Fantasy

Charging Bull and Fearless Girl
It was only at night that the Charging Bull could get some rest from the crowds. He didn’t mind people, as they were coming from all over the world to see him, and he liked listening to them chatter in different languages. But he did get tired of them rubbing his private parts for luck. And lining up to do so, on his both ends: To take a picture with his face and to rub his balls. The night brought some relief, even though there were still some late-night wanderers approaching him, at least it was not a constant stream of people.
By Lana V Lynx4 years ago in Fiction
Stone Tooth
Content Warning: childhood physical abuse, self-harm, substance abuse Evan’s father had rocks for knuckles. This was the reason why he won all the fights—both in the ring and at the bar. Because his father was always fighting someone, Evan was raised by uncles who weren’t really uncles, sitting in front of the TV as they watched his old man box another man down.
By Christina Lee4 years ago in Fiction
A zealous champion, all for naught.
The steps of heavy metal clomping onto the floor thundered on both beat and point, as the armored hunter trailed down the hall. He shoved the metal doors aside as the slam of their impact made his presence known in the midst of his employers. Five throned beings old in years, yet fair in appearance gazed upon the suited warrior, with a grin sliding across their faces. “Welcome back to our private chambers. We trust you were, successful, in your pursuits?” the Elder throned in the center of the five. The warrior kneeled before the elders in respect. “The insurgents were dealt with, as per your instruction, and the voice of the insurrectionists have been silenced, high sages of the five settings. Permanently. What else would you have me do, great ones?” the Warrior requested softly. The High Sages looked at him with a smile of surprise on their faces. Their very eyes clearly spoke of that they were impressed. “He was capable of dealing with the insurrectionists by himself, and was capable of discouraging any future dissent. He will be an instrument towards our vengeance, that much is certain,” the Sage at the center thought to himself.
By Jordan Zuniga4 years ago in Fiction
An Olympian in New York
“What are you doing, Dad?” Apollo walked into the living room to see his father, Zeus, looking at a mobile phone and he was surprised. His father had been reluctant to embrace any technology more modern than the trident ever since he had moved into the new place in New York. Not waiting for the answer, he moved through to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. The first smell of the beans brought moisture to his mouth – as much as he had always enjoyed ambrosia back in the old days, he had to give it to the mortals for inventing coffee.
By Chris Cunliffe4 years ago in Fiction
Bull Crown Jewel
“The Bull Crown Jewel necklace. A rare mix of Black Opal and Tanzanite. Two of the world’s most precious jewels known to man. It is said that the wearer would be blessed with immense omnipotent power and hold favour in the eyes of the omniscient gods.
By Gracelee Campbell4 years ago in Fiction
Face-to-Face
Selena was born with hair down to her elbows, which her father considered a sign of intelligence, and her mother a dangerous omen. Her hair grew rather fast too, and in fact, she had to get a hair-cut every week just to maintain the same length. She would wear it in a braid that reached the small of her back, fastened at the bottom by a ribbon of a different color every day. As a child, Selena was known for her long hair and her tendency to ask far too many questions. Her mother believed the reason for her robust head of hair was her intrusive curiosity, and that her brain couldn’t contain her inquisitive nature so it had to find a release some other way. When Selena would begin her incessant prying, which was often, her mother would shout “get out of that floating head of yours Selena, one more question and I’ll bring you back down to earth by your braid!” This never stopped Selena though, who would just hold on tightly to her braid as she continued to ask questions.
By Jean Loup4 years ago in Fiction
The Season of the Golden Bull
I was just a girl in the late Summer of 1944. It was the season of the golden bull, and all the chaos it brought to our little clapboard house with the train tracks running through the front yard, cutting the world into sections of here and there, have and have not, hungry and fed.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Fiction
Eternal Torment
Wandering through the frigid nothingness of The Veil offered little respite for the Old One’s eternal agony. The cold atmosphere combined with the swirling mist around the bull’s exposed flesh made the blood congeal, tendons freeze and muscle fibers tense in frigid structure.
By Catherine Guillotte4 years ago in Fiction
The Bow
Prologue Chapter One Two Weeks Later There was no way to describe the pain Quinn was feeling. Family and friends showered her with support, but their words only caused Quinn to feel emptier.
By Lindsay Dewolfe4 years ago in Fiction
Bold Sir Samuel and the Bull's Bowl
Bold Sir Samuel launched himself through the air, soaring over the fence as he narrowly avoided the roaring minotaur’s charge. It rammed the fence beneath him. The flat part of its head between the sharp horns brushed the bottom of Sir Samuel’s pants. For one weightless moment, Sir Samuel knew what it was to be a bird, and then he crashed to the grassy ground outside the minotaur’s territory.
By Joshua R. Leuthold4 years ago in Fiction
Bryan Connor ThornBlossom
*The following journal was found by Brynn inside a magical labyrinth where monsters reside, and people go insane. The author of this journal, Bryan Connor ThornBlossom, son of Alexander Connor ThornBlossom, apparently tied his journal to the back of an animal in the hopes of being rescued. The following pages have been translated into the Common tongue where possible and serve as a warning to not underestimate the dangers of ancient magics. *
By Solina Silverfire4 years ago in Fiction
So Below
Lucan stood tall in the depths of hell. He couldn't go above, so he had no choice but to venture below. An explosion of fury and panic had imbued his mind. A white kind of rage he had never felt before, and he had lived a long time, took over his heart; making his blood pump in a way he actually felt truly alive. For the first time ever he experienced the grasp of fear tighten itself around his naked soul. Where is she? Was the only question worth repeating.
By sylvana lee-jones4 years ago in Fiction