glowing with crystal light, he wasn’t prepared. Raiken seized Razello during a strike and flung him against the temple wall. "You bear a shard of power," Raiken remarked, "but your heart remains flesh." Razello collapsed, unconscious, as Raiken let out a victorious howl. --- When Razello regained consciousness, it was night in Thauron. Alone and half-buried in moss, his crystal flickered weakly. A voice emerged from the shadows. "Even the brightest flame dims in the wind." Before him stood an old beast—part stag, part panther—with wise yet weary eyes. "I am Eldros, the last of the Mankind. Raiken was once like you. But when his realm was neglected by the Aranthorians, he pledged to rise alone." Razello lowered his gaze. "I lacked the strength." Eldros approached. "You don’t need more strength. You must remember why you fight." Eldros guided Razello through The Path of Beasts—a sacred trial where spirit intertwined with instinct. He confronted visions of fear, pride, rage… and ultimately, his own reflection—wounded and exhausted, yet still ignited. Emerging from the final archway, his blades had transformed. They were now golden and curved, with crystal veins and glowing runes from the beast realm. A new light shone in his eyes: the Harmony of Heart and Hunt. He had returned. --- At the Throne of Roars, Raiken addressed a gathering of beast-warriors. "Tonight, we claim the surface," he roared. "The era of men ends now!" Suddenly, the temple doors erupted in crystal fire. Razello entered, flanked by Mira, Kael, Thorne, and Pip—now sporting a beast skull helmet and adorably roaring. Raiken growled. "You return seeking more punishment?" Razello brandished his blades. "No. I rise to avert war." This time, the battle was different. Kael's arrows flew faster—guided by enchanted winds. Thorne channeled the force of mountains into his hammer, creating shockwaves. Mira blended healing with offense through radiant beast-shields. Pip somehow tamed a wyvern, dive-bombing the battlefield while shouting, “For the Tree and Snacks!” And Razello… danced with Raiken in a clash worthy of gods. Their battle shattered the temple and scorched the skies. But Razello no longer fought with arrogance; he moved in harmony with Raiken, deflecting his fury and countering with steadfastness. "I understand your pain, Raiken," Razello panted. "But vengeance won’t heal your realm." Raiken roared and charged. Razello released—letting go of fear and doubt—and called upon the Crystal in its entirety. A surge of primal and crystal light erupted from his blades, striking Raiken in the chest. Raiken knelt, panting heavily. The beasts grew silent. Razello took a step forward and extended his hand. "Help me defend both realms." Raiken gazed at him, his chest heaving… and accepted the hand. --- The rift between realms began to close. In its final light, Raiken stood beside Razello as equals. The beast army lowered their weapons. A new alliance was forged. --- Back in Windermoor, the people celebrated the heroes' return. The Crystal pulsed with harmony. Mira started training healers in Thauron. Kael crafted arrows imbued with beast magic. Thorne invited Raiken to his training grounds, while Pip launched a food cart named “Roar & Snacks.” And Razello… stood once more atop the shrine hill. He looked toward the stars. He realized that Raiken’s rise was merely the beginning. And beyond the stars, other forces stirred. But now, Razello had evolved beyond just a warrior. He was a guardian of Worlds.
By Sartaz Awalabout a year ago in Fiction
The Chosen; Chapter 5
We all sit in silence in the War Room. High Priestess Leoni and the rest of the temple staff were seeing to the townsfolk. She had promised to be back as quickly as possible. It was fairly obvious she hadn't wanted to be drawn away, but she had to. None of us had said anything since she had left us down here. Not that there was much to say.
By Katarzyna Crevanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Sword of Ishara
The Lost City thrummed with life — not the bustling noise of a crowded market or the chatter of voices — but a quiet, radiant energy, like a symphony just beneath the threshold of hearing. Erya stood still, her hand still resting on the hilt of the sword, now pulled free from its stone cradle. The blade pulsed in her grip, responding to her presence as though it recognized her — not as a stranger, but as someone long awaited.
By Kim Murrayabout a year ago in Fiction
The Scribe of the Last Days
The world was in decline. A strange, heavy stillness hung in the air. The city's marketplaces, once vibrant with chatter, were now steeped in an eerie silence. Faces, once expressive, now mirrored only despair and exhaustion. The dazzling glow of technology had pushed humans apart, each lost in their own digital world, hidden behind a screen. It felt as if something monumental was about to end, but no one knew what, or when.
By Mian Nazir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
The absolute state of him, though! Those shoulders. His skin glistened. Gleaming black curls cascaded down his back. On another man, this style might have looked effeminate, or out-dated, but on him it worked. Somehow, he made it look manly. He could have pirouetted in a tutu and belted out The Weather Girls, and it would still be the most macho thing I'd seen all day.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
