Almost Drabbles

Robin isn’t taken far, as much as he can tell.
When the whole ordeal of the kidnapping is over, which was terrifying enough without his heart in his throat and trying to keep his head above his anxieties, they arrive at a dark room, where they sit him down on a chair.
“Calli,” one brute of a man growls, slamming his boot into the metal bed frame right next to Robin. The man leans close as Robin tries to lean away. “What do you know about her?”
“I gather you’re talking about something which I’m sure, is great importance to all of you. Is ‘Calli’ code for something, or some type of drug, or–”
“The GIRL!”
Robin flinches, “No need to raise your voices. Yes. the girl. The Prince has been very interested in this girl. I don’t know much about her personally, I’m more of a…” Robin was starting to think that this time, the tale he’s spinning might be too tall and the consequences dire enough to get himself killed. But he’s committed already, and he’s not going to change his story now. “I’m an errand boy. I don’t know anything–”
The man kicks his chair next, and the chair goes topping back into the floor, taking Robin with it. He’s had it with these oafs and their excessive use of force.
He sits up, sharp words on the tip of his tongue, head ringing from where it had slammed into the chair’s back earlier–
“So if you were watching me watch this girl get dragged away, then what were you doing, you morons?”
Resounding silence.
“I’m gonna kill this boy–” The man launches himself at Robin, who cowers, as the other men hold him back. Alright, alright, so they all had tempers, then. Maybe they’d let him go if he brought up his mother’s name. Or maybe they’d hold him for ransom. He really didn’t want them getting any funny ideas, and from the way these men carried themselves, he didn’t trust any of them as far as he could throw them. Which he wouldn’t, in any reality, be able to do, so… He didn’t want to risk giving away his name. Heavens knows what they’d do with him then.
He’d like to think he was above begging, but since he was already sobbing, he decided to go along with it, “Please. I don’t know anything, I’m scared, I just want to go home. I don’t know anything.”
If his father saw him now, he’d get a belting. What kind of noble begged commoners? Well, the kind who were afraid of pain, apparently.


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He turns the chocolate bar over in his hands, the golden wrapper crinkling.
It’s been a while.
The child who’d handed over the chocolate blinks up at him, palm open, asking him for payment for delivering the message.
A wry smile twists the man’s lips, and he ruffles the kid’s hair, bending down to eye level.
“Head over to the restaurant near the temple grounds. It has a huge red sign, you can’t miss it. Tell them Parveen sent you, and you can get all the free food you want.”
“The other man said you’d give me money,” the child frowns, shaking off his hand. “Give me—“
Parveen fishes out a few lollipops, holding them out to him. The child doesn’t look satisfied, but takes the treats and heads away anyway.
Parveen straightens, hugging himself in the middle of the bustling airport. Fifteen years. He glances at the glass doors, rocks in place a second. And then, because he must be drawing attention, he forces his arms to his side, straightens.
And heads for the doors.
The automatic doors hiss open, the chilly air conditioned space ending, where a wall of humidity begins. Parveen feels a little like he’s floating, untethered as he stands in the busy crowds, a lost child, searching…
And then he recognizes him.
A man sitting at the benches outside, back to him, looking off into the distance. Parveen can’t see his face, so he’s not sure what tips him off. But he knows.
That it’s his brother.
Parveen is frozen still a few seconds, breath caught in his throat.
What should he ask him first?
‘What happened to dad?’
‘How have you been?’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you?’
He takes one step, then another. And then he’s floating, drifting to his brother, drawn like a moth to its flame, running right into people and barely muttering an apology in return.
His brother turns around when he’s a few steps away.
Parveen takes the last step, and he would’ve tackled him in a hug, would’ve cried into his shoulder.
But Suryan’s expression is cold.
It’s like slamming into an invisible wall. His eyes say, ‘keep away from me.
“Hey,” Parveen musters.
Suryan’s eyes go to the chocolate clutched in his hands, a hint of a smile, and then meets his gaze, “It’s been a long time, Parveen.”
Parveen swallows, sits beside him, humming with nervous energy. Suryan is mad. About what? Fifteen years ago? Guilt gnaws at Parveen’s conscience. “I didn’t think you were alive.” There’s a painful lump in his throat he can’t swallow, and he holds up the chocolate bar, “And then this.”
“You grew up nice and tall,” Suryan says.
“You didn’t do too bad yourself,” Parveen allows himself a smile. “You grew out a beard.”
Suryan leans back on his hands, tilting his head, “What, this little thing? Yeah. I guess I did.”
They sit there in each other’s company a few seconds, fifteen years’ worth of thoughts, words, actions tangled between them, and yet Parveen feels it all dry up, his mind go blank. He’s just happy to be by his brother again.


(I thiiiiink terry you were replying to this so I’m not gonna change the prompt XD)

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well sortttt of XD
I wrote a chapter intending to add the prompt buuutttt it kinda didn’t make it in
well, in general don’t be afraid to change the prompt
it’s easy to add another word into an already partly written flash fic or chapter XD

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yellow tree

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We cross the border to to Despan to the tune of yellow trees and a cold that seems to hit me particularly hard in this skeletal form.
Lucy, Gertrude’s toddler, has come down with a sickness.
It’s clear that we need to find somewhere to stay, and we need to do it as soon as we can.
But there’s a problem.
“We can’t go into town like this. Lucy… I’m worried about her,” Gertrude says, cradling the child in her arms despite the child, in this form, being barely smaller than her mother.
This is all my fault. The fact that Dark Magic took advantage of us like this. Using us to stay in this world, turning us into something that no sane human would accept, making us cold and withered, stealing our futures.
I hate you. With all my heart.
The Darkness is here, but it doesn’t understand. It only does what people want, from its blind, insane perspective.
“I can try again,” I say, unable to believe I’m saying this, “I can ask the Darkness if it will fix us.”
“Use it on yourself first,” says my exhausted, downtrodden stepmother, “then me, then, if I agree, my children.”
“Really? You’re really okay with this?” I ask, trying to figure out how someone who doesn’t know exactly what happened last time is willing to let Dark Magic into their body again.
I know it was because I let in too much, I was so desperate I gathered all I could, with no restraint.
I suppose even she knows of all the times it didn’t go majorly wrong for me until that point. Every transformation I made with myself made me more satisfied with my situation, even if never totally.
And how could it get worse than it is now beyond losing ourselves again?
We could lose ourselves again.
I’m frozen with terror.
We’re by a lake now, as we’ve been following rivers and streams when we can.
I go to a still spot and look at my reflection. The crazy, distorted buglike face with big dark orbs for eyes.
It’s intolerable. It’s intolerable to be like this a moment longer if I can ever change, no matter the risk.
Come back to me. Just a little bit. Or- just enough to change me. Make me a human. I just want to look like myself again. To any extent, even if I’m part demon pig-rat or lizard or whatever you want to make me. Just make it something I can disguise. I have to get into the town and be anonymous to stay alive.
As the Darkness swirls into my skin and everyone takes several steps back as it writhes around me, I pray. My expectations get smaller and smaller, until as long as it’s anonymous, and as long as it’s not this, I don’t care what I am. I don’t trust the Darkness, but it will do as it will.
I hear its voice.
You want to be beautiful to yourself and to humans, I will be as you imagine and make you beautiful
I tower above everyone else and I’m awkward with my unfamiliar limbs, but I’m warm. I look into the lake to see a massive, shining black dragon. It’s a species I don’t recognize, slim and sharply scaled.
This form is powerful and perfectly formed. It’s almost as good as feeling like myself. But it won’t work.
Again. Try again. I have to be unseen by humans. They can’t know it’s me or know it’s you, do you understand?
The massive, mysterious power takes my hands again and washes over me.
It understands. I want to be invisible.
I become another small four legged creature.
Bitterly, angrily, I look into the lake.
A slender grey cat looks back at me.
This is the bare minimum of what I asked for, without the playfulness I’ve come to expect from the Darkness.
I look at Gertrude.
It takes a moment, but she nods, walking forward, and I instruct the magic to do the same to her.
After a brief whirlwind of magic, she turns into a golden dog, quite a bit bigger than me.
A brief jolt of fear runs through me at her size on me, but she shows no aggression.
She guides her other two magically messed up children to me, and Margret turns into a tiny black puppy, Lucy into a tiny orange kitten.
“Do me too,” Tina begs, left out of what her siblings and mother are becoming.
It must be incredibly painful for her to be a human while her family are not. But when she’s older, she’ll appreciate not having been messed up like we were.
Gertrude firmly herds her one human daughter away from me, Margeret leaping after her and Lucy getting distracted chasing her own tail.
I wonder if they’ll grow up to be normal children after this. I’ve heard Margret ocassionally ask her mother for things in her demon form, but right now, when I try to speak all that comes out is a meow.
Leon grins at that, seemingly despite himself.

Next: bad timing

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A mission gone wrong. Four teenagers and a nearly silent Dark Mage in an alleyway, transported to a strange world.
Forced to conspire alongside the thieves because they saw him looking through papers he wasn’t authorized to, Meteor had been spotted with them and run as well.

For him, it was bad timing to be caught confirming his suspicions about the Organization. That the thieves had chosen that moment to shatter the window and burst in. Then that Cailin had realized he wasn’t supposed to be there and called him out, telling him to follow them and that Cailin would blackmail him afterward if he didn’t.
That prompted a trip down the side of roof, Fili managing to finish casting Group Levitate just as they slid off the edge of the rain slicked roof.
From there Meteor propelled them away with carefully controlled bursts of heat until they landed in an alleyway, where Cailin said,
“What’s this?”
And suddenly they were all in a different alleyway in what seemed to be a different world.

Stranded there because of the unexplained incident, Kaya had created a cover story for them and created fake IDs for them after gaining the goodwill of a family with a cover story about the teenagers and their ‘father’ being stranded.
Catholine, the mother, gave the strangely dressed group a strange look, especially Meteor with his magical hood shadow, but let them stay in her messy spare bedroom, where there was barely space for all of them.

From there, the teens got jobs or gained money other ways, only returning at the end of the day to talk about the day’s happenings and eventually fall asleep.

“So what about you, Meteor?” Cailin asked, spinning a gold chain with a ruby on the end.
At this point, they didn’t even have to work. Kaya could definitely find a place to profitably discard Cailin’s ill-got goods.
“What about me?” Meteor asked stiffly.
“You know what I mean. Did you get a job? Where do you go every day? You know we can just follow you if we wanna know, so just tell us.”
“You think so, do you?” Meteor prodded, sure his own magic could hide him from the teenaged thief.
“We can have a contest later. There’s no reason not to tell us, is there?” Kaya said, raising an eyebrow.
She was right.
“I’m collecting the materials to summon a creature of darkness named Fiqic. They may be able to get us home.”
“Woah woah woah,” the quiet bookworm, Darius, cut in, “you don’t want to get them mad. Be really careful if you talk to them. Like reaalllly careful.”
Meteor nodded. Like him, Darius only spoke if he knew what he was talking about.
It seemed like they had both read the stories about Fiqic.

Next: fingerless gloves

Fingerless Gloves

“What is an item that someone gifted you that changed your life?” the young man smiled.

“The summer my father gave me my first pair of fingerless gloves in 1982.” I crossed my legs. “I was enthralled with the punk culture at the time.”

“How did that change you?”

“That summer was before my sophomore year in high school, me trying to redefine myself. My freshman year was horrible, that stereotypical bully from those 80’s film but less tamed. Everything changed with those pair of fingerless gloves I was more confident and wouldn’t take anyone’s bs and-”

“It seems we are out of time. Thank you for sharing.”

Ice cube


You open the freezer.
Ooh, ice cream? I’m excited.
You take out the ice cube tray and begin trying to get an ice cube out.
Huh, not what I was expecting. Iced tea? That spearmint in your backyard looked goo-
You put it in your mouth and begin sucking on it.
Wha- what? Who does that? It’s cold! And it tastes like water! With an edge of freezer!
You go back to the living room and head for the couch. I knock on the wall as you pass it, giving a signal to my buddy while you just think you accidently hit your fist on the wall.
I’m careful not to tense up your muscles too much as I move your hand. That would alert you that something that isn’t you is controlling your body.
While possessing someone delights my sense of evil, it’s annoying when they have completely nonsensical tastes like sucking on ice cubes.
Fortunately when our plan is complete and we’ve taken over the entire neighborhood we’ll be able to eat whatever we like.

Next: Nose


My nose twitches and I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that it’s wrong, it shouldn’t be like this.

For the first few months as your human friend I was just happy you were happy. Happy to talk to you with the human vocal cords I’ve learned to use.
You didn’t pat my head or pet my nonexistant fur anymore and that made me sad, but to connect with you on a human to human level… it was wonderful.
But my body is too big. I’m the wrong shape. I see no trace of my true self when I look in the mirror.

“You got your wish, Peter,” I tell you, my face quirking awkwardly into a human smile, “are you happy?”
You nod enthusiastically, clasping my hand for a second.
“Yeah. It’s wonderful to not be lonely anymore. I mean I still had you like you were but it was like… you were a cat and I was a human. It wasn’t easy to feel connected to you.”
“I think I’m going to become a cat again.”
“What?? Why? Have I done something?”
“It’s not you, it’s me. And by that I don’t mean there’s something wrong with me. It’s just, I’m a cat. I want to eat and sleep and move like a cat does. I want to be a cat. I love being with you, Peter, but I love myself more. As I think any being should.”
“I don’t get it. I thought this was going great. I sold my soul for this! You’re not grateful?”
“About that, I haven’t noticed any change in your behaviour. I don’t think your soul was that important.”
You stare at me, then splutter out a laugh and wrap your arms around me.
“Never change, Biscuit. Even if you… you know, change. I wish you wouldn’t, though.”
“You’ll get used to it. Make some actual friends, why don’t you.”
I would say I’ll miss him too, except I’m not going anywhere, just becoming a cat again.

Next: missing

When the officers flood the house in the morning, the family is gathered in the living room, devastated.
“Such a tragedy…”
“I can’t believe someone would…”
“Do you think someone broke in?”
Hafsa tunes her family out, scooping copious amounts of jam onto her slice of bread, smoothing the strawberry spread over with her butter knife. She can see the dark blue uniforms from here, officers ducking between open doorways, upending things and cordoning off areas of her house.
“You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” Kayden murmurs, and she feels the sofa shift as he leans over and dusts them off the cushions.
“They’re walking around the house with their shoes on,” Hafsa points out, not turning to look at him. “They’re doing a lot more than dropping crumbs.”
Kayden sighs like the world had waddled over and decided to plop down right on top of his shoulders, as he sinks back into the couch. The two of them are the youngest there, the only children around when the Incident had happened.
The ‘Incident’ being Uncle Safir being found dead below his balcony.
They were sixteen and seventeen respectively, so if either of them got themselves caught for murder, Hafsa figures they’d do better than much of their family would. Aunt Mumtaj would simply not be able to handle prison food or the uniforms, and Gram would probably die before she ever served her sentence, she was eighty already and had a weak heart.
Hafsa wonders what child murderers grow up to become.
One of the officers walks over, face serious. Hafsa notices he’s missing a tooth when he tries to give them a kind smile. “We know this is a trying time for you all–”
Mufeed sobs a little louder than he’d been sobbing before, rocking where he stands, face buried in his mom’s shoulder.
The officer looks at Mufeed, offering him a firm, yet hesitant, shoulder pat as comfort. Mufeed doesn’t seem to register it. “We’re going to need all of you to tell us every detail of what happened last night. Everything you remember. Officers will be with you shortly, to speak with each of you alone.”
He leaves, and Hafsa looks towards her aunts, who watch the man go. One of her uncles is sitting with his head in his hands. Rizwan looks over, her brown eyes catching her own, and offers Hafsa something that is barely a smile.
They had their stories.
Now all the had to do was speak them.

that was gonna be the beginning of my short story for the prompt last week XD



“Whats wrong?” I stared at Levy. “Did you get in a fight again?”

“Not exactly.” Levy held his left elbow. “I had that dream again.”

“The one where you are lost in the rainforest?”

“Yeah, but this time I got bit by a snake.”

“It’s just in your head. You can’t get injured from a dream.”

He held out his elbow, as his purple bruise puffed out significantly. Maybe he hit his arm while he was sleeping. But that hard? I poked the wound, in that Levy winced and pulled his arm away. I bit my tongue while he staggered away into the late evening hours. What can I even do? It’s hard to believe his tall tales of late.

Black hole


It feels like cool water pooling at her fingertips.
She pushes, lightly, and her fingers sink in, like the wings really are made of water, and the fae flinches, struggling to keep his wings still under her care.
“Stop it,” he snaps, “I told you to be careful!”
But she’s distracted, the texture of his thin wings like jello at her touch, humming with an energy she couldn’t help but describe as ‘life.’ She traces her hands along the delicate swirls, the patterns she might see on a leaf under a microscope. They shimmer faintly, and a spark burns her fingers as she flinches away.
At that, the fae flinches as well, wings fluttering rapidly before his sharp intake of breath at the pain, and she yelps for him to stop. He turns to look at her, murder in his eyes. “I told you to be careful.”
“Do… people not touch your wings often?” She asks.
“Do people…” He looks at her as if he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the sheer stupidity of her question, and didn’t know where to start to correct her.
“So no one touches your wings,” she says, irked now.
“No.” He says finally, grabbing the towel he’d dropped, which is now soaked through with the deep emerald of his blood. Or, it isn’t blood, in the human sense, but its equivalent.
So it’s probably a big deal that he’s even letting her do this. She understood that, in some sense, when he’d shown up at her doorstep of all places, injured. She takes the towel from him brusquely, going to wash it off, while giving him directions to keep applying pressure to the gash on his lower back.
When she comes back, he looks pretty irritated himself, snatching the towel back. “So? Am I gonna have to die?”
“I think you’re quite fine to recover.” She says, tone clipped.
“Look, Thatcher, I know we got our differences, but if you’re the type of doctor that lets her patients bleed out on their tables…”
She looks at him sharply, which cuts him off.
“What?” He asks defensively. “If you’re trying to help me here, you’re doing a horrid job of showing it.”
She pushes at his shoulder, directing him to lie back down, despite his mutterings that he felt like a frog up for dissection at a human school.
“I’ve been perfectly professional since you got here,” she sniffs.
“Oh yeah, ogling at my wings and all that…”
“I wasn’t-- you have such a poetic way with words.”
“You were feeling them up and–”
“You know, to your point, I am the one with the knife in my hands right now, and you’re lying defenselessly on my table, in my home.”
He shuts up at that, as she pulls up a stool, and directs her light to his injured back.
“I could give you something to help with the pain,” she murmurs, though she knows his answer.
“Absolutely not. Heavens knows what you’ll get up to if I let you drug me up.”
She counts her breaths, really, she really should stay professional. This was no time to be nursing her pride or her temper. “Alright, then. Put that towel in your mouth, will you? This will hurt.” And the quiet would help speed this all along nicely.
The shattered remnants of magic glittering at the gash was a breathtaking sight, very distracting, not to mention, her hands keep brushing his wings and no doctor’s ever even come close to being like this with a fae before. This was literal history in the making here. And she would tell no one of it.
She pulls on her gloves, picks up her tools.
And she gets to work.

It’s difficult.
Of course it is.
Here’s a human, not a shred of magic in her soul, trying to pry magical shards out of a magical being.
But work is work, and as she gets lost in the black hole of her focus, she only finds herself aware of her breathing again when she exhales, short, as she checks the stitches.
She moves a little, finding her neck and back painfully stiff.
Gosh, how long has it been?
In surprise, she looks at the fae, decides she should check if he’s still conscious. The pace of his breathing tells her nothing, though her fingers had been immersed in his blood and the hum of his life energy until just now. He’d been a pretty compliant patient, she’d had to admit.
“It’s done.” She informs him.
“You’re lucky I’ve got a good pain tolerance,” he says, voice low and hoarse.
“Yes, I’ll count my lucky stars tonight to have been graced by the opportunity to save your life.”
She hears his indignant scoff as she’s pulling off her gloves.
If that’s his attitude about it, then he’d probably make a spectacular recovery, though one could never be sure.


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The complicated, fleshy creature covered in clothing and dried brown liquid appeared suddenly next to Pin, who flinched, then relaxed in relief at the non water related creature.
Will stared at her, trying to figure out what the bright pink blob of clay that nearly came up to her knee in its stretched up state was doing here in the wilderness.
“How did you get here?” Pin asked.
Will leapt back from it, falling into a fighting pose.
“What are you?” she asked calmly, focused on the pink blob and the trees behind her.
“I’m Pin and I’m a shapeshifter. What are you?”
“How do you work?”
“Do you eat, sleep and die?” Will asked, keeping her distance.
“No, do you?”
Will didn’t answer that,
“What do you want, then?” she asked.
Pin moved curiously to the side.
“Friendship, good weather and fun. What about you?”
Will narrowed her eyes.
“You don’t want to answer my questions?” Pin guessed.
Will leapt forward and stuck her knife into the pink blob, pulling it out and leaping back before Pin could react.
Pin closed the hole left by the knife, confused.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Will backed away,
“Creepy,” she shuddered, fading into the next dimension to escape the unkillable creature.
She would make no unneccessary allowance for unknown elements to kill her.

I was inspired to write stuff about ocs of mine from different universes and times meeting each other XD

Next: Negative

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XDD nice!

Nidhii didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she did everything she could think of, methodically tearing and re-shaping a paper cup that had been by her elbow.
Neil tried not to look up from his phone as he stared at the texts Arrossa and the others had sent ten minutes ago, though they were still half an hour away and wouldn’t be able to get here any sooner.
“So,” Nidhii says, and Neil almost flinches. Almost.
Neil stands up suddenly, Nidhii glancing up at him as the table between them rocks.
“I don’t feel well.”
He moves to leave, but she reaches across the table and grabs his arm, and this time Neil flinches.
“I don’t bite,” she says, confusion turning to apology as she lets go immediately.
“You may not bite, but the things that hang around you certainly do.”
It takes a second for Nidhii to react to his scathing tone, and then she remembers, of course, this is how he is.
“The Mai were many near our old house. They don’t linger much in the daylight, especially not in busy places like here.” Nidhii says, looking down at the table grain as she folds her arms.
Neil’s grimace doesn’t melt from his face, instead, it gets marginally worse. “Look.”
Nidhii glances up as Neil leans a hand on the table. He looks at her briefly, then breaks eye contact, looking at some point over her head.
“Celestia isn’t like home. You don’t have to hide away in the woods or god knows what you were always up to. You don’t have to be afraid of me, not here.” He meets her eyes again, Nidhii staring back. He scowls. “Yes? You have something to say, just spit it out.”
“You grew soft here,” Nidhii says, giggling a little, as Neil blinks. No. No, Nidhii doesn’t giggle, certainly not when she’s talking to him.
“I’ve never been heartless, if that’s what you’d like to believe,” he says, frowning.
“It doesn’t excuse all the things you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” He glowers at that, folding his arms. “What have I ever done to you?”
Nidhii’s smile fades, and she looks down at the cup she’s been mangling all this while. Neil notices faintly that she’s shaped it into a flower, the torn edges overlapping like petals. “Nothing. I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
His expression worsens at that, but she doesn’t look back up at him as the silence stretches a second, then two, then a whole minute. Neil doesn’t know what he was expecting, but she’s making him feel bad, like he’s hurt her somehow. “Well?” He presses. “You can’t just leverage an accusation like that at me and then not say anything.”
“Just leave it alone,” she says. “I wouldn’t even know where to start explaining.”
Well, that just makes him feel even more uncomfortable. Ugh. Nidhii’s never brought him anything but a bundle of negative emotions.

glowing halo

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As the preparations for the festival swirl around him, Ciradyl sits on a tabletop, biting at his thumb’s nail with a particular studiousness that doesn’t escape the attention of the fae around him. They give him a wide berth, knowing his tendencies for a foul temper and fouler language.
Tents of whimsical colors are pitched under the starry night sky, fairies fluttering up to hang lanterns, little glowing halos that illuminate the chaotic movement of the fae below. Trolls drag their struggling catches through the ground, nymphs weave nimbly through the gathering throngs.
Ciradyl watches them all with hooded eyes, tucking his thumb away when his teeth pierce into emerald liquid.
It didn’t at all sit right with him, waiting around for Meera to come calling for a favor he owes her. Who knows what kinds of devious plots the human had in mind?
Crickets, he should’ve braved death over going to beg for her help.
But the possibility of losing his wings forever had driven him to take desperate measures.
Someone bumps into his table, and he glances over to give the offending gnome a scathing look. He reaches over and snags one of the jiggling cups of pudding on the gnome’s platter, earning a grimace and dissatisfied mutterings from the said gnome as she walks away.
He spears the tiny spoon into the dessert, some of his anger melting away at its sweet taste.
“Dellu! Delllll!”
Ciradyl glances up, shoulders hunching as he sees the sprite flying erratically towards him, Leo’s arms filled with miscellaneous knick knacks.
“Woah! Woah-- Leo–” Ciradyl’s warnings cut off as he cups his dessert protectively, as the sprite boy dumps his armload onto the table, almost knocking Ciradyl over in the process. “Hey, kid, what gives?” he barks, as Leo twirls in the air above his head. Speaking of things that weren’t right, nothing about this particular sprite was quite right, stinking with dragon magic as he is.
“I found so many cool things!” Leo gushes, gasping when he sees what’s in Ciradyl’s hand. “Oh my! Oh my goodness, did the gnomes give those to you?”
And then Leo’s expression twists, growing annoyed, “first they give me wrong directions, and then they don’t give me desert.”
“This is mine,” Ciradyl says warningly.
Leo pouts, folding his arms, “Silly, I don’t want it anymore! I want the gnomes to give one to me on their own! They broke my rules!”
“You and your rules,” Ciradyl rolls his eyes. But he was weary of the child, knowing how fond the northern pixies are of him. He heard the kid tried to re-route the entire Goudam river a year or so ago, because he misunderstood a centaur’s request. Almost took half the forest with him.

ah i miss leo ;-;
i lost the entire original story he’s from, but i love writing him

stinking piranhas

XDD sorry for the weird prompts in advance

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“The magical masked boy who saved the magical girls from those stinking piranhas the other day- who do you think he was?” asked Eina.
There was another girl within hearing distance, but she didn’t think the girl would guess that she and her friends were the magical girls. Besides, something about her classmate’s candy colored hair put her at ease even though she’d barely talked to her.
“Well, in the shows it’s always the love interest of the main character,” Sia said.
“Wait, does that mean one of the magical girls is the main character and the others are just side kicks?” Joanne said.
“Well Orange Rose does a lot of the work and is the most attractive,” Eina said, grinning.
Her fellow magical girls stared flatly at her.
“We should be able to tell because he’ll stink like the pirhanas. He was covered in their magical blood stuff after yesterday. I don’t think he’ll be able to wash that off after just a day,” Sonia cut in.
Their other classmate with the candy colored hair discreetly sniffed her arm. Her eyes widened and she gathered up her books and quickly left the classroom.

Next: Laughing sadly

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“Which way did she go, did you say?” He asks, clutching her arm, claws digging into her skin. He doesn’t notice when blood drips down her gown, though all she could do was stare at it, the vice gripping her elbow.
He shakes her. “Nidhii.”
“What?” She asks, looking up to meet the feline eyes of the half-tiger half-boy. His fur has poofed up around him in hackles. She reaches up her free hand, patting the fur between the tiger’s eyes. “Did you know, I always liked the color orange?”
His pupils shrink, and he snaps his jaws, shoving her away. “What? What is it? Why are you acting so weird?”
Raju slips between the boy’s legs, going to check on Nidhii, who was picking herself up from the dirt again.
‘What is wrong with you, girl?’
Nidhii snorts. “You’re all so ridiculous. You expect me to take you both seriously? Look at yourselves. A glowing green cat, and a tiger-boy. Write a story for me, will you?”
She looks around. “Whoever created this dreamscape is pretty cute. I didn’t even realize I was in one for a while there.”
The tiger looks at the house cat. “Did she inhale some of the mushrooms, do you think?”
Raju’s eyes were on the girl, and he only flicks an ear to show he’s heard him.
Nidhii’s laughing, a little sadly now, eyes closed. “I really thought this was all happening to me for a while there. I was so scared.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “I must’ve looked insane.”
“You’re doing a good job of that right now,” the tiger mutters, turning, dropping to all fours and leaping away through the forest.

lovely compromise

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“This is my ship,” Captain Madman said.
His new crew looked at him warily.
“Why is your name Madman?” one of them asked.
“Oh, it was a nickname but I made it my legal name.”
He didn’t elaborate.
“Anyway, this ship’s name is the lovely compromise.
“…And can I ask why that is?” the crew member asked.
“It has to do with a disagreement I had with the king of this country.”
“…Uh, sorry if I’m assuming things, but you mean he didn’t want you on his continent so he gave you a ship?”
“You catch on fast. We’ll have a good use for your brain here.”
“Actually no, my brain wants to go on a different ship now. Bye.”

Next: lukewarm timing

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My timing is lukewarm, catching you just as you begin to struggle, using the threat of my knife to distract you long enough to get the shackles around your legs.
Nobody will admonish me for doing this to you.
Nobody will shun me for hurting you, nobody will hate me for changing your form into something hideous and unfamiliar to you, they’ll even respect me for it.
Consider me a little more useful, think maybe they should keep me around a little longer.
The whites of your eyes show as you thrash wildly against the shackles, snapping at me, trying to run, wordlessly pleading with me to let you go.
You’re the only one who cares what I’m about to do to you. Must be lonely, huh? Kind of like my own life.
But I don’t have the wiggle room not to use what I won’t use on myself again on you. I don’t have the freedom to listen to my empathy, I’m not in a community that would feel empathy for you, and so there’s nothing and nobody to save you.
I call the Darkness around me, sending it into you, changing you into a monster.
You’ll be more valuable to them too like this.
I don’t feel bad for destroying you and reforming you into something worse.
I’ve dealt with so many of your kind that the panic is almost numb to me, the wild eyes are just another part of an object to be used for my benefit.
Maybe I’m a monster now, but someday, someday I won’t have to do this.

Next: pale pink

I wade through pale pink mush, not sure how I got here and ready to leave.
The stuff I’m waist deep in is thick sticky, smelling like strawberries.
I scoop some up and bring it to my mouth, smiling at the sweetness. I eat some more, then bend down to lap it up, finding that it makes no impression once I swallow it, as though it never was.
Eventually I find that the taste fills me and eating it or not eating it feels no different.
Either way, I am satisfied, fluffy and light, sticky and sweet.
I keep walking, no longer unhappy to be here, just curious what comes after this.
Eventually I come upon thick, pearly structures arranged in wild swirls like semitransluscent porcelain.
On one of them sits an old person with an immense beard who doesn’t stand out from the structures with their pale colors and sweet, semitransluscent eyes.
“Your soul is pink,” they observe.
I have no idea what they mean.
“That’s very sweet of you,” I say, deciding to take it as a compliment.
“You can choose what to eat here. As they say, you are what you eat. You can choose to join me or continue on and find something else you want to be. It makes no difference to me.”
Have I taken on the personality of the pale pink icing? Was this the kind of person I wanted to be?
“If you want to be the kind of person who wonders how taste and texture translate into personality, there’s a snowcone mountain that way that will grant you that curiousity. And if you want to be filled with enough anger that you realize the wrongness of being trapped here against your will, you’ll encounter spicy jellybeans in the opposite direction.”
It would be nice to bring in different flavors.
I continue on until the pale pink icing has floating red jellybeans which slowly become more dense until I’ll be wading through jellybeans.
I just take a few, to taste them.
They feel good to eat, bringing me life and a desire for change, the burning on my tongue bleeding into my whole body.
I don’t want the sweetness to be replaced with spice, so I leave it there.
The combination of sticky sweetness and sticky burning doesn’t mesh well inside my skin.
The tastes make it hard to appreciate each other, so I turn around and pass the old person in the white dress again, feeling the icing get uncomfortably cold until I’m face to face with a steep white incline.
I wonder what’s at the top?
I try to climb, slipping and landing on my face, sliding all the way down.
I pause and ingest some of the snow, slowly realizing as I get a good bit of it in me that everything I’ve eaten so far has been tinged with sweetness.
I am filled with sugar.
Why did I choose to eat the icing to begin with? Was there something urging me, or was it just my instinct as someone who lived in a world of limited sugar in a body with an urge to consume it?
The cold, slick snow manges the burning and dulls the edge of the sweetness.
I’d better go ask that person I passed some questions. How did they end up here? How did I end up here? Who am I?
How far does this place reach, and what are the rules of this world?
How can a soul be so easily changed?
Can I leave?
…Do I want to leave?

“I was a human. Beyond that, my memories are mere shadows. A trace of busy streets and hunger. Some kind of attachment or love. But I don’t feel the need to wonder about it anymore.
I don’t know who I am, or who you are. Whether it matters… well, that’s up to you. It’s up to each of us for ourselves.”
And this bearded person has decided to sit and watch the mists, apparently. I wonder, if the mist was boiled down, would the residue be as sweet as the smell?
“How did we come to be here?” I ask.
They don’t know.
“You seem to know a lot about how this place works,” I say.
“Only what I’ve observed. I’ve watched many people pass through this place. Of course, this world is big enough that even if there are countless people, there are areas with nobody as far as the eye can see, areas that take a very long time to move through. I’ve heard there are places where people gather and befriend and fight and have drama, as people do. I have no desire to seek them out.”
“Questioning them is fruitless,” another voice says, belonging to a colorful individual with tentacle hair, patchy robes, and a lot of purple and less pink and yellow on them, “fortunately, you’ll get all the fruit you need from the flavoring in the air.”
The strawberry flavoring?
They put a tentacle on my shoulder right as I realize their hands are also tentacles.
“Come with me, it’s been way too long since I’ve seen anybody with a sense of humor. Things get real fizzy over thataways.”
As they lead me forward, they advise me,
“Just don’t drink too much of it, or too much of anything really. It’s unsatisfying, but if you get more than a little taste there will be no room for other flavors to stay in you. Then you’ll end up super boring like that old hard candy.”
Becoming a complicated person… it sounds interesting. Will it lead me to getting out of here?
Well, it seems like answers aren’t at my fingertips. Perhaps this purple person can help me find one of those places with a lot of people.
It will be good to not be alone.
The thought echoes with the ghost of intensity.
I try to remember where it came from because I think that’s important, I think that’s really important, but all I get is the feeling of isolation. Hugging my knees in the darkness at the foot of a flight of stairs.
And that’s it.
There’s nothing else in the memory.
I don’t want to share it, but I wonder if sharing these things from out of this place might help us figure out how to get out of here.
“I remember feeling lonely at the foot of a flight of stairs,” I say, without context.
The purple person stops, picks up one of the jellybeans we’re wading through, gives it the barest lick, and puts it back down.
“I think I remember what stairs are. Or I’d know them if I saw them. I think there are stairs somewhere in this world. Lonely is what I feel when there aren’t people for a long time and I want to see more people. Or perhaps not, emotions were different.
I remember wind in my hair and moving a machine with my feet. That’s my main memory, though it used to be more specific,” they tell me.
“But you don’t have hair anymore,” I observe, not sure what to make of the machine part.
Wind brings something to mind. It’s hard to forget wind entirely, though I don’t remember what it feels like.
They nod.
“I think I liked having hair, too. But with all the things I’ve eaten, I’m no longer even human.”
“Should I stop eating, then?”
“It’s too late. The moment you come here, you’re not human like you used to be. Else I’d remember what stairs are. No, I don’t think it matters what we look like.”
But they don’t know more than me. Eating more, changing more, it could cut me off from escaping this place, if I’m truly losing something I used to have.
“Here we are, it’s the fizz,” they say, as the jellybeans begin dissolving into purple fizz.
I’m too curious for my own good. The drive to learn more, to have more feelings and unique emotions inside me, is too strong.
I bend down and carefully poke my tongue into the startlingly fizzy liquid, swallowing just enough to send a small thrill through my body.
“Tastes like grapes,” I say.
“Have you had grapes before?” they ask.
The barest flash of a memory and flavor flutters through my mind.
“I have, though I don’t remember it.”
“I’m sure if we keep exercising it, those memories will come back,” they say, “I think I really enjoyed grapes before coming here.”
“I wonder if everything will taste bitter when we get out,” I say, trailing my hand through the fizz and resisting the desire to drink more.
They shrug.
“I don’t remember what bitter tastes like.”
I don’t either.
“Maybe there will be something bittersweet we can try. Though, I don’t imagine there will be anything purely bitter.”
They laugh.
“No, everything has to be sweet here. Like it’s trying to be so nice that it’s just forcing you at this point.”
I laugh, the desire to drink more of the fizzy liquid hovering at the edge of my head like a shadow.
“Will we ever be somewhere without candy, where I won’t be tempted to consume it?” I ask them.
“Nowhere without food, but you can sleep on the cake. The cake is steadiness. Just being on it feels grounding and there’s almost no urge to stuff your face. Well, for me. Mileage may very. If the cake doesn’t do it for you I’m sure something will,” they say.
“You’re so nice,” I say.
“It’s partly some peanut butter balls I had. Very motivating stuff,” they say.
“I was allergic,” I say warily, realizing there may be some parts of the world I shouldn’t go.
“Don’t worry about that. We’re not really fully here. Or maybe none of us but the faint memories are. I don’t really know if we were humans or we just have these memories,” they wonder.
That’s a thought. I don’t want to be just a… thing. A sugary filled with far too few little bits of this sweet world.
“I guess… we’re immortal here, then?” I ask.
They nod.
“We don’t even have to sleep. It’s just to not be for a bit. Like skipping time. I have a theory that it helps us remember.”
To remember… there must have been a lot more out there, as well. Things that we didn’t want to forget, but did.
So reasonably, I should want to remember.
For my sake, for the sake of anybody I left behind, and for the sake of knowledge.

Next: blood red