Grocery Store

Juniper considered. Did he like celery? He was pretty sure he did, but he couldn’t remember if it was the spicy one or the wet one and looking at it wasn’t giving him any clues.

“Eh, fuck it,” said Juniper, before anyone could try to help him. He put it in his cart. Giles had given him some money—a stipend, he’d called it—to augment his income while they worked together, so he was going grocery shopping. And since his eating and health habits were worse in this world than they had been in his thanks to the magical ability to pick up a phone and have whatever shit he wanted delivered right to his mouth, he figured he should probably delete some of those numbers and buy some real food in the interest of not dying a second time, if only because he didn’t want to know what kind of fucked-up third world he’d get sent to if he did.

You really wouldn’t like that world.

Breakfast Time

Juniper swallowed. Pancakes weren’t really cakes no matter what dish they’d been made in, but they were a pretty awesome thing that this world had. They were especially good with tree cum squirted all over them.

“I know what syrup is,” Juniper grumbles with his mouth full. “Shut up.”

If I shut up, the whole chapter will just be dialogue and the readers won’t get to see the photographs Giles is going to show you.

Game Changer

Juniper threw up. He coughed as he awoke, half-choking on the vomit, managing to sit up as he retched into his hand, and down his front. “Egh.”

I warned you.

“You didn’t warn me that you were going to hit me with a vertigo hammer,” Juniper complains, making a face at the mess and wiping his hand on a clean part of his shirt. “Fuck, I feel like I was trampled by a tornado. What did you do to me?”

Took you somewhere.

Small Faeries Having Big Problems May Be A Cliche, but it’s Also True

Juniper flew. He raced through the forest, breath short, wings aching. But he couldn’t slow down. Not now. They’d catch him. At the very least, he had to…

“Woah, hold on there, buddy.”

What?

“You can’t just start the story with me flying for my life,” Juniper says, pausing in his flight. He puts his hands on his hips, glaring into the air, pink wings slowing to a gentle flutter behind him. “What the hell is that? Where’s the buildup and the dramatic tension? Your readers don’t know me from a piece of dandelion fluff and you expect them to care that I’m fleeing for my life from some ambiguous force?”

It wouldn’t be an ambiguous force if you’d let me get through the opening paragraph. There was a whole dramatic reveal in the second paragraph about centaurs, June. It’s called style.

“It’s called being confusing, you dumbass bird.”

Alone Time

“You have to meet with your board of directors tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to meet with the board of directors,” Sam said, sighing. “Bunch of grabby bastards who’d loot my corpse before it was cold.”

“Yeah. And Solomon’s corpse is barely cold and they want to loot it. And if you don’t want them looting your company right out from under you, you have to go to the board meeting.”