Almost Drabbles

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Fewo snapped, their jaw clenching.
“Sorry, sorry!” their teammate backed off, their crystal wings unforming to shield their face in case of a punch, “it just fits so well, with the wings, and the attitude, and the fire powers-”
“Why did you mention the attitude before the fire?? Also, are you calling my attitude spicy?? Huh??”
Hydra backed away as Fewo advanced on them aggressively.
“And you have wings as well! If I’m ‘spicy chicken’ you should be ‘icy chicken!’ GET IT??? BECAUSE YOU HAVE ICE POWERS? HUH??”
Hydra had to laugh at their overly aggressive tone, which made Fewo’s eyebrows raise in a more laid back annoyance.
“I like that! Icy chicken! Speaking of which, since we’ve finished our flying patrol, how about we get some tofu chicken! Extra spicy, not icy, hahaha…”
“Who would eat iced tofu chicken? Idiot.”
“Well I’m sure there’s someone…” Hydra said thoughtfully, as the two headed to the store.


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They both stare at each other a few moments, Lyra beginning to lean forward cautiously towards the wary chicken.
The fowl clucks and bawks at her, wings flapping, as it skitters back a few steps. Lyra stills again, keeping her distance, watching, unmoving, careful.
And then, it only takes a single moment. The forest trees rustle as Aquilla stumbles through the undergrowth, arms so heavily ladden with sticks that they obstruct her vision and stop her from seeing the chicken she almost walks into.
“Oo–” Aquilla says when Lyra hisses in warning and the chicken clucks in protest and hops off into the trees, away from the feed Lyra had lured it over with. “Did I step on something? It wasn’t a squirrel, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t a squirrel.”
Aquilla waddles sideways until Lyra’s expression was in sight.
Her twin gives her a deadpan stare. “You know there are sooo many reasons why I hate you right now.”
“You’re mean,” Aquilla frowns, adjusting her grip of the dry kindle in her arms. “Where do I put this?”
Lyra heaves a heavy sigh, getting to her feet as she walks off into some of the trees.
“Hey!” Aquilla protests, trying to follow her. Her foot catches on some undergrowth, and she almost takes a tumble, some of the sticks falling out of her arms. “Help me! Lyra, come on! I think my socks are all bunched up in my shoes, and it’s getting super uncomfortable!”
“Boo hoo,” Lyra says, without much enthusiasm as she swats low-hanging branches out of her face. “Cry me a river.”
Aquilla huffs, irritated at her twin’s apathy. “The next time you get the kindling and your socks get bunched up, I’m not gonna help you!”
“Oh the horrors,” comes Lyra’s monotone reply.
“I mean it!”
Even before she’s finishing her sentence, Aquilla can hear her sister’s steps wading through the grass back towards her, and Lyra shifts some of the sticks off. The two girls yelp when some sticks fall to the ground, and dive to fix it.
“This is why I hate you,” Lyra complains.
Mean,” Aquilla complains.
“For the record, I didn’t come back because of anything you said. It’s because I’m a good person, and I feel obligated to help you out because you looked pathetic.”
Aquilla snorts.
“You should feel lucky my arms are full right now and I can’t hit you.”
“You’re so violent, Lyra,” Aquilla tuts. “Such a good person wouldn’t be so violent.”
Lyra growls at the back of her throat as she manages to stand back up, and she reaches over to kick Aquilla’s foot. Aquilla stumbles, then catches herself with a triumphant laugh. “Aha!”
Lyra rolls her eyes and heads through the trees. “I hate hanging out with you. You turn me into some sort of comedy routine.”
“You mean we’re funny?” Aquilla snickers.
“In a bad way.”


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I make a note to myself to never take anything for granted. Why did Milly’s flight get delayed today of all days? And I notice she didn’t agree not to read Ire’s mind, which makes dread seep through my body like an internal bleed.
She looks thoughtfully at him, and I want to tell him to get out of here, now, but my parents and Milly are here and I can’t make a scene.
My heart pounds dreadfully, and I try to reassure myself that she’d have more of a reaction if she saw anything really shocking. Wouldn’t she?
But she’s thinking about something, and I imagine there must be something incongruent between Ire’s facade and his surface thoughts. She must be reading them, I’m sure.
Her gaze becomes less focused, suddenly, as if she decided not to read his mind anymore.
What did she see?
I want to run up to her and shake her shoulders, demanding to know. I want to take Ire and run as far from here as we can get and never return.
I show no outward sign of my feelings beyond my clenched fists inside my pockets. As always, my shoulders are relaxed, my face calm and attentive. Ire said this face looks distant, but it’s just the right amount of distant for my family.
As Ire and my parents make small talk, Milly still doesn’t say anything. I know she will, I just don’t know when. And she doesn’t keep secrets from her parents, and I have nothing over her.

Next: early morning

Stars are Lighthouses

Early morning came each day with harsh lights and the rumbling of a solar flare, pulling me from what little sleep I’d managed to get the night before. Straight away, I’d check the fire. It couldn’t go out, that was my only job. The only reason I was still here.

Ensuring the flame hadn’t died, I stare out at the world I used to know. I’ve been here too long to miss my old life, but sometimes I wonder if anybody I used to know still remembers me. I haven’t heard news of the outside world in ages, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not out there. I’m here, watching…

Sometimes a ship strays close enough for the fire to glint off her hull, and for a moment, I see them, and I’m reminded why I’m still here. A warning, a mark. The gravity wells are dangerous, and if the light ever went out, it would be catastrophic. It’s inevitable, eventually, the light will fail, but it’s my responsibility to see that it doesn’t happen in my lifetime.

Next: Solitare

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It’s a funny thing, heartbreak.
Romantic, platonic, filial, oh heartbreaks of all kinds, really.
It makes a person in its aftermath, a new one, outfitted with all the right qualities painstakingly tailored over the years just to piss you off. Everything that gets under my skin, she knew about.
Perhaps I should find it flattering, having my own personal villain, custom-made especially for me and hand-delivered to my doorstep every morning. Perhaps I should find it flattering, that I know for a fact that I’m all that occupies her mind most days.
Watching someone I’ve loved turned into a monster attuned to my every weakness has been a wild ride.
I jab at the keys on my computer, solitaire’s green background screen glaring into my eyes, the office fan slowly turning around to whirr hot air into my face. The weather is sweltering, and the fan was, at this point, just moving hot air from one side of the room to another.
My formal shirt sticks to my skin with sweat, leaving an icky, unpleasant feeling that makes me want to shudder, the collar scratching into my throat. There’s enough sweat in my armpits that the man on the other side of the room would smell it if I raised my arms above my head. Every movement I make feels like I’m wading through deep, slow-moving sludge.
I jab at more keys on my computer, moving one card from a pile to another.
“Solitaire?” Comes the irritated hot huff of breath at my ear. I adjust the way I’m leaning in my chair, though I don’t flinch, at this point used to her turning up without notice at my elbow like a jump scare murder clown turning up around every corner in movies. At first, it’s scary, but then, you’re sick of its predictability. “What are you, Gen X?”
She folds her arms, rolling her eyes, and I let out a long huff of breath.
“You can join me, if you want,” I say, gesturing half-heartedly to the other chair at my table.
“I’d rather watch paint dry.”
And with that declaration, she stalks off, probably to tattle to my supervisor that I wasn’t getting any work done.
I stick my tongue out at her retreating back, and Jeff, from the cubicle over, snorts into his fist.


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The cat, curled up alone on the sunny spot by the window sill.
The heat of the mug in my hands, almost scorching to the touch as I stare at the sky outside. Somehow, the pain is a thing far removed from me, scritch scratching at my reality from far far away.

The mug slips, shatters to a million pieces on the tiled floor.
She notices me then, and our eyes meet before her gaze goes to the floor.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, as she clicks her tongue and walks over, taking my shoulders and nudging me gently away from the mess.
“I’ll take care of it. You go lie down.”
“Why should you take care of it? It’s my mss.”
“Iolas, please. You’re not feeling well.”
“I’m feeling great,” I simmer. “And that isn’t my name. Not everyone with a temper is your precious Iola–”
A sharp hit at the back of my head.
“Go sit down.” Is all she says.
My fists clench, but I head to the couch, as she crouches amongst the broken ceramic, picking up the pieces. I hope she cuts herself on one of the sharp edges.


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My eyes land below me as my slippery fingers cling to the smooth metal beam. The beam is too thin, my fingers have nothing to sink into, and I feel like I’m about to fall. I carefully hold still, sure that the slightest movement is going to send me tumbling down, my weight crashing me into the fog, breaking apart the drizzle with my too-large form.
I don’t know what the metal beams below me are for, only that I can’t see into the bright light of the rain-mist, the shapes of beams not so far below fading into bright haze.
I look above me and my heart lurches in my chest- a giant face, too big and too close, stares from above the next few beams criss-crossing above me. Why is there no rust? There should be rust.
I float up towards the face, realizing it’s too still, no, it’s just metal, bronze, a statue-
I go toward the eye, looking so insightful, sucking me into a secret passage.
The secrets of the universe are inside the eye of the bronze giant, inside this chamber ahead of me, the door of which is inscribed with ancient text that makes my heart leap with the significance, the mystery, the age and importance, and my heart quails before the doors as I advance toward that great weight-
And wake up.

Next: Shared

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“This is our shared dream. We can do it.”
I grab their hand, the same fire burning in my longtime friend’s eyes.
Together we leap over the cliff, hanging suspended in the air for a moment before the cushion of air beneath us kicks in.
Reality splits apart around us as we dive into the ultra compressed memories of the world. Trillions of tiny moving particles all around us form, stretching out into forever all around, coming across as an overwhelming sea of moving grey static until looked directly at.
As we’re lifted by the formless air, I grab their other hand and look firmly into their eyes.
“You’re here with me. Don’t ever forget, you’re you.”
They nod, the same determination sparking in their red iris and black pupil. The moment our eyes meet I see something more, as our memories come out of us, dissolving into static in the foam around us.
Within us and around our skin at the same time, drowning us in too much information to possibly comprehend at once.
But I fix my eyes on their memories, searching, holding onto the spark of determination inside of me even as it flickers under the wave of information everywhere.
I can’t see the sky above us anymore, only more tiny, rapidly shifting blocks of static everywhere, each speck of which would reveal fractured memories of strangers if looked at closely.
My breath catches, my lungs closing up, and I look at my friend’s eyes, reassured by the determination in them as they keep looking around us.
They look up at me questioningly, and I clench my hands tighter around theirs and smile reassuringly.
I can’t be the one to lose focus and taint their determination.
I keep looking, filtering through their memories of childhood, their memories of being raised in a normal household, fighting with their siblings, long hours at school, weekends at home, holidays and birthdays, cake and music, math and english, names and apoligies, a fearful afternoon spent curled in the corner- there, what is that?
I instantly zoom in on the memory, the image of them staring at their hands, blackened claws flickering in from a crack in their memory before it mended.
A thousand new paths open up from this one, all around me, and I take in all the information I can.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been with me all this time, just to betray me.”
The voice is different, but unmistakably them. The expression of the strange, alien winged demon in front of them is unreadable.
“Grow big and strong,” the voice that’s so much like my friend’s says, as their hand extends in front of them, watering giant seeds in an cavernous underground garden lit by fire dancing freely along the walls.
“I think we’ll last forever,” that voice says, looking out over a massive underground city lit by pools and lakes of blue glowing water so bright it echoes off the ceiling high above.
“I know we will. We’ll make it so,” somebody else says as the memory shifts aside, to be replaced with a vague, unsettling memory of a feeling, red and black, internal muscles freezing and choking as if held in a steel grip, problems unable to be healed by internal magic, despite desperately throwing that magic around, searching for anything to grab onto to fix the problem.
And then I lose sight of the memories as they’re swept away by a wave of other memories, too many and too fragmented to grab hold of.
“I can’t find them!” I shout, realizing with huge relief that I’m still holding my friend’s hands.
“It’s time to go!” they say back, pulling me in a direction.
I have no idea if we’re going up, our movement pushing aside waves of static that clings to my head, too many and too small to make anything of, too much information at once, making a mockery of reason and thought.
We break through into fresh air a minute later, after I’d given up hope of seeing it again, blindly pushing on.
We swim around, my friend searching around until they find the stairs, surfing over waves of foam that are somewhat more tolerable with the fresh air around our heads and the sensible, ordered sky above.
We emerge onto the stairs, climbing until our knees ache, never saying a word until we’re on the cliff and further.
I never want to go back there if we can help it.
“I didn’t find them either,” my friend admits, looking disturbed as they stare at the ground, “there was something I forgot, but, it wasn’t…” they look like they’re going to throw up or cry, I’m not sure which.
“I saw it,” I reassure them, grabbing their shoulder.
We don’t have to go back, I hope desperately.
They look up, startled,
“But I thought you said…?”
I’d laugh if I still had it in me after that experience.
“I meant I couldn’t find them after they were swept away by a wave of that… static,” I say, shuddering, wishing I could forget the sensation of too many fractured memories engulfing my skin from all angles.
“What did you see?” they ask intently, their eyes widening.
I sit down, still holding one of their hands as I try to recall everything I saw and tell them in as much detail as I can.
“I see,” they say, their face lined in some invisible pain, “this still doesn’t tell us where I came from, or how I came to be reborn, or tricked into believing I belonged, in that family. It doesn’t tell us where the old city was, or why I was betrayed… but… I think I can… guess.”
They don’t meet my eyes, their face pale, seeing something that isn’t there.
I’m caught between wanting to ask them what they mean and telling them they don’t have to tell me now.
They continue anyway.
“I found a memory that branched out into many others. They’re memories of my childhood, but they’re not the ones we saw at first. Only, I think they’re the true memories. I made many of those surface memories up. To forget the person I was.”
They look up at me finally, distantly, as if seeing a stranger.
“I’m not me. And our shared dream is a fantasy.”

Next: Forgotten

I have forgotten much of the life I led before I sat in this basement for an eternity.


This forgotten basement, rubble on the rotten floor above threatening to cave the beams in and bury me.
The sounds of birds, insects and four legged creatures breaking the dead silence that ruled for too many years.


The world has forgotten me, and I have forgotten what it is like to emote. I imagine if I leave this forgotten city, I will find a world that resembles the one I lived in for so long. Human, doing the things humans do. Living their lives, forgetting history and repeating their mistakes. Over and over and over again.

I have forgotten why I cared.

Next: Machine

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hhh missed the chance to post this

Noon tears the bread in half, blowing at the steaming curry filling that begins to drip onto her palm, as she shoves the other half in Dilna’s face.
Dilna, who’d been watching the fountains, moves back a little, surprised, then takes the bread with a look towards Noon.
“You could’ve just gotten two,” Dilna points out.
“And pay an extra four copper? No thank you.”
As the filling begins to drip onto Dilna’s palms, she hurries to blow at it, the smell of its cooked vegetables and spices wafting into her face, misting in the cool morning air. Her mother would’ve never let her buy street food. Especially not of this messy variety, in public.
Dilna’s aware of the looks they were getting, Cora’s daughter and her spirit lounging in the middle of a park on a weekend. She can feel her face redden slightly in embarrassment, though mostly, she didn’t mind. Noon tended to have that effect on her.
Safa finds them again, then, making her way carefully down the concrete steps, as always, drawing looks for entirely different reasons, dressed to the nines as she is compared to the people around her.
“You’re a horrible influence on her,” Safa says, sitting on Noon’s other side.
“You’re just jealous I didn’t get you anything to eat.”
Safa wrinkles her nose. “Uh, yeah, no thank you. I can see the grease literally dripping off that bread.”
“Ah, is this food too much for the royal princess to handle?” Noon smiles, as Dilna begins to wonder if she’s supposed to lick off the curry dripping down her wrist, or let it be and wash it off later. A drop splatters onto her white uniform, and she withholds a sigh, beginning to lick it off.
Safa rolls her eyes, “Is that the only insult you’ve got? I could-- Dilna.”
“What? It’s getting all over my clothes.”
“It’s like I’m babysitting the two of you,” Safa huffs, digging around her purse now, probably to offer her a tissue or handkerchief, as Noon continues to scarf down her own bread.
Though Noon pauses to add, “Oh, these masalas never wash off cotton.”
“What?” Dilna asks, looking over at her. “I like this uniform.”
“Buy a new one,” Safa says, giving up finding the handkerchief, which seemed to be nowhere.
“I can’ t just buy a new uniform because I ate bread today,” Dilna’s brows furrow.
Safa rolls her eyes, leaning back on her hand as she pulls out her phone, choosing to ignore the two of them for her own sanity.
Dilna gives Noon a helpless look, which, when the spirit notices, she returns with a half shrug.
Ah, well.
At least the filling was delicious.
“Next, I was thinking we head down to the park,” Noon says, as Dilna concentrates on the mildly-difficult task of eating the mess in her hands. “You know, a little walk could do you some good, clear your head.”
Dilna hums distractedly, and Noon, now finished with her food, leans forward on her elbows, watching people pass them by in the park. The moment feels almost surreal to the spirit, sharing easy conversation with the two humans beside her. She’d spent so long in stone, she’d forgotten what humans were like.


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Hunter knew she had to be around here somewhere. They’d know her when they saw her, lion shifters were among the magical creatures that could see auras.
The air around Hunter shifted and they tensed, but had no time to turn before a heavy object bowled them over and rolled with them head over heels all the way down a hill, firmly holding them in giant fluffy paws.
They spluttered fur and dirt out of their mouth, rapidly shifting from lion to human form to try to get Chase off of them.
“HUNTERRR! You never visit your poor lonely sister~! It makes me so sad,” she licked their hair with a giant tongue.
“That’s enough. Seriously,” Hunter said, holding their sister at arms length.
She was in her favorite form, somewhat like a lion but the wrong colors and much fluffier.
“I’m sure you’ve found something to entertain yourself. I trust you,” Hunter clapped their sister on the back.
“Aww, how sweet. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of taking a change of scenery,” she said, putting her oversized paw to her furry chin.
“You’re going to move?” Hunter asked, tilting their head.
“Nah, just travel a bit. Want to see the nearby human town with me?”
Hunter shrugged.
And Chase didn’t have to justify the trip any more than that. Not that she thought Hunter would have objected to her actual reason, they were generally down with anything. She was just curious to see if they’d figure it out, and how fast.

Next: limit

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The house was eerily quiet without the hustle and bustle of the others.
Kiana found herself sitting on the floor by the window, hands and knees drawn to her chest, watching the flowers along the walls breathe this way and that in an unseen breeze.
Maybe Lux was right.
Maybe their house was a cage.
It had been her home for so long, she’d never much thought about the space, never thought it capable of hurting anybody. But all the windows were pitch black, and none of the doors to the outside would open, and for all she knew, she was trapped in here, alone.
“House…” she says, her voice small, muffled, almost immediately swallowed by the fauna layering the walls. The wood between her feet shuddered kindly in response, as if the house was telling her it had heard. “I’m sorry I never asked Wynn for your name.”
She leans her head back, closes her eyes.
Listens to the creaking of the wood, of water running somewhere far away, of the patter of something that wasn’t quite paws. The noises of the house. She wonders if Wynn knew how to listen, how to understand it. The boy had been so attached to this house.
But in the end, it was Kiana who was stuck with it.
“Stop!” Wynn roared, jamming his shoulder into the thick wooden door for the upteenth time. “Tell me what I did wrong! We can talk this out.”
It was no use.
The house wasn’t listening to him.
It had locked him up here, in this small wooden room with just one door, with no way out.
There was water going somewhere, dripping pat pat pat.
And then he hears a quiet snicker. Wynn looks over his shoulder to glare at Lux, who was now curled at the piano stool, fingers lightly running over the keys.
“Having a little lover’s spat?” His brother murmurs, for him to hear.
Wynn would like nothing more than to ram his fist into Lux’s face again, but they were already bruised up from their last tussle, and Wynn’s arm still throbbed from where Lux had twisted it behind his back.
What is your issue?” Wynn snaps. “Are you even trying to help me?”
Lux doesn’t respond, his back to Wynn, which was just as well. Wynn’s patience had been well-tried already, and he was beginning to reach his limits. There was something in the air, some coyingly sweet scent, and it was making his head heavy, making his thoughts jump and bounce around his skull like so many random sparks, his skin crawling with an unpleasant prickling that he just wanted to itch off.
Wynn sinks down to his knees, putting a hand on the door.
“Arielldei, come on,” Wynn says, voice soft. “Tell me what’s wrong. Don’t you trust me?”
For a few moments, he lets the words hang in the air.
He breathes through his nose, in and out, though the scent stung his senses.
His nose throbbed where his brother had kicked him, his long coat pooled around where he sat.
He strains his ears, listening.
The house is quiet, besides all of its usual noises, the air heavy with a quiet he was beginning to find unnerving.
Suddenly, a high note pierces the air, and Wynn flinches, at the sound of the piano. And then more notes follow, in what seemed like erratic order.
He sighs. Of course his brother didn’t know how to play the piano.


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It was at the end of a long, finicky project, when the animal was finally the size it was supposed to be, that Theodore smiled.
Maia’s eyes widened, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it, instead congratulating the boy on his success.
He just nodded, the tilt of his chin and the shine of his eyes showing his pride.
It was things like this that the general public wouldn’t understand, Maia thought. Dark magic wasn’t all warped, frightening spectacles and things losing form.
It was meditation, it was hard work, it was frustration and accomplishment and a mind focused enough to let even the unformed Darkness know what was expected of it.
And the boy… well, it looked like he was finally learning what Maia had learned a long time ago. The presence of mind that was required to make this magic work, and the countless hours that went into shaping that mind.
Maia glanced out the window, where the sun was setting over the city.
Outside, someone threw a rock, which bounced off the reenforced glass.
Any comfort found in the work itself or in being provided for because of that work’s value was more than offset by this.
People didn’t understand. Even the king didn’t understand.
But at least now…
Maia looked down at the small boy studying the creature he’d adjusted.
It was terrified, straining at the chains that held it, the whites of its eyes showing.
Of course, most creatures didn’t like to be transformed. Maia herself was all too familiar with the loss of identity, the endless questioning of who she was now and whether she could use her new body for all the things she used to, wondering if she could ever become what she was again, how many times she’d have to make requests of the Darkness and hope it understood first.
She could see that familiarity in Theodore’s eyes as well. The changes were all too clear on his unhuman face, and his feelings about that face were clear in the way his eyes slid past mirrors, his steps quickening to avoid his reflection.

Next: logo

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Perfectly round droplets shine, caught in his lashes like fresh rain, and she found she could not look away.
Belatedly, slowly, it comes to her to ask him if he was alright, and then he shoves her off, in a rough motion and a shriek.
“Who— What—” he’s stuttering, as she hits the tiled floor, the skirts of her dress splaying around her.
“Who let you in?” He asks, voice hushing.
Alaira feels embarrassment and anger both sizzle through her as she looks up at the random man’s vibrantly colorful clothes and golden-eyed makeup.
“I live here,” she hisses, quiet.
“Oh god,” he says, and his face goes through a range of expressions before he nods, stepping forward, holding out a hand to help her get up. “I didn’t mean to…”
She takes his hand and pulls herself up, “No need.”
“This is going to be terribly shameless of me, but… Do you know who–” he seems to pat his pockets, and pulls out a card. She recognizes the red logo stamped to its back– how could she not? He squints down at the card. “Livia Rose?” He looks up at her with a proud smile. “Do you know where she is?”
Alaira tilts her head. “Who sent you?”
“Pardon me? Oh, well, I’d rather not disclose anything to unrelated parties–”
“You’re at her funeral.”
He pauses.
She pauses.
They stare at each other.
He laughs, “You must be joking…” his voice trails off.
Her brows furrow in annoyance, and she mutters a faint, “Alright,” before moving past him, heading down the long hallways, aghast that she’d been so surprised at seeing a beautiful man. Really, she must be losing her mind, with all this work on her head, and her grandmother gone.
The nameless man, on the other hand, was entirely flabbergasted, and now with no one around, reverts back to the form of a spry little fox. He had news to be delivered to his village-- Their master was dead. He’s sure none of them were going to be taking it well.
The fox lets out the equivalent of a sigh as his zips through the event hall, heading for the stairs. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be shooting the messenger.


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The blinding sunlight made the shadows a deep tallow, motes of dust almost still visible in the darker parts of the room.
Will wasn’t in shadow, and her eyes ached. She threw an arm over her face and groaned, realizing the arm wasn’t covered in blood anymore, which meant someone had cleaned her up.
Wasn’t the first time that had happened. All she had to do was find her knife so she could take care of the situation and get out of here into whatever new dimension she was in, where her name wasn’t known.
She wondered what kinds of weird stuff this dimension had as she got down from the bed, wincing at the stabbing in her side. Maybe she’d spend some time in the Empty Dimension after this. Pity she couldn’t sleep there.
The door opened and Will tensed, wondering if it was worth it to fight without her knife.
The girl blended in with the shadows, dull and a little warm, but the white folds of her clothing were blinding in the sunlight.
She looked strong, Will thought, but that said nothing about if she was fast.
“You a fighter?” Will asked with a grin, crouching despite the fact that she could feel wetness seeping from her side.
Her eyes were so dull.
“What you do, then? Got big muscles, huh?” Will mimed a muscle flex, looking at the girl’s upper arms.
“Oh, uh… I just take care of children.”
She was already shrinking her shoulders, despite Will not trying to be intimidating.
“You got a name?” Will asked.
“Just Hue.”
“That Just or Hue?”
“Oh, uh… Hue. Sorry.”

Next: gloves

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He never took off his gloves.
Remus didn’t particularly care, as Janus was a strange man, much like himself.
Strange men have strange tendencies, and this tiny incy wincy little fact about Janus should be of no interest to him, really, since there were soooo many other juicier things to be wondering about.
And yet.
Remus had his legs sprawled over Janus’s lap as he watched tv, hanging almost upside down on the sofa. Janus flipped through some book or other-- Remus couldn’t really get himself to care enough to find out the title. Yellow gloved fingers carefully picked up the corner of another page, and turned it over ever-so-thoughtfully.
Remus growled, which is the only warning Janus got before Remus sprung at him.
Janus inhaled, jerking back, mostly trying to keep his book away from the Duke so none of the pages get wrinkled or folded, but Remus wasn’t after the book. The Duke grabbed his hands, the book falling onto the couch’s cushions–
“Remus, what the heck–”
“Why do you wear ----- gloves? Even in the ----- summer! It’s so -----, do you think you’re ----- Elsa??” Remus’s vocabulary was colorfully spotted with its fair share of curse words and creative word usages.
“Why does it matter to you?” Janus yanks his hands away from Remus. “Keep your ----- nose out of everyone’s ----- business–”
Janus’s vocabulary, unsurprisingly, was similarly colorful, though he honestly shouldn’t be at all surprised Remus’s mind seemed to have taken up personal offense to his gloves. Remus’s mind often took personal offense to a lot of inexplicable things, often seemingly out of nowhere.
“Just-- let – me-- take. Them. Off!” Remus fought to tug at Janus’s gloves, but Janus shoved him off the couch, Remus dragging him after him, and then they’re fighting on the living room floor like schoolchildren.
Janus kicked at him, “This is so undignified–”
“HAH–” Remus bit Janus’s hand, and Janus winced.
That’s how Virgil found them, as he opened his bedroom door. He looked at the two, and then neatly stepped around them to go to the kitchen and rustle around for some snacks.
“Virgil! Get him! Off–” Janus asked, as Remus cackled.
“Deedee, just let me see–”
“I said no–”
Virgil’s eyes flicked to them, before he got out some coco puff cereal to pour into a bowl. “Remus, stop it.”
“Stuff it, stormy,” Remus giggles, as Janus punches him in the jaw. Curse the Duke for being so much stronger than most of the sides. It was both the creative twins, it was honestly a little unfair.
“Fine! Fine!” Janus snaps. “You really want the gloves to come off, you knucklehead?”
“Yes!” Remus crows, grip on Janus’s midsection loosening.
“Get off of me first!”
“Haha, no go, snake man, take the gloves off now before I pry them off!”
It happened suddenly, then-- Virgil walked over, and in one smooth motion, tugged Remus’s collar and easily yanked him off of Janus, as Janus relaxed in relief and Remus kicked his legs like a rollypolly flipped onto its back.
“Hey! NO! I want to know!” Remus whined, swatting at Virgil and trying to get at Janus again.
Janus shoved some of his stray hair back, looking around for his hat, which had gotten knocked off in the tussle.
At this point, Remus was just whining, as Virgil narrowed his eyes at both of them, clearly trying not to laugh.
“He said no, Remus,” Virgil attempted to impress on him. “No means no.”
“What’s he even hiding!” Remus snapped. “Scales? Scars? Secret magical ice powers? I can handle it! I want to know! I WANT TO–”
Janus gets up off the floor, picking up his hat, and plopping it back on his head with a glare Remus’s way. “Then you ask. Politely.”
Remus stopped fighting Virgil’s grip, eyes wide, gaze pinned on Janus unblinking. “Really? Reeeally?” He grins. “Then, then, pleaaaaaase, pretty PRETTY PRETTY please with all the cheery bombs in the world on top, can I pleaaaase see what’s under those gloves?”
Janus’s brow twitched, but he still went to pull his glove off, one finger at a time.
Remus watched with wide eyes, and even Virgil looked over.
Janus pulled the glove off, revealing…
well, his hand.
His hand didn’t look particularly any different from the other sides’, except for the glimmering edge of golden scales buried in parts of his skin.
Remus looked unimpressed. “What was all that buildup for?”
Janus smirks, pulling his other glove off, too. “Please, Remus, do you know how meticulously I plan my outfits everyday? Down to the tee.” Janus tosses the gloves onto the couch. “Without them on, doesn’t it feel like I’m missing something? They just add a lovely bit of mystery and pizzaz.”
“Pizzaz.” Remus repeated.
“Pizzaz,” Janus raises an eyebrow.
Virgil snickers, and Janus smiles, amused.


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Meandering through the possibilities, messing with my own head and turning my hair to dreams. Eating the land and becoming the world, but nobody noticed, living their lives as usual, pulling up the roots of their old stories, inspecting them, and deciding they fit in my skin.
Meandering through the days, nobody calls out the replacement, perhaps they mention that the world used to be different but I’m lonely because they never notice ME.

Next: replacement (I feel like we’ve probably used all the worlds I can readily think of but I’ve forgotten what was written for them so it doesn’t matter XD)


you write so prettily abstract

The too-tight robes chafed at the armpits.
“And, this is my problem, because?” They raised a brow, lounging on their throne, looking down at the bowing peasant.
“B-But your highness!” She protested, and they flicked a hand at her.
“Next,” They sighed, shifting in their seat for the nth time. The throne was not made for comfort.
Their advisors, who stood behind them whispered, ‘incompetent.’
Yes, sure, they were just a replacement for everybody’s beloved king and hero who’d died in the war just a week prior. What was Angy to do? Suddenly become every bit the hero their brother was, take on the mantle of power they’d never asked for?
They would bring this kingdom to ruin, if they had to.
Bring it down to its knees.
Until it fell apart, like their life had, without their brother. Until somebody either stabbed a knife through their heart, or slipped poison into their drink, or dragged them down from their throne kicking and screaming.

weirdly proportioned

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you write so prettily abstract

:smiley: It’s a side effect of being tired
taking the randomness that drags me into dreams and putting it into some kind of logic

awww :cry:

The foreigner didn’t know that this meal was more than weirdly proportioned. They didn’t even know that it was abnormal in any way, having never seen ‘food’ like this before.
They poked at their food, offput by their own clear tentacles, offput by off-red blobs floating in blue jelly and a smaller serving of green blobs.
Eating was not like they were used to, either, simply spreading their tentacles wide over the sustinence and watching as it melted into their jellyish body.
“You’re going to die if you don’t eat more of the green ones within the next ten minutes,” a passerby informed them.
They flinched, tentacles writhing in distress at the thought of dying again.
“What? Why? How? Are you, is this a joke-”
“Our food is highly poisonous if it doesn’t neutralize itself. Here, I’ll take pity on you,” the stranger tossed them four green blobs and they caught them, rushing to sink them into their tentacles.
“Your realm is not much liked around here. Best not tell anyone which pod you materialized in,” the stranger further explained.
The newcomer looked after the retreating clear jelly creature, wondering if they came from the same realm.

Next: autopsy

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this is somewhat gross be warned

She avoided the insects studed in the icing, cut into the bleeding red and put the fork to her mouth.
The mouth wrinkled.
“That’s definitely baking soda. You added way too much. Your cake is bleeding because both cake and icing are too wet. Pay attention to the recipe next time.”
The baker hesitated.
“Um, so… you keep saying next time. Can this one be saved?”
“You added bugs, Jason. You added bugs. No, I’m afraid this was an autopsy.”
“But, we eat bugs! I saw bugs in a professional cake once! I’m just-”
“No. That was some avant garde celebrity cake-maker stunt. Leave out the bugs.”
He pouted.

Next: stage

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