Thank you for all your amazing and fantastic entries!!
Before today’s prompt drops, consider checking out your fellow writer’s pieces and give out those likes and reblogs!
(And if we missed your entry, please let us know).
So go do some reading, get some inspiration, and we’ll see you very soon for this week’s prompt.
Her Magic was Special – by @astralis-elysian
The Twist – by @justahufflepuffnerd
A Long Time – by @stories-by-rie
The Last Magic – by @fields-of-ink
Falling for Her – by @themidnxghtwriter
The Art of Loving – by @onceuponanaromantic
The Family Heirloom – by @pheita
A Malady of Magic – by @linariouswrites
Creeping Magic – by @mortallynuttyqueen
Creeping Magic – by @jewellsfrommaruss
The Ice Prince – by @random-chaos-thoughts
Creeping Magic – by @itsokaytobefreak
Creeping Magic – by @ardawyn
Your Ship – by @kizzerific
A little Magical Creeper – by @inexorableblob
Tethered to Chaos – by @cilly-the-writer
Creeping Magic – by @nerdyenby-vstheworld
Spirit of the Forest – by @meteor-writes
This stopped being whimsical a week and a half ago – by @storyunrelated
Creeping Magic – by @short-form-whump
False Victory – by @writingamongthecoloredroses
Kiera Snow's Ice Sculpture Thoughts – by @myhusbandsasemni
In the Storm and the Garden – by @deepinthegardens
“You ask me who I am?
You – a speck of stardust on a tiny pebble – want to know who I am?
I am the beginning
And I will be the end
I have created supernovas and birthed black holes
There are parts of this universe that are only known to me
Parts that are long gone
You think the stars are to be thanked for your good fortune?
I forged them, you insolent creature
I’ve made billions of planets and you presume I chose this particular rock?
Because it was special?
You dare think I owe you a favour?
YOU DARE THINK I WOULD BEND TO YOUR WISHES?
YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME?
YOU DARE CHALLENGE THE UNIVERSE?
…
This solar system has outlived its purpose
Enjoy the eternal darkness, the cold nothingness
You were stardust once, soon you will be stardust again”
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial
Katherine Grey (not her real name) was contemplating the fallout from her childhood while sitting two feet away from the most explosive matter known to mankind.
Possibly.
It was the uncertainty that had it carefully contained in a government lab and under tight supervision at all times.
The tight supervision was duct-taped in the closet, and she thought the containment device looked an awful lot like a glass jar. A heavy duty, super thick glass jar. But a glass jar.
She tapped her fingers on the desk while she waited. Her mother's psychosis was the supernova that had sprinkled her with stardust, leaving her to the same, inevitable, and unenviable, fate.
She'd always thought it would explode in the same metaphorical sense. Years of resentment towards the constraining role of wife and mother and then boom. Psych ward.
There was a reason she'd never gotten married. A few of them, actually.
It always surprised the handful of people who interacted with her in something resembling a social life how young she really was.
Her musing were interrupted as the door to the lab slid open. Ah, there he was. Clearly a newbie. Forty-three minutes late. Like this place was difficult to hack into or something.
The kid was not expecting someone else to be in here. A real rookie.
"I'm here to…." He trailed off, waving at the jar. She just nodded, waiting to see what he did. He took a few steps forward and froze, careful not to touch the souped-up mason jar.
"It's amazing," he breathed.
"Magic sky dust, if you believe the August Saints."
The kid flinched. She kept her sigh to herself.
“Real stardust,” he whispered, more to the jar on the counter than to her.
“Technically comet dust,” she said, sliding her chair down the counter and picking it up.
"Don't touch it," he hissed.
"It hasn't exploded yet," she muttered, putting the jar down.
The silence stretched. The kid shuffled his feet, considering the jar and then her, and then the jar again.
The jar sat demur on the counter, the not quite rocks, not quite gas inside settling as much as they ever did.
"Carry case?" Gray asked, nodding to the wheelie bag the kid had drug in with him. He nodded.
"Well, supposed we'd better get on with it," she continued. He seemed to think that statement was a little odd, but not odd enough to provoke him into changing course.
This kid had a lot to learn.
He pulled on heavy rubber gloves before touching the jar. She spun herself back towards the desk, pretending to look at documents while tracking his movements out of the corner of her eye.
The kid packed the jar into the carry case, carefully stacking dense foam padding around it. Then he straightened up, and with more confidence than she'd seen out of him yet, headed for the door.
“You didn’t think I was just going to let you walk out of here with that, did you?”
She could hear his shaky, rattling breaths. He’d have his gun out, pointing at her, hand trembling.
Gray ducked to the left, a bullet shattering something expense on the counter where she'd been sitting.
She came back up, grabbing the kid's wrist from behind and twisting, dislodging the gun. It clattered to the ground as he came around, swinging.
Pain exploded in her lip. He’d gotten in a lucky hit. She blocked his next throw and decked him across the face, sending him stumbling back to the wall.
She was right up on him. From here she could see the flecks of gray in his eyes. He was older than she thought. Her age. Just lacking in the things that furrow brows and carve lines into faces. Her own eyes sparkled, flashing with the glint of something ancient.
He went down, slumping against the wall like she'd stabbed him.
Which she hadn't.
She could have told him "better luck next time" or that situational awareness and flexibility are paramount in this business.
What she couldn't have told him was how her pounding heartbeat made her feel like the first time she'd ever fucked up.
“Won’t you regret this?”
Won’t you regret killing me? Won’t you feel bad?
“I’m human—guilt is part of the package.”
Please feel bad.
She smiled through reddening teeth. The taste of iron in her mouth.
“Remorse and regret are not the same thing.”
True stardust in the making.
"I know what you are," he coughed out.
Her hand froze on the handle of the carry case.
"You took the lid off," he continued.
"What kind of moron keeps matter from outer space in a mason jar?"
He shook his head.
"It's not." He broke into another coughing fit. "It's not glass."
Something was humming through her veins. Something heady. Powerful.
Terrifying.
She clenched her fist and closed her eyes, trying to contain it. To contain herself. Stardust felt like the power of a giant in her veins, spiraling inward, to the inevitable collapse and explosion across the sky.
"Not just religious fanatics, then."
The kid shrugged, blood on his lip. "Sometimes we're right."
She kept her fists clenched, struggling to speak. "Well, then the first order of business is getting out of here."
He was relieved when she helped him up, but not surprised. Too much trust in humanity for his own good, she supposed.
In the end, stumbling towards her ship, gunfire around her like summer rain and the scent of home, she had the oddest sense she was limping towards something unexpected but maybe not entirely unwelcome.
Maybe.
And if he turned out to be annoying (or wrong), she could always shoot him.
Another @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt done just before the deadline! (Damn you, work schedule!)
I had so much fun working with characters on the back burner last week that I decided to do it again this week! Varis and friends are very happy for the attention! And, really, I forgot how nice this little crew is to work with. This one capped out at just over 900 words, and uses one of my favorites from Varis’ story - Portia, a spunky halfling with lots of personality.
Portia wasn’t sure what it was she was seeing, but it was beautiful.
She’d been warned her whole life that elven forests were places of treacherous mischief and traps, eager to lure away unwise adventurers and greedy thieves to certain doom. The stories she’d heard passed down from her relatives had always said that the forests were dark, unwelcoming spaces, meant only for their kind.
Her eyes reflected the sparkling in the clearing before her, and she was certain in that moment that the stories she’d heard had never been more wrong. She turned to her companion and her grin broke wide across her face. “Varis!” She pointed at the clearing before them. “They’re gorgeous.”
Varis’ smile was more melancholy than hers as he watched her from the edge of the clearing, but she found it hard to be melancholy when she was so thrilled with the sight in front of her. The flowers sparkled in the moonlight, each giving off their own sliver of light in the otherwise empty clearing. They glittered like stars, and made her feel peaceful.
Portia nestled herself among them, letting the glow of the flowers surround her, and for just a moment, she felt normal again. For a moment, she could forget that she was dying.
It wasn’t long until she heard Varis’ footsteps beside her, and saw him sit beside her in the clearing. “There’s a history to these flowers, you know,” he said.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and gave him a questioning noise.
“Long ago, it was said that something from another realm came and hit the earth, leaving the seeds for these flowers deep within its surface. As time went on, the depths that these flowers were found in were the same underground areas that dark elves settled. They hated the light that the flowers gave off – it reminded them of the surface that they’d been banished from, and so they set out to eradicate them.”
She looked out over the clearing of flowers. “That’s terrible… They didn’t succeed, did they?”
“They almost did,” he replied. “It’s said that worshippers of Eilistraee gathered the seeds that they could find and distributed them among themselves for safekeeping until they could get back to the surface and replant them,” he said. She watched as he cautiously reached out and ran his hand along one, as though he was afraid it’d burn him. “Today, when worshippers of Eilistraee come to the surface and heard her song for the first time, it’s said that they plant one of these flowers where they could be sure she could find it. It’s their way of returning her gifts back to her.”
Portia turned to watch Varis as he ran his fingertips along the flowers. He was so delicate with them, like he was afraid of tarnishing their beauty. “How did you learn about them?”
His smile shifted to something warmer, then. “I have a… I have a friend who taught me about them once. If you pick them and dry them, they crystalize on their own.”
She made a small gasp and turned her attention back to the flowers. “That’s incredible. They crystalize?”
He nodded, picking one of the flowers and tucking it behind Portia’s ear. “They do. It’s said that they’re even more beautiful once they’re dried and catch the light of the sun.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he turned his attention back to the flowers.
She hadn’t been traveling with him alone for long – just since they’d left Rosemary and Hrímdorn – but there was no doubt in her mind that Varis was incredibly kind, albeit a bit naïve. She smiled at herself for the thought that she’d found the one being on the planet more naïve than a halfling. And though that might be true, Varis was more knowledgeable about things than she was, and had a much better sense of direction.
She had picked a good travel partner for the last leg of her journey.
“And if you take that dried flower and crush it, legend says that you can recreate a small amount of the stardust that breathed life into these flowers in the first place.”
Portia’s hand reached up to touch the flower tucked behind her ear. It felt different than she expected, softly textured like velvet but hard to the touch like the blade of her dagger. She could see how it would crystalize instead of dry out like a normal flower. “Won’t someone be mad that you took one of their flowers?”
There was a rustle as Varis pulled an instrument out of his pack and set it on his lap. “I think Eilistraee would be fine with it, as long as we give her something else in return, don’t you?” he asked. “Why don’t you sing a song with me as a thank you? We’ll rest here tonight, in a protected space, and head out in the morning.”
She wasn’t sure how well protected this place was – benevolent dark elven gods were almost legend for a reason – but she decided to trust Varis on this one. He seemed to believe in Eilistraee, or at least acknowledge her existence, and that was good enough for her. “Sure,” she said at last, tucking herself into the safety of Varis’ side. “Pick a song, and let’s say thank you.”
[Image Description: a blurry red and pink banner, with the background depicting blurry clouds. The line “#FFF64 Made from stardust” is written in the middle, in white letters. End ID.]
This was one tough. I had so many ideas, before I settled down on this one. Like always, thanks to the wonderful guys at @flashfictionfridayofficial for this!
This story is set in the world of my wip, Atosk. Swamp Dragons are well... acquatic dragons. Northern kreknas are pretty much sentient, intelligent penguins obsessed with glass.
Title: An Unlikely Friendship
Warnings: none
The freezing water stung his scales, but he persevered. Gritting his teeth and clutching his talons, the dragon continued to slither his way along the water, when he kicked a small rock with his legs.
His head shot out of the water, a smile on his snout: “A rock! I must be nearby.”
Squinting his eyes, he scanned his surroundings: it was a very dark night, and Swamp Dragons’ night vision was pretty much non-existent. Despite that, he didn’t give up, trying to make sense of the darkness that surrounded him.
The little waves hit his body and he sensed the shore nearby. He veered with his tail, when his talons also touched the gravel beneath the water, and he rejoiced.
Soon the dragon reached the shore, and he scrolled the water off of him. He looked around him, squinting his eyes and ears wide, but the night was silent. An owl made his voice heard from deep beneath the trees, but apart from that, nothing stirred the tranquillity of the place.
“I wonder if I’m in the right place.” He sat down and looked at the sky. It was a moonless night and the stars shone bright, little white dots on the dark blue. A curious wind blew on the foreigner’s body, making him tremble with cold.
“He wasn’t joking when he told me his country was very cold. The water was freezing. How do they even swim?”
The dragon took the bag dangling from his back and put in on the ground, petting it with a few delicate strokes. He took a peek inside and nodded happily when he saw its contents weren’t damaged.
He put his head on the ground and started walking, trying to sniff for new smells. He soon found a tree and started feeling the grass with his talons, finding a few branches. He collected a few of them and put them in a bundle. He closed his eyes, focusing on the wind and the ground beneath him, when he snapped his eyes open, a newborn fire crackling into existence.
He breathed a little onto it, to make it more lively, and reveled next to it when he was done.
The dragon had almost fallen asleep, when his eyes spotted a shaky figure walking towards the fire. He jolted awake, baring his teeth, but as soon as he recognized who it was, he lowered his head.
“Oh, my dear friend. You’ve finally arrived.”
“Sorry for making you wait. Today’s fishing went for longer than we thought.”
“I hope everything was alright.”
“It was. Fortunately, I didn’t need a Swamp Dragon to save me from drowning, this time.”
The dragon looked at his friend. He was very small, so much smaller than him. His friend barely arrived at the middle of his neck. The krekna of the north were known to be short, but also to be extremely fierce.
“I hope your travel went well”, he continued.
The dragon nodded. “It was long, but uneventful. The rivers protected me.”
“And what’s that bag, I wonder?”
The dragon smiled: “A gift for you, my friend.”
The krekna jumped on his feet, clapping his wings together: “Oh, really? Really? Let me see! Let me see!”
Chuckling, the dragon took the bag and gently opened it.
His friend stopped in mid-step, then slowly lowering his feet on the ground. His eyes got wide, his beak agape.
Inside the bag there stood a round vase, transparent glass that reflected the fire light in a little explosion of colors and crackles. The krekna slowly approached the gift, as if it could hurt him at any moment, and lifted it as if it were a newborn.
“This is… simply wonderful.”
“I know how much you love glass. I thought to make something special.”
“This is TRULY wonderful!” in his excitement, he shook it a little, before stopping and checking it if no damage was done.
The dragon laughed: “Don’t worry. It’s quite sturdy. It’s made of star dust, after all.”
The krekna raised his gaze: “Star dust? Where do you get that?”
“Dust from Star Spirits. We had a gathering of them a few full moons ago, and I thought of you.”
“I am truly speechless, my friend. Thank you.”
The dragon lowered his head and touched the forehead of his friend: “Think nothing of it, my small friend.”
For this prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial, I decided to write something from my WIP The Champion. This flash fiction takes place hundreds of years before the story begins, but this character’s actions are felt throughout the story.
To Become Stardust
trigger warning: character death, blood via stabbing
word count: 732
--
Her people were made from stardust, or so it was said. Narah always loved the stories of how the first Yuera were fashioned by the Lady Of the Dawn from stardust. How she painted their skin painted the same colour as the sky, fashioned their eyes from the flames of the sun. It was something she was proud of, to be made of stardust. She was part of something bigger, even before she won the Trials and donned the title champion.
But it was also said that when you left this world, you became stardust. That was what scared her, because even though she was part of something she was still different. If she died, she would become a small part of something, indistinguishable from the rest. There would be no more Narah, just stardust. She remembers her parents comforting her when she would cling to them when it got to that part of the story. She wasn’t afraid of monsters or dark magic, but becoming stardust was a fear so still and silent it crept up on her in the quiet moments, hovering in the back of her mind.
It isn’t quiet now, with the wind howling so loudly in her ears they ache, her eyes stinging from the merciless burn of sea salt. It seems like complete chaos, unfurling itself into a storm. Now she wants some peace, to be anywhere but in the eye of the storm of her own making. Somewhere where the fear of stardust was only a dream, a dark thought, and not an imminent future.
The building storm didn’t stop, though it should have as soon as the blade pierced her stomach. It was so quick, one moment she was all powerful, a Champion in her full glory, and the next on her knees with a knife in her hand and her blood mixing with the rain. As Champion, she thought she was untouchable, and that line of thought made her sloppy and allowed for a completely weak man to get close to her with a small knife.
But she wasn’t dead yet, even if the Champion’s Spirit, the source of her divine power, seemed to think so and was slipping from her grasp. There, it would wait for the next generation to come of age, where one of their own would take up the mantle she carried. She wondered what they would think of her- would she be just another scorned woman who spelled a giant storm to cover a large portion of Viare’s coast, or would she still be considered a hero worthy of songs, Narah the Just?
Narah could taste the salt mix with the bitter taste of blood on her tongue as she coughed violently. Her hands were sticky with silver blood, and though she tries, again, to summon the magic of the Champion’s Spirit, all she is offered is the golden shimmer of it’s magic around her bloody hands.
Rain hails down on her, but she couldn’t tell if it was raindrops on her face or tears. She could count on one hand the number of times she had cried, but it feels so strange to just give up.
But what else can she do?
Her magic failed her, she is dying and the storm is building, growing as if her approaching death only sealed it’s fate. Magic is unpredictable and uncontrollable, sometimes things just happen. There are things out of anyone’s control: magic, love, death and just life in general. She may be called a living God, but she’s still mortal, and no matter how much magic she wielded she could never be in control of everything. The one thing she was afraid of, the uncertainty and void of death, is coming for her whether she willed it or not.
“In the end, we’re all just stardust,” she whispers to herself. She really is crying, she decides, her lower lashes are wet with her own tears and not the harsh rain. It’s surreal to be crying and dying at the same time. She’s always considered herself a stone wall, immovable and unbending. Now she’s broken down, and she will become fine stardust left to fill the starry sky.
In that moment, she decides that becoming stardust isn’t as scary as she thought, and she rests her head down on the rough and jagged cliff side, waiting to become stardust.
