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You look at me Like you know nothing About my urge To destroy myself.

Mhopkins

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Pure beauty. 

Microfiction by Rosie Albrecht. 🍜 Transcript: “Her earrings were little bits of wicker shaped into tiny baskets. They caught and collected any sounds that missed her ear, and at the end of the day she emptied their contents into her soup.”

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Snake Oil (Part one of ? )

“Yo, Boss, somebody here to see you!” Sable called up to the second floor of the library, his clawed hand cupped against his mouth. It was a blisteringly hot day, but the inside of the library was cold and cool, thanks to a Marble-opened rift leading to an arctic tundra.

“Coming down now!” Atlas called back, giving the egg before him a few more brushes of gold paint. His task done, he headed for the door to his room, and stood at the balcony looking down into the main library. The pony lined himself up, and vaulted over the railing. He plummeted a short distance, landing in the pit of cushions with a soft ‘flumph’. A small amount of squirming later, and he was standing on the ground.

“Real professional, Boss.” Sable muttered, shaking his head and chuckling. He gestured to a figure outside the door, welcoming them in.

Atlas took a second glance at the visitor. It wasn’t just because she was absolutely gorgeous, with a sandy blonde mane that hung close, styled and trimmed neatly, the flowing locks running over her body like shimmering waterfalls of gold. It also wasn’t the short, dark brown coat, a light chocolate colour that clung to her toned, feminine body. Or her eyes, green with long lashes that kissed her cheeks with every blink.

No, he looked twice because of the 15 foot long length of sinuous, snakeskin tail that began at her waist. Decorated with an elegant pattern of brown and gold, diamonds spreading across the back and her brown coat blending effortlessly with the soft scales of her stomach. It took a few moments for the visitor to make her way inside the building, and Atlas appreciated the time he spent admiring her body, the muscles twisting and contracting for her to move, and the effortless way she seemed to glide across the wooden floors.

“Mister Atlas. Is there something wrong?” She spoke clearly, although there was a bit of an accent. Atlas guessed she had come from close to Saddle Arabia, although her speech patterns hinted that she hadn’t lived there for a few years.

“Nothing wrong, Miss..?”

“Please, Mister Atlas, call me Rha.”

“Well, Rha, I was just admiring the beautiful colours of your body.”

Rha blushed a little, a small shiver running down her back. Atlas raised an eyebrow for a moment. “Would you like us to make it warmer?”

“No thank you, Mister Atlas. I’m only partially a philokerm, so I can maintain my own body heat.”

“Okay, then please, come this way.” Atlas began to lead her towards some chairs in the corner. He stopped, and looked back. “And please, Rha, call me Atlas.”

The unicorn took his seat on an old wooden chair, a gift from a previous client who made thrones. Rha, meanwhile, simply coiled her tail around, and took a seat in the middle of them. Sable sat himself on a cushion, with a notepad and paper. “So, Rha. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I need you to retrieve a book for me. A spellbook, to be precise. It’s small and thin, barely bigger than a greetings card. Bound in a brown leather cover with a golden clasp.”

Sable scribbled some notes while she spoke, and while he listened to her speaking, Atlas found it hard to focus on much other than her beauty. Exotic mares proved a weakness for Atlas, even just an accent can do the trick sometimes.

“Do you know where this spellbook is?” Sable asked, spotting Atlas’ inability to think clearly in the presence of the mare. It’d happened a few times before, and the pokemon guessed that it was the main reason Atlas still lived with Airhead and Zalea.

Rha looked away as she answered his question, a guilty expression crossing her face. “That’s… The complicated part… It’s in the private collection of Prince Bound Heart.”

The name snapped Atlas out of his fantasies, and he searched his memories for information. “Prince Bound Heart… I think I have information about him in my ledger.” The stallion turned to Sable, flicking his eyes up towards his room. “Sable, could you grab it for me, please?”

The pokemon gave a grunt, mumbling to himself under his breath. He heaved himself up, running and leaping to the wall and clambering up to the second floor. They waited a few seconds, before a book dropped down. Atlas picked it up, and began flicking through the pages before stopping and reading aloud.

“Prince Bound Heart, No prior relation to royalty, Prince is his first name… Rich, but corrupt, engages in fairly immoral acts at Times… Famous for his 'parties’, owns various brothels, bars and hotels all within his own fiefdom…”

“That’s the one. A few months ago, he tricked my mother into debt, and in order to pay it off she gave him the spellbook. But… It’s been in our family for generations, and I can’t stand the idea of it just being tossed aside…” Rha looked sadly out of the window.

“Hey, uh, Boss. Didn’t you….” Sable caught himself as he returned to his cushion. “Didn’t Jewel once get asked to attend one of his parties, as a 'special’ guest?” The pokemon made quotes as she said special, and Atlas nodded.

“Well, let’s see… I have either two methods of doing this. I could go in sneakily, try to find the book myself and get out.”

“or?” Rha looked at Atlas, who was smiling as he thought.

“Or, Jewel accepts the invitation and attends the party, and gets inside that way.” _____________

First story after the short hiatus, and it’s gonna be fun. Why?

Because I’m letting you guys pick where it goes! Either let Atlas or Jewel sneak in, it’s up to you!

I’ll leave it a little bit before I write the next part.

Keep an eye out for more.

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And so, I learned in the hardest way, to never wound what you can’t kill.

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The Tea Cat 

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Russian Tea-Cat (A Fantasy Story)

Veronica lay curled up on underneath her threadbare blue blanket on the side of the street, as she had every day for two years. The weather was turning from summer to Fall, and she knew she had a difficult few months ahead - months of seeking warmth while avoiding shelters rampant with sexism and disease.

When she escaped her sole guardian, an abusive stepfather, she had never imagined this. 

She spent her days lying on rough pavement, covering herself with her only remnant from her childhood, and trying to sleep. Every day, she dreamt of a wonderful place - a homey room with a roaring fire, seeped in warmth and smelling of cinnamon and sugar. She felt like she belonged in that place. It felt safe. Veronica tried to dream as much as possible. She knew fantasies like that didn’t exist in real life.

That’s why she was so surprised when she woke up with a little, white package resting next to her face.

Veronica stared at it before sitting up. It was left without a note, probably by a generous passerby. She reached for it without a second thought. Perhaps it had food.

Sure enough, inside rested four little baked cookies, snowy white and covered in confectioners sugar. They were Russian Teacakes. Veronica stared at such cookies in the window of the nearby bakery whenever she had the energy to get up. She had never tasted one before in her life.

A small, black cat rubbed its head against her arm with a purr. Veronica patted it absentmindedly - she was used to the company of strays. She finally grasped one of the confections between her thumb and forefinger and popped it into her mouth. 

A delightful mix of baked nougat and sugar filled her mouth.

“Mm.” She groaned with content. She ate the last three cookies, trying to stop herself from swallowing them whole from hunger. She licked excess sugar off of the rim of the package and leaned back with a sigh. The cookies had given her something she hadn’t felt in a long time - hope.

It was only then that she noticed the black cat was still there, staring at her face.

Veronica raised her eyebrows. “What’s up, kitty?” She wasn’t used to strays sticking around for more than a few seconds.

The cat mewed and looked to its right. Veronica glanced in the same direction.

“What is it?”

The cat mewed again, then walked in that direction. It stopped and turned back to Veronica.

“What is it…?” Veronica squinted and pulled herself to her feet. “Is something over there?” 

The cat responded with another meow and continued along its path, stopping every few steps to make sure Veronica was following. 

“Where are we going, kitty?” She whispered. They were winding their way around back alleys. Veronica didn’t recognize anything, but figured she had nothing else to do that day. It was amazing what she could be convinced to do out of sheer boredom.

Finally, after a few more sharp turns, the cat slipped into an open wooden door in an alley so small that the door couldn’t open all the way. Veronica stopped.

The cat had other ideas. It stuck its furry head out of the door and meowed at her again. Veronica walked closer.

The cat dashed in between her legs and planted the top of its head against her ankles. It was trying to push her forward. She looked up and down the alley and sucked in a deep breath.

“Okay, but if I get in trouble…” She warned the cat before stepping inside the door.

A sheet of warmth washed over her entire body, and she could smell cinnamon and sugar in the air. A fire was crackling in a fireplace at the opposite side of the room. Veronica gasped. This was the room she had dreamt about.

“What the...?” She looked back for the black cat, but it was no longer there. In its place was a tall woman with jet black hair and almond-shaped eyes. Small furry ears pointed out of the top of her head as the only indication that she had ever been a cat. 

“Hi Veronica.” The woman smiled and Veronica found herself smiling back. “Welcome home.”