Word count: 312 ♻️ Thank you <3 There would always be a last time for everything. The last time a storyteller would tell the same story. The last time a jester would need to run away from the noise. The last time an inventor would forget a special occasion. The last time two lovers would have to reunite. The last time an exam would define someone’s future. The last time a chronomancer would change someone’s life. The last time that same chronomancer would need to hide. The last time two friends would watch a meteor shower together. The last time a robotic child would feel guilt. The last time a busy father would put off visiting his son. The last time a woman would miss a time she was never fully part of. The last time a student would sit in a classroom. The last time dreams would feel like memories. The last time agents would use PowerPoint. The last time the seasons would change in an impossible forest. The last time a cleric would leave her temple. The last time two partners would wave farewell. The last time a group of skateboarders would eat meals together. The last time sensitive ears would be startled by a cacophony of clocks. The last time a druid would feel weak. The last time chronomancy would need to be speculated about. The last time a child would want to slow the seasons. The last time an eternity would end. The last time a clockmaker would overwork himself. The last time an aerialist would fall. The last time an artefact would be perceived. The last time a disintegration ray would be used as insurance. The last time a psychopomp would guide a soul. The last time sleeping was a secondary concern. The last time a talented person would feel they have no future. The last time a writer would post a Consistency challenge.

Word count: 622 💭 UPDATE: HAHAAA REDEMPTION!!! >:D This is my better version. I did originally complete this with just over 400 words within the time frame so technically I don't have to be doing this, but I hated what I wrote for it So Much. It was barely complete. So! Here’s a better version!!! it's not a complete rewrite -- more like a continuation. (I still don't love this piece and I still need to get better at ending things but it's literally 2am here so. whoops this is what you get) Dreaming was very similar to chronomancy in many ways. There were also a great many differences, such as the fact that dreams weren’t actually real and that the pushing and pulling of time was completely uncontrolled, but the principle of moulding time was the same. Ildor theorised that this proved chronomancy’s innate presence in everyone. That didn’t mean that he liked dreams, though. Dreams could be very cruel. He’d witnessed his brother’s nightmares enough times to understand that much… and now that he was friends with Marches, he saw the pain they brought them, too. Too often had he seen them with bags under their eyes because they were too afraid to fall asleep again after reliving something terrifying. They’d never told him exactly what their nightmares were about, but he didn’t mind. It was personal. They were lying on the roof wearing earmuffs, sleeping under the stars. Ildor was sitting next to them, winding his pocket watch absently. Marches sometimes stayed at the shop overnight when they didn’t have to work the next day, and asked him each time to wake them up if they seemed distressed. Ildor had done so in the past, and would surely do so in the future… but he hoped that the universe would be kind to them tonight. Unfortunately, no such luck. They began shivering and mumbling and their whole body looked tense. Ildor wished he could undo whatever suffering they’d been through, but he knew that was impossible. The most he could do now was be there for them. “Marches. Marches, wake up.” He gently shook their shoulder. The contact made them jerk awake and back away as if trying to escape. Ildor winced. He hadn’t meant to scare them. They opened their mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t do it. They shuffled back to where Ildor was sitting and leaned against him, pulling their knees up to their chest and hiding their face in their hands. “Apologies for startling you. You’re awake now…” He rested one arm around their back. Not restrictive, just comforting. For a while, they sat quietly together. When they finally attempted to speak again, Ildor was silent and listened. “I don’t know what I’m doing…” “What do you mean?” “I don’t know what I’m doing with… everything. My job. My home. The future.” They rubbed their eyes. “I can’t stand it there anymore, but I have no other path I can take. My employer, she’ll… she wouldn’t be happy.” “But right now, you’re not happy.” Marches tensed. “You’re right… I’m not happy, am I? I’m terrified. If I tried to leave…!” Ildor squeezed them reassuringly. They took a steadying breath before they tumbled through that train of thought again. “I don’t want to work as a jester anymore. That can’t be my future… but I don’t know what else I can do. You’re talented in a way that I’m not. You’re- You’re happy in a way that I’m not. I don’t have a future like yours.” “My dear friend, just because we do different things doesn’t mean that you’re not talented,” Ildor said gently. “And, more importantly, your future isn’t fixed yet. I know that you feel trapped by this lady, but I want to help you escape. It’s not going to be as simple as I thought when I first met you, but that won’t deter me.” He squeezed them again. “You deserve happiness.” “Do you… actually think you can change things…?” Marches lifted their head up to look at him. He could tell how much they wanted to believe it. Ildor smiled at them. “Well, I’ve started changing your present, haven’t I?” They laughed genuinely. It was a wonderful sound. “Thank you, Wiz. Ildor. My friend."

Word count: 386 💤 ✨sleepy✨ also look I got a last minute morning d&d game during when I normally write these so it is currently nearly 2am and this is the best you’re gonna get 😔 Clocks took a very long time to make… for most people. There were so many little components that needed to be connected precisely in order for the device to actually tell the correct time. Configuring everything to be functional took patience. It took even more to make a timepiece look presentable. …But, thanks to chronomancy, Ildor could make it look effortless. He could easily slow time down enough to complete a piece in what appeared to be only an hour. Of course, it still took the true amount of time to him, but to everyone else’s perceptions, he churned out clockwork at miraculous speeds. With enough energy drinks, he could get through a week’s worth of projects in one day… “Ildor, did a zombie bite you?” …though it left him exhausted the next. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to focus on Marches. “Hm? Wha..?” “I’m saying you look exhausted. Have you stopped working since yesterday?” It wasn’t his fault, really. It was easy to get lost. The cycle was easy to get stuck in: make clock, subconsciously slow time, feel tired, drink energy drink, make clock, subconsciously slow time, feel tired, drink energy drink, make clock- “Ildor, you are so out of it. You really need to go to sleep.” They were right. They were always right. It wasn’t fair on them to see him like this. “I’m sorry…” Marches grabbed his wrist and led him out of the clock shop, across the moonlit streets and to his rooms. Their memory was remarkable: they’d only been there once or twice before. When they arrived, Ildor unlocked the door for them both. “Thank you… you really didn’t have to do this.” “Of course I did. You’re my friend.” They smiled, then let it fall sadder. “Please don’t overwork yourself like that… see how terrible you feel? How long was your work day yesterday?” “Maybe triple the normal amount?” Ildor replied, removing his coat. Marches sighed at him. “It sounds worse when I say it out loud.” “Just… rest now, alright? I won’t leave until you do.” they muttered, turning to lie on the sofa. Ildor wished them goodnight and went into his own room. It was embarrassing how quickly he fell asleep after his head hit the pillow. He needed to reevaluate his strategy.

Word count: 395 ⚚ Mythology nerds please be peaceful The end of the world ended up being caused by a frustrating mix of human stupidity and terrible divine guidance. It wasn’t the psychopomps’ place to hold an opinion on the matter, but some did nevertheless. It was a tragedy, plain and simple. Watching the humans react to the end of the world was both fascinating and deeply emotional. With nothing left to lose, many revealed their true selves – whether that be through a heartfelt declaration of love or by going on a killing spree. Some threw themselves into trying to find a solution… misguided into thinking there actually was one. Others remained paralysed in fear, sobbing, screaming, holding their loved ones close. The whole atmosphere… no matter how long the psychopomps last after Doomsday, the experience would never leave them. The world, ablaze, with people burning everywhere. In a twisted kind of way, it was almost like a mass cremation. The world itself gave them a funeral. …But they didn’t watch for long. They still had one final job to do. It was a monumental task, bigger than both World Wars combined. All these spirits needed to go somewhere. The bulk of what humans would consider ‘afterlife’ happens in their minds. Nobody is disappointed in death. Whatever they believe happens to them, deep in their bones, is what they experience. However, their spirits still require somewhere physical. That’s where the psychopomps come in. “Alright, let’s start in our regular areas and work our way out. We have a lot of work to do.” “Will there be enough of us? There’s so many of them…” “There’s gonna have to be. It’s the end of the world.” Each spirit, animal, god and demon gathered as many souls as they could, bringing them to somewhere — anywhere — safe to rest. From the richest billionaire to the poorest child, everyone was equal in death. There was no need for any separation anymore: a soul was a soul. It took days to gather everyone. When all was through and the world fell silent, nobody really knew what to do with themselves. Their whole purpose for existing was over. Doomsday had come and gone. What else was there to do for the rest of eternity? A certain god with winged sandals knew. He had a ‘professional associate’ in mind who deserved as much of a break as the rest of them.

Word count: 304 🙂 The time is 14:29. Your next three tasks are: Delivery arrival at 14:45. Meeting at 15:00. Meeting at 16:30. You will have 3 hours of recreation tonight, and are scheduled for 10 hours of sleep starting at 22:00. “Thank you.” The system was perfect. Nobody had missed a task since it was implemented. SmileCo productivity was at an all-time high, and it was all thanks to her. SmileSchedule3 had been Ashley’s passion project for a long time, so having it in action and seeing its impact… it made her smile as wide as the company logo. There had been a few complaints, of course. There would always be naysayers – those who hated the rigidity of the work. Ashley told them that they didn’t have to stay working for the company if it didn’t make them smile… if they were willing to comply with the terms of their employment contract. Since adding the hidden clause about surrendering all worldly possessions to SmileCo, significantly fewer workers chose to resign. The SmileSchedule3 was the peak of Ashley’s career. She got a raise, now taking 50% of the company’s profits rather than the previous 30%. Officially, she also got an additional 10 hours of recreation per week, but the SmileSchedule3 automated most of her job. She was rarely in the office these days. She could finally spend more time on what she was most passionate about: making expensive, low-quality shirts with pictures of stolen memes. Ashley knew that she was the most valuable asset to SmileCo. The world relied on SmileCo, and SmileCo relied on her SmileSchedule3. She was careful to be irreplaceable. Even through scandal after scandal, the company had to keep her on board. They had no choice. After all, she was the only one who could disable SmileSchedule3’s disintegration rays.

Word count: 327 🏺 There is no way to travel backwards in time. Chronomancy can only stretch and warp what is present: it cannot touch the past. History needs to be captured for it to remain in memory. That’s why record keeping is such serious business. Knowledge needs to be preserved. Without dug-up relics, old writings, crumbling architecture… we would have no idea about anything. The difficulty is, these concrete things are all incredibly fragile. Relics can be carelessly handled and broken. Paper can turn to dust with a strong enough gust. Acid rain or earthquakes can bring modern cities to mercy, so ancient structures don’t stand a chance. There is only so far protective measures will go. Backups need to be made. Precise duplication is impossible, but descriptions and photographs certainly are. Record keepers take care to capture every detail they can, from the most obvious imagery to the tiniest fingerprints. They are methodical and accurate above all else. Their jobs are not to speculate on the meaning of pieces – they are merely there to record them. Creativity and connections can come later when there is less risk of permanently losing information. Of course, permanent losses still happen. There will always be those who oppose this preservation… and many who go to great lengths to erase the past. Whether this be to defend the honour of someone too dead to care or to simply force humanity to stop looking back and begin looking forward, people will attempt to destroy records for as long as record keepers exist. Alexandria burns in every universe. It’s tragic, but inevitable. Even with the most diligent work and the highest standards of security, it is impossible for everything to survive until the end of time. Still… the possibility that something will last inspires record keepers to continue. Their work resets the expiration date of artefacts and historic sites. If their work can carry human activity to the very end… it will all be worth it.

Word count: 307 🕊 I am not an aerialist and also scared of heights so take this with a grain of salt lol To fall, as an aerialist, stays with you. The dropping of your gut as if in a roller coaster… the sensation of slipping through the aerial silks… the wave of pure terror as the ground gets closer and closer and closer- Yeah. The memory of uncontrolled falls doesn’t leave in a hurry. It impairs your confidence. The next time you’re high up in the silks, you grip a little bit tighter. Your muscles are a little bit more tense. Controlled falls become a lot harder to get right, purely out of fear of falling further than intended. With proper technique, of course, this shouldn’t happen… but when fear gets involved, technique crumbles. A vicious cycle. By being afraid of falling, you fall more often. By falling more often, you take fewer risks. By taking fewer risks, you lose interest and return to the safety of the ground. To be an aerialist is to overcome fear. Without a stage to stand on — to support you — trust needs to be placed elsewhere. Trust needs to be placed in the silks you dance between. Trust needs to be placed in your strength. Trust needs to be placed in the crash mats and nets below. First falls are like natural selection. The experience will always linger in the back of your mind, but every performer you’ve ever watched also has that pricking. The difference between those who continue to dance and those who become grounded forever is mental strength. Those who have the power to ignore the pricking and remain focussed and absorbed in their performances are those who enchant the audience most of all. Eventually, it is possible to shake off the fear for good, but the first step towards that is continuing despite it. If you can do that, you will join the most free souls in the world.

Word count: 312 ☀️ This is kind of a companion piece to the Nighttime prompt?? I reread it before writing this one, at least. I hope this is daytime-y enough -- this guy sees the sun maybe once a fortnight max :'D Marches knocked on the back door. “Ildor?” Hm. No response. They knew he was in there. He hadn’t gone home since their evening meetup. Had he seriously been working for all those hours? “Ildor, I’m coming in.” They opened the door to find Ildor intensely focussed on some clockwork mechanism they couldn’t pretend to understand. He was still wearing his coat from when they saw him around eight hours ago. The ticking clocks surrounding them were a little overwhelming, but they stayed strong for the moment. A wide-brimmed hat was gathering dust by the door – when was the last time he’d gone out during the day? “Hey, Wiz…” they said, approaching him from the side. “Have you been working all this time?” His head finally snapped up and he mumbled in slight confusion. Then he noticed Marches and beamed. “Ah! So good to see you, Jingles! Is everything well?” They sighed. “With me, yes, but I’m wondering about you.” “Whatever do you mean?” They flicked at his coat, then gestured to the window where sunlight was shining into the room. Ildor’s smile fell a little. “I… may have become distracted.” “It’s not the first time,” Marches smiled sympathetically. “Shall we go out and enjoy the city on my day off? You look like you really need a change of scenery.” “The sun is more my brother’s domain…” He thought for a moment, staring out the window – probably wondering if he could be bothered to stand in the light at all. Much like sounds for them, the feeling of sunshine was uncomfortable for Ildor. “...but you are right. I’ll come with you.” “Great!” Marches bounced on the balls of their feet while Ildor stood up and traded his coat for his hat. “Let’s give you a proper break from the clock shop.” Ildor chuckled a little, then walked out the door with them.

aaaaksdjlkjd thank you so much!!!! :))))))

Word count: 218 😵‍💫 Ildor had never created an “eternity” before. From the limited (factual) records of chronomancy wizards before him, he knew it was possible, but all accounts said to be extremely careful. Eternities could be dangerous; tales told of wizards stuck in eternities, unable to break out of them because it was impossible for everyone outside it to notice. Throughout his teenage years, Ildor had feared accidentally creating an eternity – being isolated, being permanently alone – and his brother (with tears in his eyes) had insisted that he never make any attempts to create one intentionally. But there was curiosity… and curiosity was a powerful force. Eternities: spaces between time. There was no greater punishment for those who found themselves stuck there. And yet… And yet… as Ildor got older, the drive to find out how they worked became more and more intense. Chronomancy required energy, and the pauses could only last as long as there was magical energy, meaning that eternities would need an infinite amount of energy to sustain. It was a mechanical impossibility, and yet… And yet… …Would he spend an eternity wondering? Would he spend all his energy trying to find a solution? Was the search for an eternity more eternal than the prison the solution would create? …or did he just need to go to bed…?

Word count: 210 🍂 the pure PANIC of the prompt coming out an hour earlier omg The orange tree child stared down at the changing leaves from his perch in his guardians’ branches. He didn’t like it when the leaves faded from green to orange. The branches thickened at this time of year to prevent the ground from getting too soggy, but the orange inevitably became brown mush eventually. Just one little focus… “Child, you know that you shouldn’t mess with the leaves,” one of the giant trees he was sitting on called up. “We need to let them cycle naturally.” “But they’re sad,” he mumbled. They both knew the leaves weren’t sad. Becoming crunchy was probably quite fun. The child was the sad one. The other tree pulled him down and placed him on the ground to face his wooden face. “The leaves are the easiest way to identify the changing seasons. They can’t show us days or weeks passing like human calendars can, but they show us the broader strokes of nature.” “Why do the seasons have to change?” he asked quietly. “Isn’t there something we can do?” The trees scowled at him, but spoke evenly in unison. “You mustn’t consider such things, child. Nature’s passage is no tragedy. The leaves must change to grow stronger next year.” The child was unconvinced, but relented.

Word count: 325 🫂 Marches shuffled closer to him. “What’s the greatest measurement of time?” It was a curious question – a common kind of question for their late-night, fuzzy-minded meetings. The night was dark and the clocks were silent, leaving them in total solitude. They had each other and their thoughts: no more, no less. “A lifetime,” Ildor said simply. “We can’t fully comprehend what we can’t experience.” Marches looked pensive. A sadness fell across their face as they stared at the stars above them. It was a familiar look for them, unfortunately, though Ildor understood that allowing him to see it was a weighty thing. “Marches?” he pressed gently. “Sorry, I… was just thinking. How does your magic affect your lifetime? Do you age faster? Will you… will you die faster? Or will you outlast everything around you?” Ildor took their hand in his. “You’re considerate. I admire that about you… and I wish I could answer your question.” He looked far into the distance; he looked far into the stars, wishing they’d help him learn the truth. “I really don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t.” Marches sniffled and reached into their pockets for a handkerchief. “I… I see…” “If it’s any reassurance, I don’t look that much older than my brother.” Ildor continued. “We’re twins, you see, and he insisted that I never use my magic to affect him. I think that means I’m physically ageing normally, at the very least.” “That makes sense…” “And…” He held their face. “I promise to try to find answers. I want to live, and I want to live alongside you for as long as I possibly can. I won’t ever leave you feeling lonely, Marches.” They smiled with teary eyes. “You’re going to make me cry, you sap.” Marches wrapped their arms around him, and he held them back. Time bended around them, letting them have this moment together. “Thank you, Ildor.”

OMG THANK YOU?????? that means so much to me omggggdhdjj!!!!! :)))) I’m very glad you enjoyed!!

Word count: 466 🍃 Inspired by a crisis my very sweet d&d character had recently! Monsoon, Rain, Heka, Ronasce, Padre, Aureliius… if you see this, no you don’t. Edit: here's the guy! :) I was near you when you fell. You, who appeared so strong, thrown to the ground. We hardly knew each other, but that made no difference. Seeing anyone with a spear in them was never a pretty sight. Your feline eyes glazed over, dropping your raised fists as your body landed with a thump. My heart fell. I wanted to act. I wanted to help, I promise. I tried. I failed. That wasn’t the first time that day, you know. The first time, I fumbled. Another stranger fell twice in a row. Each time, I wanted to act. I wanted to help, I promise. I tried. I wish I was stronger to do more. The final time was you again, Rain. Me as a wolf watching you fall made me impulsively abandon strategy and become furious. Winter is a scary time when you live among plants. Everything falls, just like you, Rain. So now, with all the frustration and anger and feeling of uselessness channeled into one single spell, I will be of use for once. Perhaps this was all I needed — an emotional push to be strong. Someone else healed you that time, thank goodness. By that point, I was exhausted. There was no more healing left in me: only shame and rage remained. How can I be a protector? I ask myself, when I can’t even help you? You don’t need to be protected — You’re as strong as Lightning After Rain. How can I be a protector? I ask myself, when I can’t even help you? You don’t need to be protected — You’re as strong as a Monsoon O’er the Tides. If I can’t protect those who who are already strong, How can I protect those who aren’t? If I can’t keep water from falling, How can I be strong myself? If you were here, soldier from the sands, You surely would have an insight. You, my first maybe-friend in this guild, You, who have been through so much yourself, You, softening to learn compassion, Breaking your previous rhythm, could surely break through mine could surely break through my pattern of uselessness. uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness uselessness No. No, never again. Never again will I fail like this. Things may only end worse next time. There won’t always be someone to pick up my mistakes. No trickster gnomes, No sidekicks sitting on my shoulders, No soldiers on a quest to improve. Never again will I fail to be wise. Never again will I fail to be swift. Never again will I fail to be strong. Never again will I let an ally fall. That is a promise I make to myself, And to you, Monsoon, Rain, Aureliius. I will never be weak again.

Word count: 384 ⏰ There was only one trouble with owning a clock shop: clocks rang on the hour. When all of them kept the same, perfect time, this resulted in an almost demonic, dissonant wail that could even be heard from the streets outside. Over time, Ildor had tried to put more care into harmonising them, but the noise was still unbearable for those unused to it. Usually, Ildor remembered to give customers a warning that the cacophony was imminent and tried to schedule meetings around the hour if possible. However, when he was otherwise occupied, he often forgot about the ringing until it was too late. It didn’t bother him anymore — though it still startled him occasionally — but now that he had a friend, he had to try to remember to be more aware. Marches had sensitive ears, so they usually chatted on the roof rather than inside with all the ticking, but the screams from inside were still audible up there. As sometimes happened, Ildor lost track of time, twisting it subconsciously as if twiddling his thumbs. The noise came out of nowhere, making both him and Marches jump in surprise. Marches covered their ears and shut their eyes, and Ildor reflexively halted time. He touched their head to unfreeze them. “Marches, are you alright?” They flinched. “I- I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to that noise…” “I need to think of a solution for this,” he sighed. “I don’t want to keep causing you needless stress whenever you come to visit me here.” Marches drew in a steadying breath. “Yeah. Even just, like, a warning would be enough. A clock that rings quietly slightly earlier than the rest.” “Like an alarm clock that you can wear…” Ildor began planning out loud. “Instead of ringing, it could vibrate…” Marches smiled. “Something like that.” The ground trembled. Time was about to continue. Marches braced themself and Ildor sat slightly closer to them. When everything unfroze, the cacophony continued like a clockwork army. It was short-lived — only a further ten seconds or so — and when it was over, Ildor seemed itching to go down and start tinkering. Marches noticed and smiled. “You can go, Wiz. I’m sure you’ll be done in no time at all.” “Thank you, my friend.” He disappeared down the ladder.

Word count: 217 🛹 First stanza has potentially unhealthy attitudes towards food so skip over if that’s something you’re sensitive to! also this is once again inspired by another piece of media so yay to you if you can guess what it is! :) 🎮 First, for breakfast: protein shake. Whatever mother says I have to take. Sometimes we must sacrifice when competition is at stake. Instilled in me since talent bloomed: A love for food will leave me doomed. Aerodynamic, light, perfect, Any less will leave me wrecked. Food is fuel and fuel alone When you’re the hero on the throne. 🍱 Lunchtime, on the roof with you, Your eyes shine in excitement over and over over and over you tell me about something new Some new trick, a cool video, Someone interesting from last night. Over and over you tell me about something new you want to try. Me? I’m still intrigued by your bento box. Changing every day. Just like us. We’re growing and learning and that takes energy — abundant in your heart, but also in my sandwich. 🍽 Your place, or mine? That never needs to be asked when you own a damn restaurant. After hours, before the main event (or sometimes after, too) I eat my evening meal with you. Pasta for me, wine we share, Bickering about nonsense Calling names like we’re still kids But laced with affection and care we’re too prideful to express directly. “We’re not alone,” you said. We aren’t, it’s true. You’ll always remain a nuisance, but I’d prefer no other nuisance to you.

Word count: 222 🎻 This poem (ooh, switching it up with poetry!) can be read without this knowledge, but technically it is inspired by part of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (aka Dai Gyakuten Saiban), so if you’re still playing them you might find SPOILERS in here. You’ve been warned! I waved reluctant farewell from the boat- No, not farewell; until next time. Ten years of separation. Letters sent back and forth Could never be enough compared to your joyful laughter Your eagerness Your music, my dancing. We didn’t get to see each other’s kids grow up, though mine takes after you, and yours after me. We speak to them in pseudonyms, hypotheticals, secrets… …your brilliant mind and legacy reduced (by necessity) to “partner”. Partner… partner… Until we meet again, partner, I will hold out for one last dance. Until then, partner, I will continue to speak of you. Continue to share your genius. And maybe one day, when we meet again, we won’t be the only partners dancing. There is one my son speaks of as I did of you — I daresay with even more affection and passion — and he sounds like a pure-hearted man. I pray they can extend the meaning of “partner” beyond our platonic and sea-separated boundaries and blossom into something unique. Just as we did. Partner, remain safe. I may be an ocean away, but you have a child now. Look after Ayame. Iris. You hide your fear of death well, but I fear I must remind you: You are not immortal. Be safe, be wise And until we meet again, partner, May the music carry on.

Word count: 229 🏥 (Based on a d&d character I played in a oneshot: Linidaa the Dragonborn Cleric!) here she is :) When Linidaa wanted to leave the temple of Ilmater, nobody expected her to be able to get by in the wider world. She had been born with a right leg unable to support her properly, so she needed to use a crutch whenever she wanted to move. She was a talented and faithful healer, yes, and the world would certainly benefit from her services, but there was a nervousness among the monastic community that she simply wasn’t strong enough to travel very far. They expected her to return within the season. She didn’t return that season. She didn’t return the next, either. It was only after a year that she made it back home, cheerful and bright as ever. Linidaa told them about her journey. How she made her way through a trap-ridden dungeon to rescue a halfling prince. How she worked as a healer for a circus troupe making their way across the land. How she survived something she called a ‘zombie apocalypse’ – a rising of the undead by a powerful and dangerous necromancer. After that, the monastic community gave her a formal, full-time adventurer’s leave. She was more than capable of looking after herself, and magically more powerful than most of them combined. Linidaa would always remember her time with the temple, but she was glad to be free to pursue what she loved: discovering new things.

Word count: 336 🍊 Spring among the orange trees brought the blossoms out. The little flowers covered the ground, making it look almost like snow. When the child ran through them, the petals loosened and were caught by the wind, making them swirl in a magical dance. Everything was comfortably bright in the springtime. The cool, dewy mornings juxtaposed the warmer afternoons, and the stars shone bright through the cagelike branches of the woods. Yes, Spring was a good time to be alive. Summer brought the fruit. The fruit brought the weddings. This season was the most exciting time to be among the orange trees, with each day varying from the last. Lovers, families and friends would all make the journey through the woods, eating the fresh fruit and giving all-powerful, sustaining love to nature. Many would get married, their union blessed by the strength the oranges provided. Yes, Summer was a good time to be alive. Autumntime wound the year down. The temperature fell and the storms arrived, washing away traces of the previous season’s revelry. Mushrooms emerged, wrapping around the trees like clothes, and the ground became muddied and brown. Leaves began to die off, but that only meant they’d grow back stronger next year. There were still some visitors at this time of year, but it was mostly a playground for the child. The year turned on the thirty-first. Yes, Autumn was a good time to be alive. Winter finally gave time to rest. With the new year dawning crisp and cool, the trees began their hibernation. The child became lonely, hoping that the trees would wake up in the next season; he prayed that the love from the world would sustain them. The nearby town often brought offerings to provide some protection. On the Solstice, his father would come to visit. Snow cloaked the ground, but with a little urging from the child, the snowdrops would soon bloom. Yes, Winter was a good time to be alive. It was always a good time to be alive.

Word count: 360 🕵️ Based on true events /j anyway i hate this one sorry but at least i wrote it Two Agents were sitting around a coffee table. The first, Agent Candy, seemed at first glance to be the one with the brain cells. Agent Grapes next to them was suffering. A third, who was standing in front of them with a SmartBoard displaying a bad PowerPoint presentation, was the reason for this. “No, no, hang on, listen, you aren’t understanding me-” “Of course I’m not!” Agent Grapes sighed exasperatedly. “You’re not making any sense!” Agent Bottle, the one with the least brain cells, flailed his hands at the SmartBoard in some kind of indecipherable gesture. “Look, all I’m saying is that if we follow this plan, we’ll definitely be able to get the information we need! We’ve done infiltration before: this isn’t anything new!” “If I may…” Agent Candy tapped their pencil against their notebook. “What has step four got to do with finding the documents we’re looking for?” It was a fair argument. Step four was to befriend the office’s dog. “We need to get on its good side. Dogs are good at knowing when things are suspicious.” He folded his arms defensively. Agent Grapes held her head in her hands. “You always do this. I can’t believe I got stuck on a mission with you again. This will never work.” “You’re so needlessly dismissive! My methods have worked perfectly fine before!” “Shut up. Both of you.” Agent Candy stood up. Silence hung in the room as they walked to the SmartBoard and scribbled some notes on it. “Sure, this plan of yours has… issues, but it’s at least a framework we can build off. Bottle has at least given us a timeline for when things should be happening by, which is more than I’ve noticed you providing, Grapes.” They looked at her pointedly. She pouted. “Now, we’re going to take a break. When we get back, we can have a civil discussion and turn this plan into something actionable. Are we understood?” The two younger agents looked away from each other, but mumbled in agreement. They gathered their things and left to get coffees. Agent Candy pulled out their phone and texted their boss. Please ban PowerPoint.