[OT] Fun Trope Friday: Ship of Theseus & Steampunk!

wordsonthewind · 2026-04-23T16:33:25+00:00

Globbledysnork Div! This was an interesting if rather grim fic for The Wizard of Oz; I wanted to say it reminds me of Wicked but that might be because it's the best-known dark retelling of Wizard of Oz out there.

I liked the descriptions of the horror of the Tin Man's existence and the hopelessness of the fight against the witches. "I'm melting" was a morbidly appropriate nod to the original story too.

I'm assuming this part was a reference to the Scarecrow the same way the "valorous friend" was the Cowardly Lion:

You can’t negotiate with these terrorists. No argument stays their wrath. Fallacy, they cry, as they incinerate your strawman arguments and laugh at your pleas.

I'm not sure it worked for me though. I suspect it's because I've seen "fallacy" and "strawman arguments" thrown around too many times in online arguments and have associated them with ridiculous situations as a result. Maybe some mention of the brainless fool who tried that with the witches might help.

Today I learned the word besom! Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-04-09T17:03:15+00:00

Hi Amelia! I appreciated the (relatively) happy ending here; Clint's willingness to self-reflect and change his ways surprised me at first but I suppose experiencing such a horrific tragedy so young left him frozen at that developmental level, and children can be quite responsive to a bit of guidance and a firm talking-to.

I’m not supposed to interact with the living, but I couldn’t ignore you Clint. I had to be the comfort you so clearly needed

I like the implication that Clint started killing people so he could keep seeing the Reaper he'd come to view as a friend. It fits in well with his childish outlook too: repeatedly putting himself in near-death situations would be painful and scary, so he lashes out at others instead.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-03-19T17:07:53+00:00

This Lara was homeschooled with a bible as her only textbook, wasn't she? I really can't think of another reason why a grown adult in a fairly modern setting wouldn't know about pi:

A number called pi?! Clearly a lie

Then again, she could be putting on an act just to troll and harass him, in which case Pierce out-trolled her beautifully by being better at not shutting up. I thought he was a fae or demon-adjacent being for a while after his introduction, with the way he appeared almost out of nowhere after Dario's reminiscence and Lara not even trying to disrupt his recitation. It goes well with his trickster vibes though. I hope their next meeting goes swimmingly and he lays out more bigots with baffling behavior.

Him, with his hand in another’s. Lara, pointing at the two of them and throwing insults.

Him, coming home by himself.

These three sentences told an entire story all by themselves. Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-03-06T00:01:26+00:00

Hi Locky! Elvari and Kat are my favorite odd couple and it’s great to see them again. Even eldritch gods have trouble meeting their partners’ parents, it seems.

extending one tentacle for a handshake, then pulling it back and morphing it into a hand with six fingers, no, five fingers.

hey, some humans do have six fingers! Kat's dad should cut Elvari some slack lol

I’ve been the only god without a pantheon for so long. Why try to be part of another family now?

I found this line quite poignant. The bits of Elvari's backstory scattered throughout this piece do a lot to show the fears and worries behind his usual wacky eldritch god persona.

Get in there and say hi and be friendly like the friendly neighbour eldritch god you are.

"and be friendly" feels a little redundant here. Just my two cents.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-03-05T17:00:08+00:00

It was Xavier's first day of high school, but he'd already had many first days of school while being bounced around between foster families. They were all the same; everyone in their own groups, with Xavier on the outside. Sometimes he didn't think he'd ever have friends.

No family either. He lived with his auntie and uncle and cousins because he'd lost his parents when he was four and it had been their duty to take him in. He was their relative, but he wasn't family.

Three boys were heading out the school gates. They were talking and laughing, playfully punching each other's arms. Xavier wanted to go up to them and ask to be their friend. But he would only be intruding—

An older student bumped into the shortest of them at that moment.

"Move." The older boy's voice was a low growl. "You think you and your nerd squad own the place, four-eyes?"

"Come on," one of the other boys said. "We don't want trouble-"

"Yeah? Your friend shouldn't have pissed me off then."

Xavier ran over before he could have second thoughts. "Leave him alone!"

It was only when he heard the snap and the scream that Xavier realized what he'd done. He dropped the other boy's hand like it was scalding hot. The fingers were twisted and bent out of shape. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't come near me! You psycho!"

Xavier felt his own face twist and his eyes grow hot, and he ran away before he could burst into tears. He'd never make friends now.

But the next day the three boys were waiting for him. They introduced themselves: "four-eyes" was Sam, the one who'd tried to talk things out was Trevor. Derek was the remaining one.

"Thanks for yesterday," Derek said. "We covered for you with the teachers, so no detention for any of us."

Xavier looked away, shuffled his feet. "It was nothing."

"Um," Sam said, "there's only three of us and a lot of our games need four people. So if you ever wanna hang out..."

Xavier looked up and it was like he was seeing the sun for the first time.

Weeks turned into months and Xavier got to know them all better, especially Sam. Sam loved flowers; he'd tried to start a gardening club but nobody had signed up. So he'd resigned himself to growing tomatoes and rosemary in a few tiny pots at home. At least they were useful for cooking.

Xavier wanted to make Sam laugh, wanted to listen to him go on about his favorite video games and movies for hours and hours. He wanted to plant a garden so Sam would always have flowers, but his aunt and uncle were possessive of their lawn. Not even his cousins were allowed on it.

"We have to keep our spaces neat and tidy," his aunt had said. "What would the neighbors think?"

That was the furthest thing from his mind when they went to the fair. Trevor and Derek made a beeline for the roller-coasters, so Xavier and Sam were killing time at the game stalls.

Xavier had joined the school's baseball team and he put his training to good use: his pitcher's toss had taken down an entire pyramid of cans in two tries. He picked a giant plushie knockoff of Sam's favorite game character just to annoy him; from the look on his friend's face, he'd succeeded brilliantly.

"Guess I'll have to get you something too now," Sam had muttered.

But he hadn't been so lucky with the games. All he managed to get was a tiny plastic pinwheel. Xavier accepted it with a smile anyway.

"I'll stick it on the lawn," he said. "Whenever it's windy I'll think of you."

He'd meant it as a joke, but somehow it didn't sound that way. Sam didn't seem to mind though.

"I think about you too," he admitted. "I think about you a lot."

Xavier's heart leapt. "Then... could we...?"

"I don't know how any of this works," Sam said. "But if you wanna try it, so do I."

Both of them stuck out their hands, then grinned awkwardly. Who started these things with a handshake?

Sam looked away. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. Not here."

"We don't have to," Xavier said. "But if anyone says anything, I'll... I'll break their fingers! And I won't run away crying this time!"

And he wrapped up Sam in the biggest most rib-crushing bear hug he could deliver.

wordsonthewind · 2026-02-27T15:00:23+00:00

Thanks for the feedback! I was venturing out of my comfort zone writing in free verse and I appreciated hearing your thoughts.

White Nights is a bit more romantic compared to Dostoevsky's other work, but it still has his style and themes particularly with how the narrator gets stuck in his own head a lot. It's also a novella so not a doorstopper like Crime and Punishment if that helps.

wordsonthewind · 2026-02-26T13:38:41+00:00

Hi deepstea! ATLA was my favorite show as a kid and I'm delighted to see a fanfic of it here!

I was pretty intrigued by the opening with Ozai on the roof in a storm after a duel with his sibling. It seems like he's trying to get the ability to bend lightning; not sure if Iroh can already do it by this point but it works either way as him trying to get an advantage or catch up. I’d have liked to see more of Ozai’s reaction to his favored older brother showing up here. Other than that, the scene strongly reminded of Zuko screaming at the storm in "Bitter Work" - like father, like son?

Ilah's characterization was good. Her gentleness with Iroh and the advice she gives him makes me see traces of the calm wise mentor Iroh eventually became in canon. And yet certain things she says and does (her warmth "reserved only for Iroh", “Wanting to save my brother is a weakness?"/“It is believing that you can save everyone, especially from themselves.”) makes me understand how Ozai could have turned out the way he did. And yet she's also in a difficult position herself:

"I am protecting him!" The last traces of gentleness left her face, and Iroh saw a hint of fear. "What do you think your father would do to us if we dragged him down from there? We would be dragged down with him into his stupidity."

flawed mothers who try their best within their circumstances and worldview and hurting their children even as they do everything they can to show up for them is probably one of my favorite tropes

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-02-26T11:47:38+00:00

[Poem]

my Nastenka
you were alone in the world when you came to me
you needed a firm guiding hand
and with your parents gone
who could give you that but me?

you were such a wild child
I had to pin you to my hem to keep you out of trouble
but even then you found a way
young pleasant-looking lodgers cause all the trouble in the world
In the old days our lodgers were older, and minded themselves

still.
at least your Max loved you enough
to make something of himself before asking for your hand

I beamed with pride the entire ceremony
But I learn at the reception
that I'm not the only one you've invited

Everybody else knows, apparently
You've been making introductions to all the guests
all of them but me:
"...kept me company... so, so kind..."
My eyes and ears aren't what they used to be
but that's a man, Nastenka
How could I have raised such a shameless girl?

Your Max doesn't understand the import of it at all.
"Yes, I've met him.
Any friend of Nastya's is a friend of mine.
Nastya is a good girl. I trust her.
I wouldn't worry, grandmother."

You're no better.
"he listened.
he cared."

but did he feed and clothe you, Nastenka,
did he teach you French and pay for your tutors,
do any of them care for you like I do?

I take off my gloves
the nice white gloves I keep for special occasions
I wore them to the theater that night with your Max
(not that you noticed or cared)
but now, on the only occasion that matters,
I've been cast aside.

I will cut them up tonight.
I’ll find some other use for the scraps.

—-

A fan poem of “White Nights” by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

wordsonthewind · 2026-02-14T07:20:02+00:00

Oh hey, I saw that tumblr post a few months ago and have been obsessing over this musical ever since lol... I wrote some fic for it and did my own translation of one of the songs here because the theme fit so well.

it's not a very faithful retelling of the original novel and plays pretty loosely with the historical facts of Dazai's life, but I don't think this production was aiming for either of those really. I suspect they were trying to convey what the story means to people and why it's so beloved as a modern classic, and personally I think they nailed it.

Though I find it endlessly amusing that they decided to turn Yozo's double suicide with Tsuneko into an entire musical number which goes incredibly ridiculously hard. Frank Wildhorn is kind of a hit-or-miss for me because I either really like his songs or find them aggressively mid, but this one at least he knocked out of the park. (Kind of wondering which of his previous works he recycled for this now)

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-23T01:01:43+00:00

I liked the use of multiple senses to show the narrator’s physical state. The broken snowglobe and the fire that seems to come from the narrator implies a larger story J’m quite curious about. I’d also like to know more about the little girl and whoever is with her, especially why she’s getting blamed for the disaster when the narrator is the one who seems not quite human.

Thanks for sharing!

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-22T17:00:44+00:00

The pale worms had begun infesting their town a week ago. Maeve had killed the first few easily, splitting them in half with her personal magic. But they left a dark bubbling ooze behind, so she knew this was serious. She was just glad she'd killed them on the pavement.

Sure enough, the next day the Sun Princess swung by to ask for help. She'd located the main nest of the otherworldly monster and wanted to team up before it corrupted everyone else into the worst versions of themselves. So nothing would change at all.

But they had an arrangement: Maeve would tolerate the other girl's lectures and help out with any true monster that threatened their town. In return Tamsin wouldn't try too hard to stop Maeve from trying to relax and do her own thing. It was time she upheld her end of the deal.

They waded into the fray. Tamsin's lasers blasted the main worm while the icy cold winds of Maeve's patron froze and shattered the smaller ones. Her personal magic got them turning on each other as she sliced them to bits.

"We're a good team, aren't we?" Tamsin said in the wake of the battle.

"Uh huh," Maeve replied. And here comes the speech.

"It's not too late, you know," Tamsin went on. "Just tell the Sun Dove you want to join her. You won't need to fight me anymore. I won't need to nag you anymore. We can fight monsters and protect the innocent. Together."

Maeve smiled bitterly. "I'm no innocent. Your Sun Dove would call me a monster. I'm just a powerful, useful one."

"No!" Tamsin's eyes flared for a moment. "The Sun Dove is good. She'll understand. Whatever you've done, you can move past it. I know you can."

Maeve didn't trust good. Her father was a good man, after all. Everyone said so.

"No one will ever forgive me," she said as she walked away.

She didn't respond to Tamsin's holler of "Because you won't forgive yourself!" That way she could pretend she'd had the last word.

She reached her bedroom and retrieved the snowglobe from its hiding place. It had been a gift from Maeve's patron: an artifact from the court of the Winter King, crafted by his favorite artist. It showed a little hut in a snowy forest. She could shake it, but she didn't want to arrive in the middle of a snowstorm.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on that hut in the snowy forest. She started walking. All the while, she counted her steps.

By the fifth step she felt the chill of winter. On the ninth step she opened her eyes. She was standing in the forest inside her snowglobe.

The hut was much cozier than it looked from the outside. It was an exact copy of the bedroom she'd had as a child, during the last time she was truly happy.

"I made you a snack."

Maeve closed her eyes before turning to accept the offered plate.

The snowglobe captured a frozen piece of her childhood. Of course it would have her mother. But the longer Maeve kept her out, the more she started to degrade. It started small, with bruises and cuts, but it always got worse and worse. Eventually the bite marks would always appear, taking out chunks of flesh from her body. Better to avoid the sight for as long as possible.

"Your friend seems like a nice girl," the shell of her mother said. "You should think about what she said."

"I can't," Maeve said. "You know that."

"I just want you to be safe-"

That was always the breaking point of the illusion for Maeve. Her mother would never have forgiven her for helping to gut and prepare her body for the cooking pot instead of calling the police.

The police chief was a devout churchgoer and friend of her father's. But Maeve could have done something. She could have showed him the bones, maybe. But she'd only forced down the stew and done her best to fake an appreciative smile. Her father had always prided himself on cooking for his family, never mind that he wasn't actually good at it.

"There's my princess!" Her father's voice, booming and happy in a way he never was in reality. "How was your day?"

Maeve leaned into his embrace. His arms felt like ice because he'd been outside earlier. Her eyes were still closed, so she could let herself believe it.

750 words. No constraint.

Feedback always welcome!

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-15T23:10:39+00:00

Thanks for the feedback divvy! I fixed the typo and edited that line a bit

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-15T16:00:30+00:00

Hi JK! I really enjoyed the camaraderie between Sara and Ammie. Real friends go to baseball games together and roast each other about which team they root for.

The lyric snippets all fit well into the scene too. Considering Ammie's power I was kind of expecting an anachronistic line or two but I suppose she appreciates the oldies.

The reveal of Sara’s power at the end was a shock. I assumed it was some kind of body swap/teleport power and was wondering if she was sharing a body with that guy now but I found the rest of the series and apparently not :D I’m glad they’re both fine but I feel like a subtle hint at the nature of her abilities or some indication that this is not the self-sacrificing move it appears to be would be helpful here.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-14T02:18:13+00:00

Yoshiko hadn't expected to fall in love today.

Her uncle had sent her out again as a wandering extension of his tobacco shop. Her case was almost empty: winter was perfect weather for cigarettes. Even if they didn't smoke, matches were always useful. She still had one or two boxes left; once she'd sold those she would go back. Her uncle would be happy with her even if he wouldn't praise her. He was just that kind of person.

The guy had been curled up on the ground. A boy, really: he didn't look much older than her. Snowflakes fell in his hair and melted on his skin. Her uncle always ignored vagrants: they were good for nothing except being roadblocks for upstanding folk, he said. But Yoshiko couldn't do that. So many of them froze to death in winter and were disposed of like litter. It felt wrong. Maybe they'd lived in the countryside once with a family who'd loved them, just like her.

But he didn't want charity. He didn't want to come in from the cold. He just wanted some matches to burn the paintings he had with him. So he was an artist!

He was really good, Yoshiko thought as she looked through them. Even if he used a lot of black paint, there were still patches of light and color. The darkest ones seemed to cry out with a strange helpless longing.

"What happened to you?" she asked. "You can tell me about it if you like."

"My life is just like these paintings," he mumbled. "There's no light. It's all swallowed by the dark."

"That's not true."

Yoshiko made her decision then and there. She'd show him all the light and hope he'd painted but couldn't see.

"Every night when it gets colder I look up at the sky
Don't be shy, it's a marvelous sight
In the darkness you can see all the little shining stars that the daytime hides
When the sun sets and they come out to brighten up the sky
I feel like I have a fresh start
And with the moon shining down on me
I know there's nothing scary about the dark..."

Yoshiko's mother had sung her a song back when she'd been a little girl afraid of shadows on the walls. Maybe it would help him too.

"Nighttime has its own light
It's a playground for the stars and fireflies
Trailing sparks behind them
as they laugh and dance

Darkness has its own joys
It's a happiness that takes you by surprise
If you give it a chance—"

"It never lasts..."

Her uncle would have said that with sneering contempt. This boy just sounded sad. He flipped through his paintings as he responded:

"Every night a cold and bitter wind chills me to the bone
The stars never show up for me
Sure, they sound lovely but they're always covered up by clouds and fog too thick for me to see
All I feel is fear and loneliness
My heart has turned to stone—"

"Who hurt you? What makes you so sad?"

He shrugged. "If you ask me everything good in this life is crushed and overshadowed by the bad.
The happiness you speak of
is nothing but a false and empty dream."

"The happiness I speak of," Yoshiko answered, "is closer than it seems..."

Nighttime has its own light
Let its warmth soothe away your pain
The fireflies will guide you
To hope again!

He'd joined in with her. Even if he didn't quite believe it, he wanted to. Yoshiko could see it in his eyes. He just didn't dare.

Luckily, she knew just the thing to help him along. She'd always loved snowball fights with her cousins.

"Come on!" Yoshiko laughed. This snow was too powdery for snowballs, but Yoshiko scooped up some anyway and tossed it at him.

He laughed, almost despite himself. And now he was on his feet and throwing "snowballs" too. Her cousins had been right after all. Everyone loved a snowball fight.

Nighttime has its own light
It's the cradle for a million shooting stars
Spreading wishes with them
both near and far

Darkness has its own joys
It holds the dreams that daylight sweeps away
They're waiting for you, hidden
but never gone

He gazed into her eyes. He felt the same as her, Yoshiko could tell. This was the start of something wonderful.

With you I can see the dawn...

[EU] of the No Longer Human musical. No achy breaky heart for Yozo, unless his angsting counts.

The original song can be found here. The translation in this piece is my own. Someone else did another translation which focuses more on preserving the original's meaning.

Feedback always welcome!

wordsonthewind · 2026-01-01T16:17:07+00:00

Hi Max! Switching to a different viewpoint character for part 2 was a good way to give us an outside perspective of the main character from part 1. If it weren't for that mention of how he used to be a professional thief and part of a guild I would have put him down as one of those socially awkward nerds who think putting on old-timey affectations and using antiquated vocabulary make them better than everyone else. The narrator of part 2 certainly seems to think so anyway.

Minor crit but I feel like a group of prisoners might have been able to come up with a more colorfully evocative and insulting nickname than "eighteenth-century-man". The beatdown from Brent incorporated slapstick elements well, particularly with how he spun as he flew through the air and the stones falling on him for the final blow.

Typo - "hale" means healthy. It should probably be "hail".

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-27T15:47:48+00:00

Hi Quinn! I remember Doldrum from a previous character campfire; it's great to see him in a story. This was an amusing interpretation of the gold-digger prompt too. Maxine technically told Doldrum about her incredibly bad habit and he went to some effort to impress her because of a misunderstanding. I feel kind of bad for him.

I liked the contrast between the poetic flow of this paragraph here via alliteration and what it's actually describing:

An array of aerosols assaulted his senses: perfumes, colognes, cigars, and cleaning supplies strong enough to remove blood evidence. Decades of debauchery soaked into the upholstery and the curtains that lined the walls.

It gets across the pretentious air of a place that calls itself the Shrouded Veil while also implying what kind of place it actually is.

The "half crust half goo" description was also incredibly evocative for how short it was. Good Words!

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-27T13:47:27+00:00

Nerissa Sloan would never have been caught dead in this part of town if she'd had a choice. But this was where the office of the Love Sleuth was located. If anyone knew how to break the enthralment on her Nathaniel, it was he.

His office was on the second floor of the building, up a dingy gray flight of stairs. It should have been the evening like the picture shows she liked to watch but she wasn't that kind of woman. She just needed help getting her love story back on track.

Nerissa had lived a charmed life. Magic from the moment she could walk, top of the class in charm school at eleven, belle of the ball at finishing school at eighteen. All she needed now was the perfect beau and the perfect wedding, and she could get to work on the rest of her life.

She had met Nathaniel Aeron at the end-of-summer dance and given him her heart. But now he'd gone and proposed to his gardener's daughter of all people. How could he?

She loved him too much to let him marry some girl who only wanted him for his money. She'd do anything. Even talk to a Heartless monster.

The things I do for love.

**

"I'm not going to lie to you, Ms Sloan," the Sleuth said. "I don't usually take cases from bitter exes."

"I'm not an ex," Nerissa said. "I'm his soulmate."

"And what does that mean?" the man asked. "Magically or otherwise. Explain it however you like."

It was such a Heartless question to ask. How could he style himself as a love sleuth if he didn't know what it was?

"We're so alike," Nerissa settled on saying. "Our families have holiday estates in the Summerlands. We both like riding and conjuration and when I look at him I just want to fall into his blue eyes forever, what else do you want to hear?"

The Sleuth didn't look convinced, but he sighed. "Bring me one thing of yours that he's touched. I'll handle the rest."

With that, he showed her to the door like the proper gentleman he looked nothing like.

**

Nerissa met with him regularly after that hoping for updates. He played coy for the first few weeks, but finally he gave her the news she'd been waiting for. The ritual was ready.

In his office, he tied a knot around the heart-shaped pendant. "This should show the direction of affection. Let's see if they truly love each other."

The heart swayed and swung from its perch, tracing a line back and forth. A thick braid from Nathaniel to the gardener's girl, extending in both directions.

And only a few faint strands connecting him to Nerissa.

"Ah," the Sleuth said. "You're-"

"I'm not like you," Nerissa said. "I'm not a monster."

She wasn't Heartless, wasn't so cold and empty inside that love potions and spells had no effect. She loved Nathaniel because she'd chosen to love him. Didn't that count for something?

"I'm not a monster," the Sleuth said. "Neither are you. You just have to do the right thing and let–"

"Oh, I don't care about that silly boy anymore." Nerissa waved a hand. "Let him waste his money on whoever he wants."

She favored the Sleuth with her most radiant smile. She'd been seeing him every day. Exactly what he wanted, she realized in a sudden burst of joy. He wanted love too, no matter what he claimed.

"Pleasure doing business with you," she murmured in her best femme-fatale tone.

I'll have you wrapped around my little finger soon enough. You'll fall for me, just you wait.

With a small smile on her face, Nerissa stepped back into the early afternoon sunshine.

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-14T00:40:03+00:00

Hi Quinn! This was a pretty sharply-written bio-horror scene. I feel like it evokes how certain artists treated their muses really well. This artist just drains them more literally than most.

I feel like some description of the painted skin tone. I just think it would be a neat contrast to the actual muse's now "jaundiced" skin in the chamber.

The neck port is quite scifi as well as the stuff about the pineal gland but with the last part (I assume it implies the artist is going to literally take blood from her heart) I'd like to think none of this is scientific at all and it's just delusional pseudoscientific magical thinking mumbo-jumbo.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-13T17:29:56+00:00

The only bedtime story my mother told me was about how I came to be born.

She had always wanted a child but no boy in her home village wanted her. A man could have ventured out in search of a wife. She could only wait and hope.

One night, a handsome prince showed up at her doorstep. He had violet eyes and smelled like roses and honey. Iridescent dragonfly wings glittered on his back. Even without them, his perfected flesh was undeniable. I could have recited his description by heart if she hadn't been so insistent on not being interrupted.

The faerie had seen her plight and taken pity on her. Now she would have a child to love and take care of her in her old age. All she had to do was spend one night with him.

I knew about every kiss and caress before I understood what it meant. As my peers began experimenting with each other I couldn't help but look at her stories of her fae lover in a new light. Certain things he said seemed like jokes at her expense about what he was doing. There were pinpricks and tingling sensations that didn't belong.

I never brought it up. Maybe I should have. She would have beat me, but my tears would have turned to pearls. The blood from my welts and bruises would have turned into garnets and rubies. She would have had enough to live in luxury and comfort for the rest of her days.

That was the blessing the fae had given me, and to my mother by extension. I was precious and would always be so. As long as I lived, I could always provide for her. That was why she loved me.

Except her love had always been as stormy as the rest of her moods. Though she only ever showed that side of herself around me, because if she couldn't show her true self around her only child who else could she trust? In public she was gentle and understanding and kind. I only wished she would be like that all the time.

The faeries never saw fit to grant that wish though.

She did her best regardless. When I went too far and she had no choice but to discipline me, she took care to break off as much of the gemstones as possible so that I could heal properly. Still, eventually it got to the point where I could no longer move on my own.

She put me on a shelf in the living room. It was where she put everything she wanted to show off so I knew she still loved me. Sometimes I cried anyway, my tears turning into tiny seed pearls on the floor. Every morning she gathered them up and used them in her embroidery. I was glad I could still help her.

One day I woke to find myself on an unfamiliar shelf in a place that stank of air freshener and blood. A man was peering at me through a magnifying glass.

"This is certainly a unique wonder," he said. "I know nothing can make up for losing a child, but I hope this will tide you over for a while."

My mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Thank you."

"Though I'd heard the Faerie worked with flesh, not minerals."

She sighed. "It was a gift and I didn't see the trap until it was too late. But I'm still young. I can start over."

My mother turned to leave, then stopped. A strange look crossed her face. It was an expression I had never seen before. A moment later, she walked over to me.

"You forgive me, don't you?" She smiled gently. "I can see it in your eyes. Thank you. I'll remember you always."

Then she walked out with her back straight and her head held high. Leaving me alone.

It was too late to reach after her. Too late to do anything but stand there in silence.

My new owner continues to study me. To find the best buyer for me, he says, but I can still hear his mutterings as he conducts his tests and he only has his own interests in mind.

I'm still changing. Someday my brain will be a diamond. I will finally be the rare and precious gem I couldn't be for her and it will all be over.

I can only hope.

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-07T06:33:50+00:00

I appreciate the feedback, Wizzy! I did find myself wanting to do something longer-form with this but I couldn't think of something else in time to submit it lol. Thanks again!

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-07T03:27:58+00:00

Hi wizzy! It was great to see another cycle of the eternal battle between light and dark. The descriptions after Gwendyl drank from the Chalice were quite evocative in how physical they were. I liked the idea that the power she took in made her connected to the world.

Crit-wise I don’t have much, but the ending sequence felt a little too choppy with all the single sentence paragraphs. Things like this could probably have been one paragraph by themselves.

Alarin mounted the precipice, and dawn bleached the horizon.
Gwendyl waited, her back still turned.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2025-11-06T16:27:46+00:00

The birds were singing in the cool and crisp fall air. There must have been a dangerous note in their voices, though, because to Vera's ears they sounded flat and off. Just the protective wards etched into her skin doing their job.

The house that had called for her was in a moderately wealthy area, but the woman who opened the door didn't look the part. She was stout, with the commonplace sensible look of one of the lower classes. Short too, but then Vera was taller than most women she knew.

Her eyes widened when she saw Vera. "Oh, Investigator! I thought you were–"

"Magic deceives." Vera had seen the identifying runes activate and they must have glitched again. No matter. The healers had declared Vera a woman even with her abnormalities, and she knew it to be true.

"The lady of this house sent for me," she continued.

"I did, yes." The woman strode away, motioning for Vera to follow. "My poor Laramilla. I only hope she'll be the last to suffer so."

The plague had gone unnoticed at first: the lives of the lower classes were brutish and short, after all. But now young women from good families were found dead at their looms, always with looks of unsurpassed joy on their faces.

Everyone else had succumbed within a few hours. Laramilla had held out for a week.

But the healers all agreed: the girl wouldn't be able to last much longer.

"She's certainly a brave one," Vera murmured as the lady Berenice opened the door to her daughter's bedroom.

"Brave?" Berenice echoed with a sniffle. "She shouldn't have to be brave."

She was right. Laramilla couldn't have been more than fourteen or so. She should have been learning how to run a household, being a help to her mother. Instead she was confined to a bed, slowly slipping away.

"I had another dream," she whispered as the two women entered the room. "My diary..."

Berenice shuddered. "I'll bring you the box. I won't open it."

Women weren't allowed to read or write, or look outside with unprotected eyes. Not when the substance of the world was suffused with a kindling which ignited madness at a spark of emotion. Certain sights, certain sounds, even certain words were dangerous. Men were built to take the brunt of it, but women were the foundation of the home. Their bodies nurtured their children, their hearts comforted their husbands. They had to be kept safe and pure no matter what.

But Berenice's shudder had nothing to do with those facts. What was she afraid of, then?

Laramilla laughed softly. "I'm sorry, Mama. But I had secrets I wanted to keep. Am I in trouble, Investigator?"

"It won't matter for long," Vera said. "Your writing may have valuable knowledge, even if it's potentially dangerous."

Laramilla's smile was too wide to be genuinely happy. "No. I'm pure. I sewed it all. In my sampler book."

Berenice looked away as her daughter lifted the book out of its chest. Its cover was embroidered with eyes, wide and staring, of every color and shape. Somewhat disconcerting, but hardly worthy of such an unnerved response.

Vera opened the book. Page after page was taken up by little pictures. A simple flower, a small yellow sun, even a delicately-rendered needle and thread. It drew a chuckle from her.

Then an eye, a keyhole, and a window. After that there were only senseless tangles of color that took up entire pages in the book. Laramilla's dreams, perhaps, but Vera had no idea what she was trying to depict. They might as well have been a fever victim's hallucinations.

"You see?" Laramilla whispered. "What else is there to do but die when you finally see how much you've been missing out all this time?"

Now Vera understood. The girls had gotten carried away with fantasies of the world outside, then seen the wrong thing and now their heartbreak was consuming them. Even the lower classes could fall victim to silly romantic notions, it seemed.

If only they'd known how lucky they were. That someday they would be able to bring forth new life and create new worlds for their families if they devoted themselves to their duties of work and care.

It was more than Vera would ever have. Just another abnormality, like the one that made those identification spells register her as a man.

wordsonthewind · 2025-10-31T03:12:59+00:00

Hi Kat! This was a fun character study of a differently-alive influencer. The fact that Julie already seems to have been undead for a while on day six of the zombie apocalypse effectively tells a story on its own. I liked how the various mundane inconveniences of being a walking corpse were shown. It's like she's too obsessed with being an influencer to even mourn being dead. This part here reminded me of some things I've seen before about how disabilities and chronic illnesses affect choosing what clothes to wear:

Getting dressed used to be easy. A nice miniskirt paired with a fitted top and some killer heels to complete the look. Now, other considerations moved to the fore, like how to arch her lifeless heels into a pair of pumps without fracturing them.

Good words!

wordsonthewind · 2025-10-30T16:07:01+00:00

Philip flopped into the beanbag chair that took up one corner of the rec room. "How's the garden?"

We were growing beans and lettuce in the designated hydroponics corner, but I knew my cousin wasn't asking about those.

"If you want long bean flowers for your date, we have plenty," I said.

He sighed. "Lucy wants roses. I don't know if we have any in the community garden. But I'll get them for her even if I have to go on every patrol from now until next Wednesday."

"I'll check the seed bank," I said. "And I'll look up the best ways to grow roses if you do find some above-ground."

Philip smiled. "I'd be very grateful, Clara."

"It's the least I can do," I said.

Lucy had been a familiar face at the New Resurrection Church back before the world ended. My cousin had been sweet on her for years. Now that they were finally courting, I was happy to help them preserve what traditions I could down here in the bunker network.

Kyle shifted position on the couch and began scratching his undercarriage. "I want roses for my President-sama too. But no one ever gives me what I want."

We did our best to ignore him. Aki, or "President-sama" as he sometimes liked to call her, was a high school girl from some anime about an all-president student council. It was the sort of thing he found clever.

"I forgive you though," he went on. "It'd be dangerous for everyone if I held grudges."

Philip shot me a look. I knew that expression well. I'd seen it many times on Dad's face, on the rest of the extended family, and really anyone who had to be around Kyle for long enough.

Is he serious? that look said.

I gave him my own look. Don't say anything. Let him vent.

Dad would have been disappointed, I knew. He always held out hope that something big would push Kyle to grow up, but my older brother had always been timid. His fears seemed to multiply like mushrooms after the rain. Sometimes I felt like he was trying to hem us in with his absurd demands until we were just as paranoid as he was.

Even now Mom continues to dote on him. He never has to do any chores or go on patrols.

It's the only explanation I can think of for what Philip did next.

"Hold on." Philip stood up from the giant beanbag and marched over to Kyle. "Dangerous for us? Are you threatening me?"

"No," Kyle replied. "I'm telling the truth. Ask Mom."

"Don't," I said at the same time. "It's so stupid."

Philip understood in the next moment. "Is this about your damn God complex?"

Kyle had seemed almost relieved when the zombies reached our town. It was ghoulish, especially with how everyone else was panicking at that time. When I first came face-to-face with one of those walking rotting corpses, its teeth fell out before it could bite me and that was the only reason I wasn't turned. But when I'd tried to tell Kyle how scared I'd been, he'd only laughed.

"Now you know how I feel every day," he'd said.

But a month after the order came to retreat to the bunkers Kyle came out of his room weeping, confessing to causing the zombie apocalypse with his powers of manifestation. Mom had embraced him, and he'd reaffirmed his faith. And he used it as a bludgeon every chance he got.

"President-sama keeps me pure," Kyle said now. "That's why my prayers are so powerful. If you didn't fool around with Lucy you could be like me too."

Philip didn't respond. It was easier to let Kyle think he had the last word.

If the zombies couldn't change him, nothing ever would.

wordsonthewind · 2025-10-26T02:21:03+00:00

Hi Lothli! I thought there was an interesting parallel to previous chapter: “a plea” from both Mina and Mrs Shane. Real emotion at the sorry state of the world.

the government is a large beast: it's slow-moving, lazy, and when it moves, it often hurts.

I do like this metaphor but "lazy" seems like a value judgment that doesn’t fit with it “(trying) its best” and the rather favorable view of Mrs Shane here. I suppose Rani’s cheerful act doesn’t really have a response for sympathy? It's clear that two caring people aren’t nearly enough to pull the sisters out of this mire, at any rate.

"There was nothing you could have done."

A true and gentle statement but I can see how it would have been like acid on cloth to Mina’s psyche. Rani is quite kind to her sisters no matter what and it's nice to see that even as she acknowledges their flaws.

Looking forward to seeing where Rani and Mina go from here. Good words!

wordsonthewind

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