Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.

Separate Ways · She-Ra Short Story ·
Organised by RogerDodger
Word limit 2000–8000
Show rules for this event

So fate has decided that I shall rot in Emily forever. It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t suffocating on my hair, but that’s beside the point. I wonder how hot the flames beating Emily are at the moment. If only I could move. Or breathe.

I felt her body shut down and I was her appendix— not necessary but inside of her anyway. The top of her helmet clicked open with a soft shhhhk and I hopped out into the nostalgic-scented air of progress: burning tires and evaporated sewer water. Fascinating. I searched the locked down room. Bits and gadgets stuck out like... things stuck in a wall.

Hey. I didn’t say I was good at metaphors.

I whipped my recorder out.

Hour one in what I will call “The Other Man’s Treasure” or TOMT for short. There seems to be more technology than I could have ever imagined in this one room. It’s so advanced compared to mine at the castle. Emily has tragically passed away. You will be missed.

A moment of silence.

However, I could quite possibly restart her circuits within an hour or two, so stay tuned. Updates hourly.

I switched it off, stuffing it into my infinitely big back pocket, and began to tear away pieces of the light green wall. It was a shame the Horde was misusing their technology like this. After a while my hair groped for my recorder.

Hour three. Emily is reborn July 14. Happy birthday.

She made a robotic jingle I programmed for her. I would hear it again in a year to this second.

There is a vent along the floor that has only basic screws. Not even flathead screws, the imbeciles. Emily and I will explore the premises.

I unlocked the screws with lightning fast speed, and Emily was impressed. I crawled in and motioned for her to follow. She did, slamming face first into the cold, hard, steel wall. She repeatedly tried as I sat in the vent, pondering.

It seems Emily is not able to fit THWONK within the vent. We will have to find another way THWONK around the TOMT. No, that sound was not Emily TWONK that time. I was saying The Other Man’s THWONK Treasure but shortened. She could blend in with the crowd, but THOWNK I’m not entirely certain I would.

Climbing out of the vent, I examined her for dents and gave her a pat on the head for trying so hardl. She purred.

I turned around to the door behind me and ripped off a side panel. Rebuilding and reprogramming their security, I made it harder for myself to hack into their system, at least attempting to give them a fair chance. After a few minutes, the doors opened with a satisfying hiss, giving way to fresh garbage dump air. I took a deep breath in and Emily did too. Or at least she tried.

I waved Emily over into a pre-game huddle. “Alright, I'm going to put this chip on you. Like a walkie talkie.” I smacked a star sticker on what one could assume was her forehead. It was programmed with who knows what, but I knew it would… could work. “Now, I’m going to stay in this vent; and we’re going to find some of that first one tech and then leave this beautiful, technological heaven.” There were tears in my eyes. I valiantly wiped one away, getting grease in my eye which made me cry harder. Bad idea. “They must have it here, they’re so advanced.” Emily nodded and saluted.

Crawling back through the vent, we set off. The duct was dusty: at least only my hair had to touch it as I slid through the vents like noodles down a throat.

I watched my pad. It flickered and blinked as Emily sneakily snuck through the halls. We turned right, coming face to face with our first discovery. I hissed at Emily. “There's a room to your left. I’ll come and open it for you.”

In front of me stood grates with that same flathead screws like last time. It lead into an unidentifiable, dark room. That was promising. I crawled through like toothpaste through a tube and hacked the door for Emily. I heaved myself on top of her and we rummaged through every plate and hors-d'oeuvres and napkin we could find. It was a crying shame to find nothing.

Hour five? Six? Whatever. I have discovered what looks to be a room. Updates soon.

Switching it off, I took Emily by the reins and attended to said hors-d'oeuvres. The food was tiny and I ate it with mild apprehension. It was an olive. My mouth watered and I was ravaging them as the lights flicked on. I froze like a rat being tazered to death.

Rest in pieces, Cheese.

Stuffing olives into my pockets, the doors opened. People began to file in, fancy dresses trailing behind them. Luckily I was rather quick thinking and we hid behind some curtains. Surely no one would see us.

“I see you over there.”

The curtain flipped open, revealing a rather angry, mustachioed man. It was marvelously well kept, with a little twirl at the end.

Log, I have been found by a man with a squirrel on his face.

“It’s not a squirrel.”

He is fascinatingly lanky. I didn’t think anyone could be so skinny.

I whipped out my tape measure and he lightly yelped as I ran it around his waist. He became twirled into the curtain and attempted to face me, instead his back was turned towards me. A muffled voice came through.

“I will have you removed from the premises immediately if you do not tell me why you are here.”

I turned him with my hair.

“Th- thank you.”


I thought back to the valiant Seahawk right before I annihilated that lobster lady’s face.

“-the health inspector.”

He attempted to untangle himself and was soon hanging in the air, limbs protruding like the stick arms of a snowman. The only thing that stuck out of the tangled curtain was a tuft of his caterpillar mustache.

“Now why would a health inspector be hiding behind a curtain, riding a robot.”

“Its mandatory health inspector code to search for any and all food that might be laying about.” I nodded matter-of-factly.

Even through the curtain, I could see his bushy eyebrows cock. “...Uh-huh.”

“Show me around, mustache man.”

“My name is Paul.”

“We ride, Paul.” I pointed onwards. Trumpets played. I was suddenly very glad that I took that extra minute to install that app onto Emily.

I untangled Paul and he dusted himself off, leading us around the ballroom. Sadly, technology did not clutter the expansive room, instead, intricate designs and paintings of naked people on the ceiling were plastered everywhere. I tried to avoid looking up.

Guests exponentially piled up into the room, races of all kinds clad in various suits and dresses. These people seemed to gather in cliques quicker than the Princesses and vehemently resisted any outsiders to enter. My new bruise could answer that question quite well.

We circled the table at the edges of the gathering like the circling of vultures around soon-to-be-dead roadkill. The only fizzy drink was champagne, and I guzzled it down, although it was way too bitter for my tastes. I clinked glasses with Emily and she poured champagne down her circuits.

“To TOMT!”

“To what?” Paul exclaimed. All three of our glasses clinked and I shot down another glass of champagne.

“Mmm. This health inspection is going swimmingly.”

“Ma’am, do you have any ID to prove you are an inspector?” He frowned, his two bushy eyebrows becoming one. It was like two kiwis kissing, or bunnies rubbing their butts together. Fascinating.

I snapped out of it and flipped my helmet down. “Of course.” I then proceeded to hack into their database. Emily’s eye flickered from black to red and up popped a badge. “Here’s my certified, totally legal badge. It’s all digital now. Get with the times.”

"How?" Paul sputtered and stomped away, presumably to go tell management how wonderful a job I was doing.

I flipped myself around from Emily and my eyes twinkled. A new guest had entered, fashionably late. He was tall, with long, flowing rainbow hair. We stalked towards the beauty.

Hour seven. I have found one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever been allowed to set eyes on.

My face became very, very, very close to him. He recoiled. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Hee hee hee hee. What are you?”

He stammered, putting a dainty hoof to his chest, where a lone clip-on tie stuck. It was tacky, but it worked with his whole vibe. Bright pink with blue dots; truly a fashion-tastrophe. I learned that word from overhearing one of my cooks talking about me.

He snorted. “How rude! Wingicorns should not be talked to like this!”

I clicked the red button on my recorder and stood up. “Tell me how you became to be such an amazing Wingicorn such as yourself.”

His eyes gleamed and his smile turned upward, his utter contempt for this interruption already forgotten. We sat down together in a corner of the room, drinking champagne and talking.

“It was a dark and stormy night when the legendary Swift Wind was born…”

Hours passed talking to this mythical beast. Legend has it that he downed the Horde’s forces with a single flick of his hoof, that he crossed the raging sea with a single flap of his wings, that he cured an entire village with the magic from a single feather. There was a lot of “single” motifs in his stories, himself one of said things.
“...And that’s how the platypus got its name.” he slurred.

My hands clapped for the millionth time tonight and I refilled our glasses with the second, no, third bottle. I inhaled the glass, not stopping to clink the second Swift Wind’s glass. My mind suddenly remembered. “Emilia!”

The Swift Winds eyed me. “Isn’t it Emily?”

“Emily!” I stood up. And then I sat back down.

The room spun more than usual like those rides in the fair with the teacups and you have the option to spin the cup and you’re already sick enough but your friend decides to spin it anyway and you never ever ride on one of those things anytime you ever come back to the fair.

It was like that.

The Swift Winds attempted to hold me and my hair down, but he was as drunk as me. Surprisingly lightweight for a 1,500-pound being who rebuilt the city of Atlantis and then sunk it again.

I struggled to get out of their grasp, resorting to plan G to retrieve my long lost Emily. G stood for good, but grossly grandiose. I took a deep breath.
“Help! This man is murdering me! I am the health inspectooooor!”

I should be gifted some kind of award for my acting. I’ll call it an Emily.

Gasps rang out through the ballroom. The Swift Winds retreated. “I would never do something so atrocious as try to murder an innocent health inspector; she is lying!”

Gasps rang out again and I felt their gazes lock onto me like I was the last piece of bread at a seagull’s birthday party. “I’m just looking for my friend, Emmalyn.”


“Thanks, Swifty.”

“No problem.”

The crowd eyed me. "Are you really the health inspector?"

“Oh, would you look at the time…” I gave an award-winning smile and dashed, clambering to the top of the ballroom. They couldn’t reach me from up here: all they could do was throw regular sized food and half-empty champagne bottles that were drained on their way down. Swinging from the beams of the ballroom, I looked up. Not-dressed people assaulted my vision and I screeched, losing my footing, or rather, my hairing, falling to the floor.

Wind blew through my hair like a leaf blower to a pile of leaves and I soon made a winded stop as Swift Wind abruptly ended my descent. This time there was three of him. The more, the merrier.

He twisted and turned, dodging various strains of olives and cheese being hurled at him, bursting through the ballroom and back into the fossil fuel stained world. The road forked and we turned left, hoping to escape the mildly inconvenienced people of TOMT. I cried, having just lost my beloved Emilio for life. If only I could find her again, we could find some first one’s tech and then take a hike.

The love of my life has just disappeared forever *hic*. I loved her like she was my wife, but we hadn’t yet done the ceremony. She didn’t feel like she was ready for that level of *hic* commitment and we were waiting for the right tiiiiiiimeee.

I switched my recorder off, tears wetting Swift Wind’s luscious mane. He whinnied and slammed on the brakes. Powerful blasts of air burst into the guard’s faces in front of him. I groaned, having enough of this crap already.

Leaping from Swift Wind and falling rather ungracefully, I stumbled into the wall, slamming face first into a motion activated door that flicked open unceremoniously a few seconds later. I stumbled back towards them, spewing plan H all over them. It wasn’t pretty.

After coughing a few bottles of champagne all over their boots I proceeded to stand up as straight as I could, look them in the eyes, and lick my lips.

“I am the health inspector.”

They looked at each other.

“And that right there is against protocol. I can let it slide under the radar for now, if you would so kindly eviscerate the premises.”

“Evacuate,” Swift Wind whispered.

“Evacuate.” My eyes lowered at them.

Their weapons were tingly as they pressed quite forcefully against my skin and Swifty’s.

I woke up in an eerily dark room, wait, no, my eyes were just closed. What I did know was that I was firmly secured against a wall, a dull knife repeatedly stabbing my head.

I opened my eyes.

Scratch that. Many dull knives stabbing my head-- like a serial killer in slow motion.

An evil, guttural laugh woke me from my stupor and I came face to face with a red and black mask. “Finally! I have captured a princess. What is your name, little one?” There was no expression on that mask, but I could still see her smile.

I groaned. “Could you turn the volume off? And the lights?”

She looked perplexed. “I- It's like a dungeon in here. The only light is a dim red glow from a stupid gemstone.” The lady cringed and turned back to the stone. “I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean it.” She stroked it. I felt mildly uncomfortable. I’ve seen worse.

“The name’s Entrapta. I’m not really a princess, but at least you tried.”


I groaned.

“What do you mean “I’m not really a princess”?” She threw her hands in the air.

“I don’t have any powers and I don’t really run a kingdom. It’s more of a maze/dungeon type dealio.”

She put her head in her hands. “God, Hordak’s gonna kill me. Hey, listen here. When the scary man on the screen appears, you have to pretend to be an actual princess with magic and stuff.”

“How do I do that exactly?”

“How am I supposed to know?” she screeched. The screen blinked on, catching her by surprise.

“Oh, hello, Hordak. What an unexpected appearance.”

“Get to the point, Shadow Weaver. What do you have for me?”

She stepped away, literally praying that her skin would be saved.

“Behold! I can make olives appear at will!”

She was going to die.

Olives poured out of my back pocket and I laughed maniacally. Somewhere, lightning cracked. I stuffed them into my mouth, their black irises squishing under my teeth. “I am princess Olivia! You will rue the day you trapped me. My army of olives will come and conquer your land, the TOMT!”

Hordak scrutinized me like a lobster in the tanks they have in groceries. “What is TOMT?”

Shadow Weaver intervened. “That does not matter, Hordak. I have captured a princess. They are now one more weak in their forces against The Fright Zone.”
“Ah. So that’s what it’s called.”

Hordak waved his hand. “Interrogate her. Find out what she knows of the Rebellion.” The screen went blank.

Shadow Weaver turned face to face with… an olive. Her skin was a light, gross green and had a bright black eye. I sat atop it, olive spurting olives out of my mouth with every word I spoke. “Ehwilly I foun yoo!”

The olive turned and shuffled out of the room with her captor. I could hear her only sputter in protest. “But- but wait. Come back here this instant!” The life-size olive waddled out of the room, ignorant to her wishes.

My mind buzzed again. “Wait, where’s Swift Wind? He’s our ride out of here!”

Emily and I dashed through the hallways, and soon we heard the faint cries of a certain Wingicorn. “Neigh! Neigh! I am but a regular horse. I demand freedom. Do not ride me. Neigh!”

We screeched past the corner, entering a vast expanse of racing tracks. Swift Wind was circling a track, a trainer sat on his back, training him to do fancy tricks.
His trainer turned Swifty towards us and his eyes twinkled when he recognized us. “Entrapta! There is a magic suppressor on my horn, and I am unable to get it off. They have horse-napped an innocent horse and forced me to do tricks for them. The worst part is--” he teared up “--I’m a natural!”

He pranced around the track and Emily and I clapped for him.

I looked down at Emily. “We have to save him and get out of here. First, we have to get rid of the trainer.” We both nodded in agreement and I looked up at the trainer to get a good look at him. I gasped. No. It can’t be.


The bushy ferret that lay on his lip stared back at me. A tumbleweed bounced past.

“Health inspector.”

Our hands were poised perfectly over our hips, ready to kill. “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us,” he growled.

“Well, it’s a good thing one of us will be leavin’ here tonight.” I spat, dust caking my hard, sun-dried face. “Leaving in a casket.”

Emily jingled, she had received a message.

~Do you believe in magic, in a young girl’s heart?~

Paul whipped out the big iron on his hip and shot. Bullets whizzed by, some ripping through my hair. I flipped my helmet down, red eyes flaring. I whipped out my recorder and flung it at him. It hit him square in the forehead, leaving a red rectangular wound. It played.

Log, I have been found by a man with a squirrel on his face.

“It’s not a squirrel.”

He is fascinatingly lanky. I didn’t think anyone could be so skinny.

Paul shook his head and reloaded his six-shooter. The satisfying sound of the chamber spinning blessed my ears as he reloaded. I made my move. Jumping over the fence blocking me and Paul, I ran straight towards him. He turned and aimed. I was staring down the black hole of death before I knew it.

Before his finger could pull the trigger Swift Wind bucked, throwing the offender into the air. He screamed and landed hard on the ground, taking the air out of his lungs. I tore off the magic suppressor and pocketed it for further research for when I got home, and swaggered over to Paul. I pocketed his gun and knelt down next to him. The recorder was broken and kept replaying itself, burning a hole in his brain.

I have been found by a man with a squirrel on his face.

found by a man with a squirrel on his face.

a squirrel on his face.


“You’re right!” He wept. “It’s ugly. I know. It’s fake. I thought it would make me look better but it just didn’t, right?” Paul wailed and tore off his twirly handlebar mustache. He held it gingerly in his hard, cracked palms. “I want you to have it, horrible health inspector. You deserve its power.” He held it out. A spotlight illuminated it in all its hairy greatness.

“I accept.” I had never felt so honored. He laid it on my face. It was rather crooked and dusty, but I made it work. I bowed to him in deep respect. He stood up and turned back towards the racing ring where a pure white horse awaited him. He jumped up on top and rode off into the sunset. I saluted him. “Bless his soul.”

Turning back to Emily, I opened the message.

-When will u b back? Food is ready at castle. Plz respond asap.

I called them.

They answered, relief and then mild confusion plastered onto their faces.

“Why haven’t you come back yet?”

“Well, I wanted to find some more tech in the Fright Zone, but it turns out they don’t have any real food in this place. I’ll be coming home soon, guys.”

The tiny one spoke up. “I don’t mean to be nosy but… what happened to you?”

I popped the last olive into my mouth, my headache slowly subsiding. Dust covered my entire body and my newly acquired mustache tingled my nose. I sneezed and the Wingicorn behind me blessed me. Emily held out tissues.

“It’s a long story.”
« Prev   2   Next »
#1 · 2
I'm going to contact that Japanese chapel where lonely guys marry their dakimakuras. I'm going to print this out and marry it.
I'm not even going to correct the spacing issues.
#2 · 2
Alternate Story: Inebriated

What the hell?

I feel like the title doesn't do this entry justice. I say that because this entry is fucking nuts. I've read it twice now and I can barely tell you what happens in it. Does that mean I should read it a third time? Maybe. But at the same time I doubt it'll help much; this story defies explanation, for good and bad.


...takes a few hard drags on his customary pipe...

"Entrapped" is a story that starts out stoned and then becomes drunk. I don't want to make assumptions about the author's mental state at the time of composition, but I almost feel I'm in a position to, reading all this back.

Actually, "drunk" might be too mild a word to describe the narrative twists and turns, combined with Entrapta's increasingly intoxicated state; it's safe to say this entry gets totally shit-faced. Try to think about what happens here. Where even are we? There are maybe two short passages of the setting being described that I can recall, and they don't exactly help.

Take this gem, for instance:

I untangled Paul and he dusted himself off, leading us around the ballroom. Sadly, technology did not clutter the expansive room, instead, intricate designs and paintings of naked people on the ceiling were plastered everywhere. I tried to avoid looking up.

I didn't think a description of a fucking ballroom would make me question reality. I have questions, author!

...coughs up a storm as the room becomes more hazy with weed smoke...

This is both a comedy and a sort of espionage thriller, but it's not really thrilling; I suspect it's not meant to be. Things only get wackier when we run into one of those crazy communist horses. You can never trust 'em.

I prefer my equines to be anarcho-capitalist, thank you very much!

I feel like I should just give in and embrace the goof of this entry, because as far as meeting my weekly goof quota this certainly meets it more than "Fuck Adora!" did, and I wasn't expecting that. But there is something on a technical level that I wanna cover here; I didn't really bring this up when I reviewed "Caught Between Confusion and Pain," but I wanted to save it for this review because I think this entry suffers from this particular problem way more.

Okay, here we go.

...trying to hold back weezing laughter, taking another hit of the pipe...

So if this is told in Entrapta's voice, I think the author should've gone to greater lengths to make sure it sounds like her. This is a problem you generally run into with fanfics told in the first person, from an established character's perspective, because usually one of two things happens: either the character's voice isn't convincing enough, the circumstances of the character telling this story aren't laid out, or both. In the case of "Entrapped" it's more the former. I have a hard time believing, most of the time, that this is Entrapta talking. In the beginning it's easy to buy, and the chuckle-worthy remarks like Emily being reborn are endearing, but things go absolutely fucking nuts.

Was losing track of the plot a deliberate choice, author? I must know all your secrets.

Tell me pls...