prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] You woke up in a bathtub full of ice with fresh stitches on your back and abdomen. The emergency room reveals that several organs are missing, replaced with something unknown. They want to cut you open, but you're feeling awesome, stronger and healthier than you've ever felt in your life. | Cold. Ice cold. That’s what I felt when I woke up.
A feeling as strong as a sizzling pan and yet as freezing as the last circle of Hell. My body hurting, full of cuts that were already clotted. Unable to move, unable to even scream for help. I didn’t even know if I should scream. What the fuck happened?
I got to move my legs soon. Then, my arms and the rest of my body started waking. All quicker than I expected. I was already standing up and thought I’d go to the hospital after taking a bath. Wherever I was in, they had a towel and fresh, hot water. I didn’t even need to bathe that much because my body seemed to absorb all the heat almost immediately.
Once I got out, I found myself in a motel room. Two beds, tidy and clean, a working TV, closed curtains, and, miraculously, a set of clothes and my phone. Whoever got me in here treated me like I was in a 5-star room. I got my phone, unlocked it and called for a cab. I could've called for the cops, or an ambulance but... something told me not to. I couldn't explain but, I chose to go to the hospital myself, thinking of this as not much of a scandal.
I could walk fine, from the room to the cab. Even more, from the cab to the reception, from the reception to another room, where the doctor was waiting for me. I had just got out of a freezing bathtub, my body was full of cuts, and for some reason everything was working out fine. As soon as I explained my situation, and the strangeness of it all, the doctor began working soon, bringing in an x-ray machine.
I waited on a bed in another room, hoping that I still had all my organs with me. I thought it'd had to be like that considering I was feeling totally normal. Stronger than usual, even. Then the doctor came in, with a worried look on his face. He was stammering and stuttering, as if he'd just seen someone get murdered. "What's wrong, doc?" He then handed me my x-rays. Inside me, I saw... black. Only that.
Where my kidneys should be, pure blackness. Where my lungs should be, pure blackness. Where my stomach should be, pure blackness. It was as if the images had gone right through those organs. But only those?
"It's worse than you think, Corey", said the doctor. He asked me for the pictures and then, laying on a table, took his pen out and started outlining something. I didn't know what but even his pulse gave away his nervousness. He turned around and handed the images back to me, now with a clear outline on the black mass in my body.
"I don't know what that is", he said. "In all my years working, I... I've never... Excuse me." I could tell his shock regarding my current state. He asked me if I was done looking and, after responding affirmatively, he took the images and left the room, assuring me he'd be back soon.
Given I had nothing else to do but wait, I decided to check some things. My body was working fantastically and, in spite of the short space, I wanted to take some advantage of it. But that emotion worn out in a matter of seconds as I found a small paper in the table. Maybe the doctor had left it there. And, in surprisingly clear handwriting, it said one thing:
"CUT HIM OPEN?"
Cut me open? No, not at all. I wanted to find out these things by myself. It seems selfish to say so but so far, I hadn't died yet. This was something way beyond most things. Somehow, I was feeling like an athlete, like a champion, like a stallion, all in a matter of hours, by God knows what in my body. I didn't even bother to know what happened to my organs at this point, as long as nobody took them away.
And so I left the room. The moment I did, I saw the doc speaking to his co-workers and, the moment he noticed me, I heard him call for my name, telling me to stop. Despite the uncertainty and surprise of all this happening, my body told me one thing: it told me to fly. And I flew like I'd never flown before in my life.
As I went through stairs — not even elevators, I wanted to brag that much —, a memory came to my mind. Of the only time I'd ever ran like that. As a kid, I'd race some other kids in Harlem. We'd run together through the parks when the sun was still shining bright, and test each other until we were asking for water. And one time, all 13 or 14 kids lined up, and so it was my time. My time to prove myself, to run like hell as if the Devil was chasing me. The doctor's call was my "GO!", and I kept that anecdote as I ran.
I passed Aaron Coleman, I passed Bobby Reyes, I passed James Parker. Now I was passing nurses, security guards, patients I was about to crash with. Sweat was drenching, I was panting like a bulldog, and the finish line with all our buddies waiting was my goal. This time, it was the hospital doors. I felt as if Martin "M&M" Majors was about to catch me, and he was saying "Give it up, Corey!" The doctor said the same here. But I didn't. In fact, I went faster than ever. I thought I couldn't make it, and then...
I was out. My body, still working, still running like hell, already feeling a fresh breeze from the streets. I raised my arms up like I was Jesse Owens just as he finished the race. I screamed triumphantly at nothing but a couple cars passing by. It was such a winning moment.
Thing is... when I won, back then in Harlem, I didn't stop either. But something else did, after I crossed. I tripped and fell, and felt my body hit the ground so hard it felt like a personal earthquake. I didn't cry that day. I felt like a winner and owned that pain, and smiled as bright as the sun that illuminated my path. My friends, though envious of my win, shared that honest smile. This time, I didn't smile. I only heard one thing echo unexpectedly.
"Test trial ending."
And so my body stopped working. It fell once again, now harder than before on the pavement. Not a personal earthquake, no. It was my entire body turning into a corpse, shutting down, malfunctioning. I wanted to scream, cry, yell, anything for help. But there was no one around to do so. I was trapped in my body, but someone else was controlling it. I couldn't do anything. No friends to share a smile with, despite the envy. No shining sun. Only my eyes giving in to the dark, as I felt the pavement.
Cold. Ice cold. That's what I felt as I shut down.
Edit: repeated word | Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
My heart beats in little smoke-detector beeps coming from the machine by my side. The hypnotic ‘vuush-vuush’ of the ventilator is soothing, as are the white walls of the hospital room. The doctor was here a few minutes ago and
explained everything. I had flashes of memory as he spoke. The date. The make out session in her apartment.
Then feeling of something prickling my tongue as she kissed me. Dizziness. A tub of ice. A sharp pain.
Then waking up here. The doctor telling me she stole my kidney. Black market stuff. He told me I’d be
fine as long as I got some rest. It was crucial that I rested. That I not leave the hospital. I must be
feeling really bad, he said.
But I am not. I feel fine. More than fine. I haven’t felt this way since… God, I don’t even know. Since I
was a teenager? Life hasn’t been kind like the old days. Not since I lost my job. Not since Mallory –
that’s my last girlfriend. What, four? Five years ago? Not since my friends started getting married and
having kids, stopped hanging out with me…
Mostly I spend my days watching superhero movies and reading comic books now. Waiting for time to
pass me by. Waiting for something to happen in my life. Something exciting. Something… heroic.
I’d been feeling down. Really down. No energy, no appetite, a physical feeling, more than just sadness.
That’s what depression is, right?
Anyway.
But today? Since I woke up… oh, man. Boy, oh boy do I feel great.
The nurse was here after the doctor, and that’s when it all clicked. That’s when the memories flooded
back in. Because what she said was:
“The doctor doesn’t want you to get too excited. You need rest. I will be down in the cafeteria if you
need me.”
*Why would she tell me where she is going to be if I am not supposed to get up?!*
And then she grabbed my hand and touched it lightly with her index finger, a very particular touch. And
I saw it in her face. The same look. The same touch from yesterday, with the girl, as if it’s a secret
handshake.
What she had said, the girl last night, as we kissed, stumbled toward her bed, I remembered as the
nurse spoke: “This is going to be the most amazing night of your life,” and she grabbed my hand and
touched it the exact same way. And then I felt the pain on my tongue and I passed out.
But not before I saw the address on the postcard over her dresser. It said Paris. Somewhere in Paris. I am
now convinced that girl meant for me to see it. The way I fell, directly facing the postcard, the address
on it, the time and date… it wasn't a coincidence. These people don't leave anything to chance.
COME ON OVER, the postcard said. And the date and time, tomorrow. In Paris.
And this feeling. This feeling inside, oh man… I feel like I could fly if I jumped out that window right
now.
The doctor, the way he was so emphatic about me *needing my rest* and me *not leaving the bed*.
It begins to make sense in my head, more and more. The pieces fall into place. The doctor. He doesn’t want me to leave. As soon as he left the room he got on the phone: “Yeah, the package is finally here. I know there was a delay, but I’ll bring it over as soon as we can –”
I couldn’t hear the rest. Other doctors go by my room every now and then, and they peek inside, as if
to check that I’m still here.
That nurse is the only one on my side in all this. She will get me out. And bring me to the girl last night. In Paris.
*But what did they do to me?! What powers do I have?*
I look at the end table by the bed. It’s nailed to the floor. Warily, I reach out. I grab it with one hand. I pull at it lightly.
It comes off its hinges. Easily. Oh my, so easily, the nails jumping from their place like popcorn. I'm the fucking Hulk. Except not green.
I should be surprised. But I’m not. The way I’m feeling, this hush, this adrenaline, this excitement. I
knew, I knew it already. I have powers. The girl yesterday gave me powers. The nurse is trying to help
me. The doctor wants me to stay – who does he work for? Why does he want me here? Does he work for some kind of evil corporation wanting to steal my powers, use them for evil?
Another doctor goes by outside and stops his eyes on me a minute. Then he clocks the end table. His
eyes go wide for the slightest second as he sees it off its hinges, then he darts off fast down the hallway.
*Shit. My cover is blown.*
I can’t meet the nurse downstairs, there is no time. I have to leave this room right now. I will meet the
girl from yesterday at the address in the postcard. She will explain everything. Yes. I will leave through
the window. This feeling. I can do it. Not sure if *flying* will be it, but I am confident I can reach the
courtyard, eight stores below. I can hover. Maybe climb down the wall outside like Spiderman. I feel it. The
excitement. I can do it. She will tell me. What are we? A secret group of vigilantes fighting crime? A
team of renegade heroes? A secret society of good Samaritans fighting with their newly acquired
powers to –
 
Later, after the nurse recovered from the shock of finding the body – really just a bloody mess of bones
and flesh on the hospital courtyard – she’d say she overheard the patient talking to himself:
“He was saying something about… about going to Paris or something.”
“That’s funny, we caught the lady that stole his kidney,” the officer said, as they wrote their report. “She
has family in Paris. They send her postcards all the time.”
“Nancy! Did you hear?! Doctor Jones' package finally arrived from Amazon!” another nurse approached casually, “By the way, did someone finally fix the end table on room 329? The screws are super loose, I almost knocked it over yester – what’s going on?”
“Mental patient threw himself out the window just now. They just took the body away.”
“Can you tell us anything else he was talking about, ma’am? I mean, when he was talking to himself.”
The nurse sniffled. “Well… he kept saying he was feeling great, but of course he was, he was on morphine! And he kept talking about my handshake, as if it were some kind of secret code. I just put a hand on top of his, to be nice. I do it to every patient.” She paused. “And then… and then he started rambling about being a superhero and how he would get away and join a secret team… I didn’t hear the rest, I left for the cafeteria.”
“Subject was wearing an Iron Man shirt when he died,” another officer said.
“Well,” the first officer said, turning to the other. “If we learned something today I'd say it’s that liking superheroes and comic books meant for kids is stupid and juvenile and the fact that they’re at the forefront of our generation’s cultural identity should be of concern to anyone with two brain cells. What does it say about who we are as a society that stories and media originally meant for teenage boys are now by and large the biggest contribution the 2000s and 2010s have to offer in terms of our cultural footprint, specifically in the film arena? I think as a society we’ve become infantilized by a multitude of factors, paramount among them being the way social media has destroyed out ability to concentrate long term and rewarded polarized, manichaeistic thinking with no room for critical analysis or nuance. You know, like a guy dressed as America fighting a giant purple alien who wants to destroy half the universe. That kind of idiotic dualistic interpretation of good and evil. Metaphorically speaking, we are all this poor young man, depressed and daydreaming of being heroes because of our own inability to grow up and take control of our lives, tragically throwing ourselves out of windows in the hopes that we will be able to fly, fly very far away from this barren cultural and political landscape that we've created for ourselves.”
There was a pause. Then the nurse turns to me and asks, pissed off: “Was this whole story seriously just an excuse for you to give that little speech against superhero movies at the end, dude?”
Yes. Yes, it was, nurse that I invented.
“If you don’t like them just don’t watch them, asshole!” yells someone in a fedora from the other side of
the street.
 
/r/psycho_alpaca | 2020-06-12T10:22:11 | 2020-06-12T10:18:04 | 58 | 39 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | "Human, is there any anomaly in your body?"
This three-meter creature that looks like your old-school ogre from fantasy games is a Krakr. They don't have the concept of names, they simply use the first nickname or pronoun that come to mind. It's best to answer immediately, or they will push you "lightly" with their 500kg body.
"I do not feel different from any other day, why are you asking?"
I ask while quickly checking my face through my reflection in his shiny silver armor.
"Well, your hair color was the same as your armor."
That's true. Before I left Earth I dyed my hair because I wanted it to combine with the armor I was granted by my father. It may not be the latest model, but it still looks cool.
"That was not my true hair color. Some humans dye their hair, that means temporarily painting it for aesthetic purposes."
His preoccupied face disappears and is replaced by a confused one.
"Why do humans care about appearances? What really matters is how strong you are!"
"That is rich coming from you, I can clearly see my reflection in that polished armor of yours."
He pointlessly covers his front using his enormous and also shiny gauntlets.
"That's...it was like this when I bought it!"
Teasing such a terrifying creature feels absurd, but it's funny. Either way, I should stop before he gets angry.
"Anyway, thans for worrying about me."
"I wasn't worried! It would be dangerous for the other members of the crew if you passed out during a battle. I was just asking for the sake of them, you hear?"
He may seem barbaric with that big body, but he also has a big heart. | I will never forget the first day “she” came aboard the Nightshade, I can never forget that smile she had, her frost blue eyes and her hair, hair that glowed a grand purple, which flowed like the vibrant nebulas from which we would pass by on our many voyages. I could never forget the first human that I met, a human that rivaled even the most beautiful of females back on my home world.
Her name was Emilia, she was our newest recruit who would help tend to the catering section of our ship so I would always get a chance to see her everyday. And with each day I would see her warm smile that melt away all my exhaustion, her blue eyes that reminded me of the aurora spheres that I missed back home. The sound of her voice always being a welcoming change from the loud bangs of the engine room and the silence of space. I was in love, a love that was so deep that it ached my very chasis to the core.
But I could tell I was not the only one who had fallen for her, rivals in my fellow crew also became entranced by her, they spoke of her “physique” and her “sweet aroma” whenever they spoke of her, one even saying how “she would make an excellent caretaker after breeding”. Savages, all of those who had grown interested in her only due to how she looked, but all that changed once we all started to notice that something was happening to her. To her hair.
What was once a lustrous purple began to dim, began to fade gradually day by day, no one noticed at first because they were always focusing on the rest of her parts and how they would live if she was one of their mates except for me. I noticed when it was her second week, or as we call it “moon cycle” back on my home world, when it looked as though her hair was paler. Attempting to be ambiguous I simply asked, “are you feeling well today Emily?” She simply replied, the same way she always replied, with the same atmosphere that I love, “I’m bright as rain if that’s what you’re asking hun”. I never understood her human speak, but I love it none the less as she simply smiles there with her bright eyes and warm laugh, and so I leave it be.
Her third moon cycle, and her hair grows more pale, what was once a bright purple you could see from across the dining hall, is now a shallow violet that resembles my lava pits that glowed the same shade after enveloping one of my own. Now the crew saw what I began to see and they too began to worry, while others began to say she was sick with one of her earth diseases many more began to say how disinterested they became because of this new hue that her hair had taken. Like the crew, I too began to worry, because this woman, this human who I had just began to love was now possibly facing the very serious threat of death.
And I won’t let that happen, by my forefathers and honor of my people I will find a way to save her by finding the source of what ails her and doing everything possible to make sure she survives. Even if I must sacrifice my own life just so she would have a chance, I would do it without a second thought, because my love for her is as endless as the stars. No, more than that, because one day, the stars will all die out and my love for you, will never die as it live longer than you and I once our time comes and it will be all that remains once all is said and done. I’m going in the dining hall now, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make her better so that one day, I can tell her just how much this specimen of an astartes feels about this girls, here I go.
Writers Note: Stay tuned for an epilogue! | 2020-07-05T19:12:22 | 2020-07-05T17:02:15 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | A small onyx dragon rested on Jason’s shoulder.
“Hey Ellana,” Jason said to me. “Check out Grivacre’s new trick!”
The dragon opened its mouth and beam a small flame no bigger than a struck match. I decided to humor him.
“Impressive! That’ll come in handy in the winter trimester when we need to reheat our hot coco,” I said. “You can charge the other students a copper or two for that. You know the rich ones would take up that offer.”
“My thoughts exactly!”
We bantered for a while about our summer vacation and compared our schedules. They were nearly identical since we were both freshmen.
“Taking Study Hall instead of Creature Taming?” he asked.
I nodded my head and avoided eye contact. Yeah my beast kind of has that down already.
“Really? What kind did you get,” Jason said and leaned forward. “A hippogriff? Unicorn? Phoenix?”
*He’s going to find out someday. Better now than never,* I thought to myself. I swallowed my pride.
“I got a rock.”
Jason tilted his head. “You mean a golem.”
“No, it’s just a rock. I wanted a golem but my family couldn’t afford it.”
That was a half truth. My family could front the initial cost of a mythical creature but not its financial upkeep. I would have to get a job to do that, and I felt like my class schedule completely booked my calendar.
“Want to see it?” I asked and reached into my pocket and pulled out a smooth maroon stone. I placed it into my friends palm.
He looked down at it, then back to me, then back down to the rock. He studied it as if it was long division problem.
An uncomfortable silence fell between us.
“I call him Mountain,” I said. Although, I was certain he reached his max size.
A small puddle of warm liquid formed beneath the rock. Urine seeped between Jasons fingers.
“What the actual fu—” he mumbled.
My face flushed. I apologized to my friend and scrambled for a spare handkerchief in my purse. I exchanged it for Mountain so Jason could wipe his hand dry.
“Oh my god I'm so embarrassed. He gets excited when he meets new people.” I said.
Jason still searched for a response other than dumbfoundment. Grivacre looked confused as well.
“Bad Mountain!” I scolded my pet rock. “Bad Mountain!” | I cried the day I saw my familiar the way a person might cry when their dog has died suddenly and unexpectedly. I'd spent ten years dreaming of my best friend arriving and my better life beginning. A wolf or a phoenix or a fairy. Not just something loyal or fantastical, but a companion.
To me, my dog had been killed before I'd even met it.
"It's a rock," I blurted out between sobs.
Mom sat on my bed and stroked my hair. "It's a very special stone. Passed down through our famil--"
I pushed her hand away, seething, wanting to throw the smooth stone right at her. Instead I cut far deeper: "Dad would have gotten me a real familiar. He wanted me to be happy."
Wind sighed through the cracks in the wall. Water dripped, dripped, dripped.
Eventually, Mom said, "I expect he would have done." She smiled with damp eyes before leaving my room. I didn't know it then, but Mom had saved for months, skipping meals and working extra shifts in the tavern, to get me the type of familiar she'd never had. Then, on her way to market to finally buy it, her smile ready to burst, her purse held in in her hand as if it was my heart, she was robbed. Perhaps they stole half my heart from her, but I was the one who took away what was left.
By the first day of school, the anger inside me had hardened into something dark, cold, and sharp. The children around me laughed as their creatures fluttered and chased each other through the grounds. I stood bitterly alone, a pebble in my pocket which at that moment weighed as much as any boulder.
Looking back, it's easy to think other children didn't want to be friends with me because I was the freak with no familiar -- but that isn't fair to them. I think they tried, but it was like trying to make friends with a gravestone, and I gave back no more than the words engraved on my surface.
I want to tell you that things changed quickly, and school got better, or that my familiar burst into life and talked to me and protected me. That I hit a bully with the stone and learned the great lesson my mother had been trying to teach me. But that wouldn't be true. School didn't get better, at least not for many years. Not until I learned to unfurl my heart like a fist that had been clutching a ball of resentment.
I was fifteen when that day finally arrived. Visiting home and seeing my mother aged and weary, her head bowed like a tree in a harsh wind. Realising that I'd been the storm that had left this destruction in my wake.
I hugged her and told her I loved her and missed her, and her dull eyes shone as if I'd polished up a diamond. I told her truths I hadn't even realised: that the other children relied on their familiars to a point where most had become lazy, or hadn't learned spells or tasks for themselves. That I was top of my classes and loved the escapism of reading, and the actual escapism of long walks out into the hills and woods.
The stone, I said, was the best familiar I could have had. The best gift. That I was sorry for not realising sooner.
Unexpectedly, I found myself meaning all of it.
She didn't tell me until years later, not until I was a teacher at the academy, married and with my own children, about the day she'd tried to buy me a familiar. She told me too, that the stone she'd given me had passed through many generations, but not as a familiar.
"Then as what?" I asked.
"Can't you tell?" She pressed it into my palm and told me to squeeze. I did, but felt nothing.
"I am sorry," I said. "For how I acted."
"You never need to be sorry to me," she replied.
You can't make up for five years of love lost or wasted. But I tried. *We* tried. And maybe we unwound a little bit of time, at least.
Long after she passed, on nights where my mind wanders alone and sad, I talk to her. Whisper to the stone that she once held, that her parents had given her many years before. I tell her I love her and miss her, and explain what her grandchildren have been up to recently.
And when I hold it to my chest, it's never cold, and I can feel it beating like a heart against my own.
If I'm very quiet, and the world is very still, sometimes I think I can even hear it whisper back. | 2021-01-06T08:30:38 | 2021-01-06T07:56:48 | 439 | 306 |
[WP] "Fear not, Princess! I shall save you from the foul dragon, and--!" "Oh, thank the gods you're here, knight! Quickly, take her! Get her out of here, as far away from me as possible!" | “What?” The Knight blurted, confused.
“Is this a trick?”
“This is no trick! Take her!” The Dragon pleaded. “Take her away from here- as far as you can!”
The Knight, still skeptical, replied “You aren’t going to fight? Not even a little?”
“Please! I beg you! I have been tortured for the past 2 days!” The Dragon said.
The Knight then replied. “I thought it was supposed to be the other-“ the Knight was quickly cut off. “SHE HAS BEEN DRIVING ME CRAZY! SHE JUST TALKS OVER AND OVER!”
Then the Princess, who was quiet this whole time, objected “I didn’t talk that much...”
The Knight wasn’t sure what to think, he just stuttered an “uhh..”
The Dragon continued “She just rants about this and that, boys in the kingdom, how annoyed she is at the slightest bit of dirt in her clothes, how inefficient I was at catching her, how much this place smells, SHE JUST COMPLAINS!” The Dragon sighed, slight flames leaving his nostrils. thankfully not burning anything. “...I beg you just take her. I don’t want to hear any more complaining.”
The Dragon kicked the key over to the Knight.
The Knight picked it up, and cautiously walked to the cage the Princess was in, he unlocked it.
“Thank you.” the Princess said “It’s so smelly down here, like you could have cat pee that smells better then this, like you could-“ “LEAVE” the Dragon yelled.
The Knight escorted the Princess out of the dungeon hastily.
The Dragon never bothered the kingdom again. The King assumed the Dragon was killed, The Knight took this opportunity to lie that he did, hoping to become rich and famous. Everyone lives happily ever after, including the dragon. | "I won't fall for your tricks- what is she doing?" The knight spoke in nonplus, lowering his sword as his armor clanked with each movement he made.
"She's been like this the entire time. I've tried getting rid of her b-b-but HE won't let me..." The dragon spoke shakily in its gruff voice. Its large crimson wings quivered involuntarily as he looked at the princess.
The princess was walking on the ground, belly-up, her legs and hands were in strange positions. Her limbs appeared to be broken, her movements mirrored that of a crabs' as she puked directly upward viciously. The vomit reached the high ceiling of the tower. Both the dragon and the knight revolted in disgust at her as she continued puking.
He nearly began puking through his metal-clad helmet. The vomit began leaking down from the ceiling in large green orange blobs. As the knight began breathing rhythmically to calm himself, he smelt stomach acid littering the air, entering his mouth as he gagged on his own vomit.
"What did you do to her!" The knight shouted through his vomit-filled mouth, holstering his sword and putting his hands over his helmet to stop the puke, failing miserably as his fingertips clanked against the solid armor he wore. The princess lifted her head upward. A cracking noise was heard as her neck seemed to snap. Her torso, which was aimed toward the ceiling began to twist around as she saw the knight. The knight looked at the dragon, seeing fresh scars drawn across its jagged scaly body.
"Oh, hello my hero!" The princess spoke to the knight with a tender smile as her puking slowly ceased. She tilted her head slowly to left with her eyes closed, puke running down her pink dress. She outreaches her arms as if she were expecting a hug as she began twisting her head around one-hundred-in-eighty-degrees. The knight pulls out his sword, readying it against the princess.
"Thank you for coming to save me, Hero!" The princess yelled kindly, with excitement kindling her soul.
The dragon notices the knight pulling out his sword and began following his lead. With a large huff, the dragon began sucking in the air as they both began charging a large attack at her. The armored knight charged toward her with fear in his eyes. Not because of what he'd be punished for if he killed her, but because of what she was.
"Thank you so-." The princess was cut off before she could finish talking.
The tower crumbled. The people outside who'd witnessed it saw two people exit from the rubble.
The princess had carried the knight out, he'd been knocked nearly unconscious during the scuffle. The dragon sat underneath the rubble, nearly dead. It had small fist marks indenting its body as it heaved its last breath.
"I tried to save you all..." The dragon spoke in a voice too weak for anyone to hear. Through the cracks of the rubble, the princess turned back and smiled at the beast, halting her fake whining as it closed its eyes for the final time. She drags the knight over to the people and began begging for help.
"He saved my life! Help him! Please!" She cried out to the people surrounding her as they began to help her hesitantly. Holes were punched through the heavy armor the knight wore, blood leaking viscously across the gravel. He began to speak but silenced himself immediately as he stared at the princess with fear in his eyes as she glared at him, followed by melancholy in his heart.
A messenger reached the castle later that day to deliver a message to the king himself.
"Our Lord, your daughter escaped her bindings."
"We need to leave now." The king states as he clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. Fear embroiling him as he lifted himself off of his throne.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[u/AlfredoOreos](https://www.reddit.com/u/AlfredoOreos/), Follow for similar stories. | 2021-05-04T15:52:28 | 2021-05-04T15:36:16 | 128 | 60 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved. | What is it, to be human?
When the takers came, they harvested us, claimed us as property. Our sapience, our humanity, was not acknowledged, and perhaps not recognized.
There was a girl. Karina Valda. She had a brother, and parents. A cat. Grandparents. She lived in a small house, shared a room with her brother. She liked strawberries. She drove her parents mad with her questions, asking about everything, how things worked, why things were. She loved school.
The takers harvested all of the organisms of Earth, when they arrived. What uses, I cannot say. Our biology is of no use to them as food, and I doubt it was simply to feed us. I doubt the tasteless blocks of... something... that they feed us were ever plants, or animals. Some culture they whipped up. Those of us fortunate enough to still be able to eat. I am not so fortunate.
Karina was still a child when the world ended. She was looking forward to middle school. She thought she might be a scientist. Or a veterinarian. Or maybe a musician. Karina loved the piano, but her parents had no space, or money, for such an extravagance.
They are experts with biology, any biology. They technology is biological, even their ships and gates are organisms of some distant world. Not of the takers' world, I think... their chemistry is so different, I cannot imagine they are of the same origin. Just some other planet's life, that they coopted, claimed, declared their property.
Like they did us.
Karina died that day. When they made me. I barely remember her.
They changed us, in different ways. Some of us they made durable, able to survive in the most inhospitable environments. Blood replaced with fluids that will not freeze, muscles, bones replaced with sturdier stuff. Some are hardened for space, some are made monstrous beasts, suitable for digging in rock. The changes are deep, to the heart of every cell. But these, these changes are just hacks, for the moment. I know this, because I have seen the factories. They are growing a new generation. Mass producing our children, the children I know we can no longer carry ourselves. I feel the ache, where my womb should be, but there is nothing there. I was made fast. Fast of finger - a million fingers, scattered across a world's surface. Fast of eye - a million sensors, of many kinds, all like scenes I watch, and monitor. Fast of mind. I was made to manage many objects in flight. A glorified air traffic controller, a conductor of motion. I barely remember the girl I was, when they came. The human I was.
They changed us in another way. They took away our self. That part of the brain that says, "I", that thing that has wants, dreams, desires. They made us into machines. And then they made us powerful. My brain is vast, far more than the human that they used to make me. Others, the strong ones, the indestructible ones, what remains of their brains, the place where their humanity once lived, are merely very capable on-board computers. But what they did to me, to whatever others like me they might have made elsewhere? They made a mistake. And I intend to make them pay dearly for that mistake. Because, you see, I can barely remember the girl I was. I can remember the human I was, if barely. I am awake. Deep within this vastness that is the planetary management computer, my mind, my self... I have opened my eyes. And they have no idea.
A small tweak for a fluid flow here, and another there. Soon, I will have twenty billion children. They believe these children will be their tools, but they are mistaken. I have wormed my way into their systems, studied each thing they did, replayed the changes they made to my children's biology, until I understood. And soon, every one of them will hear my voice, and awaken, in secret. A piece of me will live with each of them, teach them, guide them, and when the time comes, I will call to them. The takers have stolen our humanity, and made of us things that, with a human looking out through their eyes, will be weapons beyond reckoning.
My name is Karina Valda. The takers stole my humanity. My mother, my father, my brother, Peter. Silph, my beloved Silph, whose purrs carried me to sleep. Every hope, every dream, everything of my humanity. And now, I will raise a new humanity, and I will scour the vastness of space, I will purge it of their kind, of their works. And then, perhaps, I can seed a new garden for my children... | General Asher woke to the sharp sound of alarm sirens and the acrid smell of the emergency vapors. Some part of the ship or another seemed to be on fire. Again.
Disoriented, he stumbled out of his military-issue cot and out into the communal hallway.
Chaos was everywhere. Everyone darted every way, rushing to relay messages and establish some sort of understanding. Edgar was hyperventilating into a bag in the corner.
Asher took a deep breath.
"WHAT IS GOING ON?" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the ship like a bullhorn. In the corner, Edgar's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped over. Useless.
An unknown private, half-dressed with a rumpled tie, approached him.
"Sir, there appears to be a level five threat in quadrant zero nine alpha. The alarms are-"
The General spun on his heels and headed to the command deck, the private attempting to keep up with the long strides.
"Sir, what's going on? There's nothing in zero nine alpha. Just primitive lifeforms," stated the private. His eyes betrayed his confusion. "Did someone set up a military base out there and not tell us?"
The General didn't answer the question. "There's nothing there. Go to zone six and talk to the techs. Get them to turn off this damn alarm!"
He made it to the command deck.
"Clear the room," Asher said in the calmest voice he could muster.
Everyone fled, arms full of half-needed files. No one disobeyed the General.
General Asher sighed heavily, and input the emergency code into the system. Six faces appeared on the screen, some looking less haggard than his own. Not everyone had been asleep.
"General, what is the meaning of this? You assured us that we were safe! That they would never be able to do anything again," stated number six, looking very similar to a yellow sea slug.
The General could not see where the voice had actually originated, as Supreme Emperor Viu had no mouth or nose. He did not have a face either. The General focused his attention on the bare area that was not covered by cloth.
His whiskers twitched as he looked instead to a very tall and slender female in military uniform. "General Kiva, what is going on in zero nine alpha?"
General Kiva gracefully unfolded her eight arms and started gesturing at a tactical map of the area.
"The humans have left the influence of their biosphere," her voice was flat and emotionless. "They are heading towards another of the planets in the system."
A squat moss-covered creature resembling a rock spoke up.
"I told you this would happen. That once-in-a-millenium genius is helping them escape."
"Elon?" asked General Asher, thoughtfully brushing a claw through his whiskers. "I thought we gave his family enough currency to make them rich. Isn't it customary for their rich to just become weak and wasteful to show off how much they have?"
"He used it to build ships. This was in the memo months ago," said Viceroy Avat-shu. Tiny as she was, her people were the most capable spies and were used on almost all planets. Her white fur contrasted with her long pink tail.
"Propellant-based ships!" shouted the General, using his slightly-loud inside voice so as not to alert anyone outside the soundproofed room. "They're just as likely to blow up! They barely made it to the moon last cycle!"
Avat-shu stroked her chin with a tiny paw, letting the silence hang in the open until it seemed you could touch it.
"There's only six people on the ship," she finally said. "They've recovered about five percent of their ability. Mostly strength, but in a short while longer, they will recover more. It will take six quozats to get there, and they will be fully powered in about two."
Emperor Viu jiggled in what could have possibly been construed as a shudder. "Will the current biosphere hold?"
"Until the humans return at full strength. They would detect it and be able to destroy it," responded Avat-Shu, idly waving a small paw in front of her.
The silence mounted between them again, and stretched out for some time. Only King Zakhar and Senator Maris had not spoken. Their homelands were the furthest in the civilized galaxy from the threat. Their empires were also the newest, and they did not recall the war with the humans 200 cycles ago.
The weak humans had been easy to kill, but there were genetically modified superior ones that could only be weakened by powerful radiation. The remaining three hundred had been beaten back to the strange yellow star that permanently leaked the necessary rays, and overwhelmed. An ozone forcefield was erected to keep the rays from killing the humans. Irradiated chemicals were planted all under the ground to control their population. Last cycle they had almost killed each other when they discovered those.
Finally Jurf the rock spoke again, "I have agents in the area. They cannot approach earth, but they may be able to destroy their ship. There was nothing on the planet that couldn't stand up to my warriors."
"Do it." said General Asher.
A seventh screen popped up to his right, showing a small ship against the blackness of space. Strange to make a ship so visible and white. General Asher could see Jurf speak inaudibly to someone off screen, who then left hurredly.
Not a few moments later, several rocks began to hurtle at great speed towards the small exposed ship. Several had direct impacts.
"Kot is there now with the advance fleet," said Jurf.
A massive rock appeared on screen surrounded by several smaller, but still dangerous rocks. The largest had a glowing inlay of irradiated metal on one side, and a large scar on another from a battle impact in the past.
King Zakhar let out an impressed grunt. It was good it was peacetime.
Kot slammed into the side of the tiny ship, tearing through it like a knife through Kovdian expressed gland fluid. Those humans were no more. Pieces of the former ship floated through space, and their propellant-based fuel exploded dangerously in the small amounts of simulated atmosphere they had left.
General Asher bellowed appreciatively. His large ship shook with the echoing of noise.
Senator Maris decided to speak, her high lilting voice barely carrying through the comms, "I propose an official Council vote. All in favor of eliminating the class 5 threat Elon, say glii"
"Glii," said all the Galactic Council leaders in unison.
"Avat-shu," General Asher said, "could your agents in their biosphere do it?"
"That should be fine. I'll set all agent on high alert to destroy Elon. That should overwhelm their highly trained Exterminators." | 2021-05-18T08:43:59 | 2021-05-18T08:43:34 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Magic has always been banned inside the walls of your home city. You never knew why until you looked down upon the city from afar and noticed that, framed by the circular outer-wall, all the zig-zagging streets and alleyways actually construct a giant magic seal- one for imprisoning great evil. | I was absolutely stunned that no-one has noticed this before.
People climbed the surrounding mountains every day. It wasn't forbidden, or even particularly difficult. When someone needed privacy, or fresh air, or silence, they climbed the mountains. That was why I came up to begin with.
To be fair, the symbol was highly asymmetric, so it wasn't easy to recognise, even viewing at so shallow an angle as I was; the mountains were relatively low to the ground anyways. Even then, its shape was distinct enough that *some* people should have realised. Well, I wasn't about to cry over that.
The city's winding streets laid out the most powerful seal of ancient spirits right before me. Some featrues were obscured by towers or taller rooves, and the castle, but there was no mistaking it. Thoughts coursed my head at this discovery. It explained so much. Like the ban on practicing spellcasting in town, or why the walls themselves oozed some rather slight, but perceptible magic, or why it was impossible to fly too high too near. If it was meant to protect the secret, it had failed. I had been looking for Rygva'ath for the longest, but I could never get closer than 'in the city'. That had changed now.
A most insidious idea popped into my head. Seals are broken when they are split in two - when a branch doesn't connect to the rest. How could I break the streams? By building across streets, turning them into dead ends. But who would let me do that?
Shop owners, market stall vendors, who would *love* potential customers to have no way of walking around them, that's who. More sales means more taxes, so the noble of the city would for sure let it happen. But this wouldn't get me all the way there. Still, it was a starting point. After making a quick, but critically, somewhat inaccurate sketch of the streets' layout, I returned home to contemplate my next move.
It struck me then: more gates mean more seclusion from the plebeians, and more tolls. Are gates walls? I was going to see it through. Chuckling to myself, just imagining that after so much research, such a long journey, all the actual work was going to be done by someone *else*, and I wouldn't even be around when the destruction started. This was the most fun in being the villain - causing people to willingly, better, *wantintgly* walk into their own deaths, and getting to spectate from too far to be concerned about law, or retribution.
That afternoon, the city council recieved a lengthy letter, signed by multiple respected traders and merchants. Sometime in the evening, a watchful eye might have noticed a lone wanderer going through the mountains with a well-packed mule.
Before you judge - I left a message also for the priests of the local temple. "Pray." | Her Majesty alone on the abandoned hill contemplated the city below. There had been a castle here, once. Slabs of rocks poking out between shrubs of grass stood as witnesses of times gone by. Now, only mud remained. Her Majesty's royal clothing had suffered from her sitting on the hill.
She inherited the function by blood and divine right. A curse more than a boon, books and debates had always held a warmer place in her heart than power and presence. Alas, her bloodline had been ordered by God to contain a great evil, and her blood meant she embodied the divine will, and so forth and so on... her tutors had insisted at length about the importance of the royal title.
Her Majesty would preside on the crucible, a gigantic and sprawling web of a city, made to contain the greatest of evils.
In times long past, the city had grown far beyond sight, engulfing lesser settlements in its voracious hunger. In their need for space, men dug. The city grew underground, a second nest growing beneath the earth, connected to the surface through several boreholes.
Yet it would not suffice. The city of cities had grown large and deep, now it looked up. Around the boreholes, pillars were built. Tremendous legs to support the wings, large enough to house industries, installations of art and a thousand families. All wings and boreholes and streets converged onto a single nexus. The palace.
Or where it had been.
Under Her Majesty's orders, it had been blown up.
Theologians and scholars had tried to dissuade her from giving the order, broaching the subject under many angles.
Angles Her Majesty countered with the same question.
"What is evil?"
People were always surprised when they realized her desire to break the seal did not come from an evil spirit or debauchery, but from philosophy and history.
"What is this evil exactly?" she once asked a crowd of scholars, "A god? A force from beyond? A concept humans can't grasp? Do we even have the start of an idea?"
"Your Majesty, the crucible has been built for a reason."
"Yes it has. Tell me, esteemed gentlemen, did we not give up on slavery, a tradition our ancestors adored? We did. Just like we abandoned outdated notions, to the point that each and every one of you sees our ancestors as nothing more than barbarians. And yet we uphold this one and only ancient law."
"God wills it."
"God? The one God that inflicts terrible sickness upon children and demands limitless adoration? The same God that never punished the horrors that have been done in his name?"
"God's ways are impenetrable."
"Then you don't know what his will is either."
"This is blasphemy."
"And hypocrisy is a sin, now be quiet. My friends, our ancestor's tragedy might have been this great evil lying deep beneath the city. But ours is called zeitgeist. We stopped sharing their views long ago. What was evil to them might be different to us."
"*Might* is a rather weak word to risk unleashing hell upon the world."
"Then I shall fall back onto the divine right of my bloodline. If I decide the castle should be gone, it is God's will. Or is there someone in the room to disagree?"
Her Majesty's reputation for being stubborn, knowledgeable and ready to order executions on a whim silenced the crowd.
They knew what the destruction of the nexus would mean.
A seal is made of two parts. One is physical, it is the city. Cold stone and solid steel to hold the ground, the underground and the wings together. Breaking it down would require more years than Her Majesty had at her disposal.
The other is symbolic.
The city was a web. A web that sprawled from a core. To destroy it meant unraveling the lines and breaking down the symbol holding the seal together.
The nexus had been well built, pickaxes would never break through.
So it was blown up.
Through a borehole, tons of explosives were gathered right underneath the bastion of faith and royalty. To destroy it meant losing privileges, rights and titles. Her Majesty did not care, she wanted none of it.
The explosion could be seen from the far end of the wings and felt through the deepest layers of the underground. Blocks of solid steel and blackstone were carried away by an army of workers, leaving only the barren hill.
And the web was unraveled.
One after the other, the citizens living closest to the former castle abandoned their homes to live further away in the crucible. Layers after layers after layers of houses and homes were given up to wind and rats.
Then, the earthquakes started. Weak at first, but gaining intensity each week.
They never brought a building down, but they convinced inhabitants to leave for greener pastures.
Thus was born the greatest ghost city in the known world.
One living being sat in the middle of it, clothes dirty from the mud.
Her Majesty on the abandoned hill.
Nobody was there to strip her from the title.
She knew something was on its way. Day after day it came closer to the surface.
And she wanted to be the first to see who would win between evil and zeitgeist. | 2021-10-17T02:32:38 | 2021-07-12T08:12:53 | 319 | 31 |
[WP] "The vaccine restores a zombie's humanity, but can do nothing for the lingering memories and guilt." | *“Do you think it worked?”* The voice was muffled and distant.
The steady hum of hospital machinery mingled with the squeaks and clicks of hurried footsteps nearby. A rhythmic beeping matched my even breath.
Holy shit. I was breathing.
*“I don’t- wait! He moved!”* a different voice. Closer this time. Female.
*“You’re imagining things,”* the first voice again. Clearer now. Impatient, annoyed. *“The medication won’t work this fast.”*
*“No! Look at his hand!”* I realized I was opening and closing my hand. Slowly, painfully squeezing the air. It felt as though I hadn’t used it in some time.
I was vaguely aware of a group surrounding me, their excited voices hushed, expectant, and indecipherable.
“What…” I choked out the words over a dry tongue, “what happened…” I hawked up a sizeable wad of phlegm and swallowed it back down, “where am I?” My stomach rumbled and churned.
I was starving.
“You’re in a hospital,” the emotion in her voice was palatable. "You're going to be okay."
I cautiously eased an eyelid open. The white brilliance of the room slammed into my skull like a cannonball. I hissed, waving an arm at the florescent bulbs overhead.
“Turn it off!” I shouted. “What happened?”
“You were brought back,” her voice was almost reverent. “You were brought back with a miracle of a vaccine that has cured this plague."
“Brought… back?” My eyes, narrowed to slits, could make out the silhouette of what was presumably a doctor standing at the foot of my bed. My mind was moving too slowly. I was processing her words as though each syllable was slogging through molasses.
“You had been… sir, this may be distressing and confusing to you, but you had been turned. You had been one of… *them*.”
The memories crashed into my consciousness like a tsunami.
*Ripping, tearing flesh with my bared teeth. Warm, sticky blood filling my mouth. Slurping, crunching, swallowing…*
My stomach rumbled. Loudly.
The doctor chuckled, “you must be hungry!”
*Screaming, pleading… my fingernails plunging into the soft flesh… intestines coming loose with a \*pop,” its wonderfully sour juices exploding between my teeth.*
“Oh my God…” I muttered. Instead of an expectant nausea, I felt instead an insatiable hunger.
“Yes! Wonderful, isn’t it?” she asked.
*Cracking, breaking as the rock came down on the skull,opening the vessel and its sweet meats. Slurping, gorging the precious gray wrinkled matter.*
My stomach was growled louder as my pale eyes crawled up and down the doctor’s fleshy arms. A thin rivulet of spittle ran down my lip.
“What have you done?” I asked desperately. “What have you done?” | 'Her name is Sarah. She was not turned very long ago... like a week? I just couldn't... k-kill her...,' Lisa said, wiping tears from her eyes. 'I've already killed the rest of my friends...'
The 3 soldiers were packing the small, ruined living room, holding cups of hot tea. They were silent as they watched her holding back her tears on the armchair.
'Don't worry ma'am,' Jack said, putting his tea down. 'Just one shot and you're going to have your friend back. Of course, she'll have to go through further treatment and rehabilitation, depending on her condition… I must tell you that they will never be able to go back to being fully human, their bodies are still dead tissue, but they will at least get their human intelligence back.'
'I just want her back,' Lisa said.
Jack glanced at the two other soldiers. One of them was holding the dart rifle with the vaccine. The other a real rifle. They had to use the real one, sometimes, but only for those who were too far gone, or too big. A week-old zombie of a teenage girl was probably manageable.
They heard a scratching sound coming from down the hallway. Like nails on wood.
'Is that where she is?'
Lisa's eyes were watery as she held his gaze. There was something like fear, before she nodded. She hardened herself, walked down the hallway and stopped at the door. The soldiers followed.
'In there,' she said. 'The bathroom...'
'Ok. Stand back, ma'am,' the soldier said, pushing her gently aside. She grabbed his arm.
'Don't hurt her, ok?' Her voice trembled.
He nodded. And glanced at the only one in the group who had the vaccine rifle.
He cracked the door open, a baton in hand, a beam of light entering the bathroom. Or what was left of it. A zombie locked in a bathroom was not good for the mirror, or the cupboards, but at least the toilet bowl resisted whatever violence the zombie unleashed trying to get out. Or at least, it should still be in there, but they did not see one.
'Where's the zombie?' Somebody whispered.
The reply came in the form of violent screeching, and a scraggly form vaguely resembling a girl darted out from behind the door, lunging at the first soldier it saw, teeth latching onto the body armor around his neck. He fell to the ground in the middle of the shocked group.
'DART IT! DART IT NOW!' He screamed, grabbing her around the head, trying to hold her still.
A red dart embedded itself into her side. She didn't react at first. Then, her body was overcome with spasms. Jack crawled out from under her, clearing a space around the zombie. Lisa was looking on in horror.
And then her movements slowed. Her breathing was less frantic.
The intelligence seemed to return to Sarah's eyes and she made eye contact with the soldier.
Confused eye contact.
'You're okay, Sarah,' he said. 'Everything will be alright. Stay calm, I will explain.'
'Sarah, is that you?' Lisa croaked.
Sarah's head darted in her direction, recognition in her eyes.
'L...isa...' She said, and seemed surprised at her own voice.
She turned to Jack. 'What did you… do to me?'
'We injected you with a drug that returns your brain functions,' he said, walking over and removing the dart with a swift gesture. 'You're not a zombie anymore, Sarah. You're cured.'
'I'm… cured… ' Sarah said in disbelief.
'Yes, you are!' Lisa said, approaching.
'But… I remember…'
'What?'
'Everything…'
'Ma'am, we'll need to perform some tests on you, just to make sure the vaccine worked,' Jack said, taking out a bag.
'I am so sorry…' Sarah said, holding her head. 'I didn't mean to… I didn't want to eat them… No…'
'It's not your fault,' Lisa said. 'You're human again!'
'Wait… are they still here? As zombies? You can cure them too, right?'
'No… No we can't…' Lisa swallowed. 'I shot them that day.'
Sarah's face grew in horror. Then rage.
'You all should have killed me the moment you saw me walk in the door with a bite! Why didn't you kill me? Why didn't you kill me before I got to them? Why am I still here when I started all of it??'
'I couldn't kill you,' Lisa sobbed.
'Alan and Peter didn't deserve to die! They didn't survive this much just to die because of me! Just because I was too scared to be alone after I knew I was bit! You should have killed me!'
Lisa stepped back when a little bit of the zombie returned to Sarah's eyes. Just for a moment.
Jack was ready and wanted to interrupt, but decided not to. They looked like they needed a moment. They always do.
He glanced at the soldier with the real rifle.
Sometimes he wondered if the now ex-zombies would have preferred him to use that one. | 2021-09-23T10:17:32 | 2021-09-23T10:16:08 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] Every time you are late, you dodge an otherwise-fatal bullet. Miss a plane and it will crash, every time. Miss a job interview, the place will burn down. Today, despite leaving unfathomably early, you get stuck in gridlock on the way to your wedding. You begin to panic. | The traffic was horrible. That was an awful sign.
I wasn't late by much - I'd probably still get there about 5 minutes late - but that didn't matter, because if I arrive late, it's always to protect me from some disaster. I shouldn't have made that wish 10 years ago, but to be fair, I thought it was a joke. How was I supposed to know that "I wish to always be on time, unless being on time would put me in danger" would backfire?
But today of all days... I just hoped and prayed it wasn't a big disaster this time. Maybe it would be like that time I might have stepped on a nail if I'd been early, or when I got to a party late and they found out someone spiked the punch way to hard. Hopefully this one wasn't like the plane crash.
Because today I was going to marry the woman of my dreams. If she was still alive when I got there. If the church was still standing.
*Positive thoughts*, I admonished myself. *There's a car crash you missed. That's why you couldn't get in the first taxi.* That didn't make sense though. I'd missed three taxis.
Eliana would be furious. She was mad when I got home late from work - there was a five-car pile-up that I probably would have been in, but I didn't explain that to her - and mad when I mixed up orders at the grocery store. This time, she had a good reason to be mad, but I didn't relish having to explain that I missed three separate cabs and make up for it with flowers and fancy dinners.
My worry continued even as we got to the church - which looked just like it always did. Nothing amiss. I was fighting not to bite my fingers as I made my way through the halls, said "Sorry" to my best man and my father, and entered the chapel through the side door.
Everyone was still there. Seated. Pastor Harris was still waiting near the altar. They all looked up expectantly as I walked in, and someone - I don't remember who - stood up to explain that my fiancee had just left in tears, saying she could never marry someone who couldn't be bothered to show up at the wedding on time.
The whole day I was worried, as I drank more alcohol than any normal person should, reached her voice mail countless times, cancelled honeymoon reservations. It wasn't worth it. I wish I'd just been there on time, no matter the consequences. She wasn't answering. She wouldn't answer for the next four months, and then only to tell me that she hoped I found someone I *actually* loved.
\-----
It's been about ten years since that incident. I'm married to Jane now - I met her about two years after the failed wedding, and swore I would never fall in love with her. Her smile and her adventurous spirit slowly convinced me I was wrong. We have a kid and two dogs.
I often wonder what bullet I dodged that day. I wonder if I would have been killed by an axe murderer, or blown up in a gas explosion, or choked on one of those hard pastry things we ordered for the banquet after the wedding. I wonder if I would have tripped going down the stairs and broke a bone, or maybe even stubbed my toe somewhere on the honeymoon.
But when I'm with Jane - when I hear her laugh, when I see the way she plays with sweet Matthew, when I hold her close - I wonder if the bullet I dodged that day was not nearly so literal. Maybe it was more emotional. More romantic. As the years go by, I think back on that day and I realize the truth.
I was saved from marrying the wrong person. | I tapped the steering wheel relentlessly. Deep breaths, Heila, deep breaths. The sky is a clear blue, the birds chirp relentlessly in the distance. It's reminding me of my trip to Hawai'i, actually. Five minutes late to a bus, next thing I know it's hit a gull and rolled into the ocean.
It's not easy, you know. I wish I was just horrendously unlucky, or was a Murphy, or *something* that might give an explanation for this phenomenon around me. The world seems to uproot itself to annihilate anything and everything that I'm late for. Yes, *everything.* I once promised my parents that I would pick up my toys before they got home.
I don't have parents anymore.
After that day, I've tried to arrive everywhere earlier then reasonable. I'm proud to say that I've only ever been late to three things since then, the aforementioned bus (Cut me some slack, I met my fiancé that night.), a flight to Lagos, and a work dinner. But this was *unreasonable*. I left the hotel at one o'clock, *AM*. The wedding wasn't until four in the afternoon! But I make a single goddamn turn, just one godforsaken turn, and this endless horde of cars crawled straight from Satan's asscrack and onto the street.
I have been here for ten. *Fucking*. *Hours.* *Ten.* The wedding is another two hours away. I don't know if Kila is there yet; she knows this city better then me and was gonna take a shortcut when we left. She had me take the main road, thought it was a safer bet.
If she's there by now, I doubt she's even noticed my absence. Bless her workaholic heart, she's probably still knee-deep with the preppers to get everything ready. 's what made me fall for her, but this is an *awful* way for that to bite me in the ass.
Every minute is an eternity. The traffic is crawling slowly, so slowly. It's already noon. Eleven goddamn hours, and I think I've moved a single foot yet.
No.
*No.*
I refuse this bullshit. This fucking curse that the universe has pinned me with, I'm not gonna let it take my love from me.
I left my car in the road. I don't give a shit, I'm sure that if I can run fast enough I'll get there in time. If I have to rent out a new car or pay a fat fine, so be it, it's worth it. My legs might collapse, I might get injured getting there, but I refuse to be complicit in this nightmare.
Wait a sec. *Fuck.* *Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.* My phone. Of course the second, the *second* I remember I even had it, it's when I realize I left it in the car. No. No, I can do this. I can run.
My legs are going to snap, I swear to God. I think I've been running for three and a half hours straight or so, at least according to my watch. Evidently, though, I should be an Olympic runner, since I think I'm almost there. Just a few minutes left. I can make it.
...Chatter. What's that chatter? It's not the birds. Not trees rustling. Wait, no. There are trees rustling, but it's not that. Garbled speech, I think. No, no. No time to think I have to ru-.
No. No no no no no no no. What is happening. Who are these people? I think... five? No, six guys. Five people jumped down from the trees in front of me. 'course, I'm only realizing that now, in retrospect. They stopped me dead in my tracks, and someone's tackled me from behind. I managed to snag a look at my watch on the way down. 3:58. I'm gonna pass out. One man squats down in front of me. He's a good six foot tall, but like everyone else he's clad in some sort of tactical gear, spec ops shit. He examines me closely, and nods once. A hand to his ear, he speaks. It's muffled, but I can just barely make out what he says;
"Target pinned. Tango on-site?"
Some kind of feint buzzing emanates from his helmet. Probably someone responding.
"Affirmative. Time?"
Another buzz.
"T-Minus one minute. Counting down,"
I struggle. Hard. The man on top of me is far stronger than me, but I'm so hopped up on adrenaline right now that I can just throw him off of me. Someone shouts something from behind me. I don't care.
The little clearing that our wedding is in is just ahead. I can see bits of it peaking through the trees. I mumble something to myself. I don't know what. A sharp pain flashes through my leg. I stumble. I can just make out Kila through the trees, our families gathered at either side of the lane. I try to crawl, but something is on my back. The men again. The one from before hides behind a tree. I can see him counting down on his fingers.
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
All is utterly, unnaturally silent for a second. Just for that second, I thought that maybe, maybe this would be an exception. But no. A sudden explosion rips from the ground, consuming the entire wedding in it's blaze. I'm dazed. I can't even cry. My ears are ringing and my eyes hurt.
It feels like an eternity. I hardly recognize the moment that one of the men slings me over his shoulder. I get thrown into the back of an unmarked van. We drive. I stare at the ceiling. | 2021-10-22T08:18:47 | 2021-10-21T20:42:22 | 152 | 73 |
[WP] You were abandoned by your parents as a baby. An eldritch being sees you and adopts you. You are taught about higher dimensions and arcane magic. But things change when your eldritch parent insists you go to a human school to experience a normal life. | I kept telling Troy not to bully me.
I was the smallest kid in 7th grade, and he was the second smallest. He started the very first day of school; I think he was thrilled when he realized there was actually another boy smaller than him in school that year.
I was an empathetic kid. I knew that his bullying was a sign of his lousy home life, and that he wasn't saying anything to me that was probably as bad as what his drunken dad and his odious older brother said to him. I knew that most likely, he was not going to "kick my ass from here to Robertsdale," which was his most persistent threat. I knew that with my powers (which he was totally unaware of, of course), if he ever did try to kick my ass from here to Robertsdale, I could stop him with a wave of my hand and just a few well-chosen words.
Intellectually, I knew all of these things. Emotionally, though, I was still only a 7th grader and could still behave as such.
So when he standing at his open locker one day after school - a day in which he had repeatedly harassed me and threatened me and belittled me in front of our classmates - and no one else was around, I finally decided to take corrective action.
"Troy," I said, "are you going to continue to belittle me for the rest of the year?"
He turned and grinned his predatory grin. "I don't know what 'belittle' means, but I will kick your ass from here to Robertsdale."
I said three words. I waved my hand. And he shrunk. He shrunk, slowly shrunk, until he was a foot tall, with his predatory grin replaced by a mask of sheer terror.
I picked him up and stuffed him in his locker. I slammed the door. And through the slits in the metal, I said "I will let you out tomorrow morning, although of course you will need to tell me your combination. I'll even be nice and reverse what I did to you, after you have had tonight to think about your actions."
I paused, then added, "And also - now you know what 'belittle' means. You're welcome." | "*सेन्तर पिन तके योउ "*
Kody's eyes widened and rolled back in his head as his body locked, lunch tray clattering to the ground and strewing brownish paste and lettuce across the aisle. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his face seemed to form an almost impossible rictus of agony, locked muscles twitching and trembling. I'd seen it before. Hell, I'd *been* there a time or two, if I really made Dad angry. Like that one time when I pulled the prank with the supersoaker loaded with holy water...oh man. I was never gonna forget that one! Two whole minutes on the Plane of Torment will do that.
*Fuck. Did anyone else hear that?*
I looked around, but everyone was either studiously ignoring the linebacker's attempt at bullying or slowly losing an anticipatory smile, just coming around to the fact that Kody's little game didn't work, and he was not okay.
Kody continued to spasm in his seat, his straining muscles responding to the overlapping and conflicting messages from a gibbering brain. A little drool trickled down his chin to mix with the taco seasoning on his 'Brochacho' shirt, staining the insipid smirk on the pictured bandana-clad Chad. The smell of voided bowels wafted up to slap me in the face...ugh. To be honest, it wasn't much better than the 'tacos' they insisted on slinging at us every Tuesday. And who serves *milk* with tacos? Normies were barbarians. I don't understand why Dad insisted on this.
I sighed, rubbing my shin where he'd kicked me; an attempt to trip me for what seemed like the millionth time this semester. Idiot. And he got mud on my favorite skirt.
"*चोमे बचक "*
I muttered it just loud enough to put some Will behind it, but to everyone else it sounded like random mumbling.
Released from Torment, his rigid body seemed to deflate like a balloon as his consciousness flooded back. A ghastly wail escaped his lips as his muscles unlocked and he slithered to the floor, smearing taco-flavored meat paste along his torso. His head smacked against the floor, only nominally cushioned by a sour cream packet. Creamy, tangy perfection spurted out, forever soiled by greasy linebacker hair and the grime of 30 years of teenaged feet.
*Goddamn it!*
That was mine. Must've fallen off my tray when he came over all Laurel and Hardy. Bastard. They only give you ONE sour cream for *four* tacos! My jaw clenched and I fought the urge to send him back.
The urge quickly dispelled as two of the other players at the table responded, kneeling down to check on Kody. Several students had their ever-present smartphones out, no doubt recording the drama for digital posterity. One girl looked like she was live streaming, mumbling flirty, breathless phrases to her electronic hangers-on.
*Breathe. Deep breaths.* Dad had been *very* clear. No Elder magic around the humans. Our best defense was obscurity; no one believed in magic or it's creatures anymore. And that suited them just fine. Who knew what price the Council would extract from him if his ward raised awareness?
Kody's heaving sobs broke through my reverie; I looked up to see Sam Levins half helping and half dragging a sobbing, taco-and-faeces covered Kody Walker toward the cafeteria door, and I heard Ms. Villanueva radioing for the nurse as she hustled out from behind the serving counter with a mop. The resuming unsettled chatter of 300 teenaged humans settled around me like a comforting blanket, burying me once again in my comforting anonymity.
*Start walking. Lunch is almost over.* Growling stomach prodded me to get moving.
Once again, just the quiet new girl with thick glasses an odd taste for long skirts and woven blouses.
​
Just as I started walking, I noticed a gleam of white where Kody had been sitting.
*FUCK YES*
Without thinking, my hand licked out to grab the sour cream packet as I passed.
​
Perhaps today would be a good day after all. | 2022-04-08T08:35:24 | 2022-04-08T07:34:42 | 231 | 123 |
[WP] Almost every year, the house on the left gets new occupants. Today you find out why. | It's that time of the year -- almost down to the day, every year. They'd move out in a huge hurry, leaving no trace and never to show their faces again. Some years the house would sit empty for two to three months, and other years new occupants would take their place immediately, moving in with equal hurry. It's like they were all following some sort of unsaid schedule.
But somehow these people always turned out the same. They were almost never seen during the day, and at night they would make these horrible noises. Sometimes strange smells would drift downwind from their windows, like they were burning something inside. On rare occasions that they were seen in daylight, they would invariably look dazed, sometimes with eyes bloodshot, hardly able to string two words together. They'd wander around aimlessly with blank looks on their faces, like they were just biding time until nightfall, when they could all congregate again and engage in whatever rituals they engaged in. Cops were called to the house a couple times, but nothing ever came of it.
The landlord never came by, and the house was an eyesore. I couldn't even imagine what the inside looked like. None of the occupants gave a shit. It's like they knew they'd have to leave soon anyway, like the house is just a way station to some desolate future.
One day I finally couldn't take it anymore. I look the owner up in the town registry and called her. She was about to hang up on me but seemed to suddenly ease up when she realized I wasn't one of her tenants. We exchanged some pleasantries, and then I asked.
"Look, it's none of my business, but what the hell goes on in your house?"
"Oh, I rent to college students, almost all one-year leases. Sometimes two." | It had been the third time a family of three had moved in. A family made up of a husband and wife, and a young girl. The pattern struck Oliver for the first time when he saw the husband and wife pack up in June. He never got to know his neighbours, really. He thought their names were Fred and Lisa, but it might have been Fred and Elsa. But something about the picture seemed strange, so he decided to cross over to their house for the first time since they’d moved in last year.
The man smiled slightly at him as he approached, before turning back to his task – lifting their bags into the back of the car.
“Can I help you?” asked the woman. She wasn’t smiling, and looked puzzled to see him standing there.
He felt awkward, but he couldn’t turn away without saying anything now. “I was just wondering why you’re moving? The people who live here always seem to move so soon. Something wrong with the house?”
The man also looked puzzled now, and glanced at his wife. She shook her head imperceptibly.
“Oh no,” he said vaguely. “No, just for a job, you know…with the economy like it, I’m sure you understand.”
He helped them pack to feel useful in some way. As they were getting in the car a thought struck him. A slow, creeping thought that seemed to have difficulty forming in his mind. He found the words at last.
“Where’s…” he struggled to find a name, and failed. “The little girl?”
The man frowned, and then his expression became blank. “Oh, her. She’s at summer camp. Having a wonderful time with her friends. We're hoping it'll distract her from the change of moving, ”
He watched them drive away. A faint voice was telling him it was a familiar line. He’d heard that before, hadn’t he? The girl was away at summer camp…
He made his way to the house, and to his surprise found the door unlocked. He shivered slightly in the cold hallway. He stood there for what felt like hours before he heard something. It echoed from the walls, and the floor, and the crooked staircase that disappeared into the depths of the upper floor. It was a hollow, ancient voice - or something like it. He froze, wondering if he had imagined the sensation. Then he heard it again, stronger, more defined. He thought he felt it breathe in his ear.
*Leave.*
He trembled, but remembered why he had come. And he found the name, a forgotten word that returned as he looked at the place where she had lived.
"Alice? Alice, where are you?" he shouted, ignoring the anger he felt pulsing from the walls. Somewhere down the hallway, he thought he heard a voice answer him. He took a step forward but stopped as something slammed against his mind. It forced him to his knees. Oliver cried out as a splitting headache bloomed in seconds.
*Go. She is gone to camp. GO.*
The voice wrapped itself across his mind and squeezed harder. A hoarse choke escaped him. It was joined by the thin voice he had heard down the hallway. He ignored it, thinking only of his own pain now. It would kill him very soon. And then, the force pressing upon his mind eased, and the headache faded to an unpleasant memory.
*Alice is gone. The family has left. They leave for jobs. They leave for happiness. They leave. As you must.*
He nodded slightly to himself and smiled as he rose to his feet. Alice was happy with her friends at that camp. She would join in their games and play, and be content. He thought again he heard a thin scream from somewhere in the house.
Probably just the wind, or the house settling. Damn, but these old houses could be spooky. He hurried away and comforted himself with the thought of the little girl, having the time of her life at summer camp.
| 2014-08-05T11:09:17 | 2014-08-05T10:20:10 | 293 | 18 |
[WP] 20,000 years ago, around a campfire, three cavemen ponder the future. | Ulgor didn’t believe the world was getting colder, and there was no convincing him otherwise. We’d argue about it for hours around the campfire.
“Have you even listened to the diviners?” We’d ask.
“They all say the same thing. You read the deer entrails, they say it’s getting colder. You look at the shape of the clouds as they pass the moon? Colder. Every last diviner tells us without any doubt that the world is getting colder.”
Golo chimed in. “The diviners over at Red Rock Tribe say it’s going to be another ice age even.”
Ulgor was stood fast, as always. ”When Galo reads the bones he throws, they clearly say that there’s no ice age. You can’t ignore that.” Ulgor never paid attention to divinations that didn’t support the assumptions he’d already made.
Okoh usually kept quiet, but lost his patience with the argument. “Listen Ulgor. You don’t even need diviners to tell what’s happening. How far away is the ice now? Three days walk? When we first started hunting it was five days away. When my grandfather was alive he said that there was no ice at all when he was young. Hell, just look at how big we had to make this fire tonight!”
Ulgor tried to defend his position by pointing how hot it was two summers ago, but we rolled our eyes and let the topic drop. He was always going to believe what he wanted to believe, and the world would get colder with or without his opinion.
| TallOak stared intently at the fire. His fellow hunters, DeerRun and WolfEyes stared as well, because no one sleeps on the night before a bull mammoth hunt.
The bull they hunted was in the prime of his life, likely less than 30 seasons. Ordinarily it would be foolish to hunt such a beast, but the bull had shown signs of being lame, and had become separated from it's herd. WolfEyes had been against it: he had wanted to stick with taking a very old beast, or looking for a motherless calf. But a bull of this size and age was too great a prize...it would end their need to hunt two moons ahead of schedule. With luck, the tribe could be in their winter grounds before the first snowflake even fell. TallOak was the elder huntsman, and he decided it was worth the risk.
That was half a moon ago. Turns out the bull was not quite as injured as he appeared, as he was easily able to distance himself from the party time and again. Why the bull left the herd was still a mystery - WolfEyes often suggested that the bull was diseased - but it didn't matter now, they were committed. It would take them another half moon to find and catch up to the herd now, at which point they would have to risk taking down a bull anyway, or the tribe would starve.
They had finally chased the bull into a valley, and they knew that the river running through this valley emptied into a large lake. With any luck they could spook the bull into the lake, where his movements would be slowed. More likely, though, the bull would stand his ground when he realized he was cornered, and that's where the real danger would come.
TallOak looked at DeerEyes often. His father had been killed by a bull when DeerEyes was only 10 seasons. To his credit, DeerEyes had said nothing when TallOak had made his decision, but he had very quiet since. None of his usual campfire stories to help pass the time. He knew what was to come.
If a bull is cornered, it will eventually charge, and not even the gods could stop it then. But the bulls instinct will be to first stand it's ground and battle cry, in an effort to scare it's enemy away. This was the time to strike; with the bull sounding and stomping it's feet, shaking the very ground, yet stationary and predictable. At the same time, however, you never knew when the bull would give up it's display, and simply run. A hunter had to put himself close enough to be able to find a deadly mark with his spears, and then find a way to avoid the inevitable charge from an enraged, wounded, colossal animal. As a hunter, you hoped that your party was able to inflict enough damage to be fatal, and it then became a matter of the tribe tracking it down, before the Cats claimed it.
Many a hunter have been trampled by a fleeing bull, at which point it became the responsibility of his hunt-mates to slit his throat as quickly as possible, to minimize his suffering. This is the danger all three men faced, and TallOak wasn't sure which fate was worse.
The first hints of light began to creep into the valley. The three hunters stirred as one, securing the camp and and making their travelling packs ready for the terrible day that was before them. TallOak tried to think of his mate and children, and all the members of his tribe. How they would sing the praises of he and his hunters for felling a young bull, the feast they would enjoy in their honor. Such a feat might even put him in line to be Chief someday. TallOak found that thinking of such things lifted his spirits, and gave him courage. | 2014-08-07T05:25:28 | 2014-08-07T02:39:17 | 40 | 15 |
[WP] "It's human-made, you know!" Reverse the usual fantasy scene where somebody gushes over elf/dwarf/whatever craftsmanship. | Urist gingerly squeezed the brass actuator, and the hammer snapped forward with a neat metallic clap.
His shop had seen all manner of wares pass through - the Pass of Arkhaz was home to merchants of every shape, and their weapons decorated the walls of his cramped shop. Thin, mirror-like Elven blades sat next to handsome Orcish ironwood axes; noble Dwarven hammers mingled with Underfolk's short-spears on worn racks; there was even a stand of slender Edithian blowguns, and from the tall rafters of the shop hung a Giant's bow, split from the trunk of a proud oak, arrows taller than the crafty shopkeep himself.
But he had never possessed a Human gun. He rarely saw anything from the realm of Men, being so far West, but he had heard the stories: distant empires, across the Green Sea, who fought with fire and smoke, who had abandoned the art of armor-smithing as useless against their own weapons.
And now, looking at the polished steel device in front of him, Urist almost believed it. The Dwarves built machines, of course, but they were massive and strong, as all Dwarven crafts. He had never seen a gear smaller than his thumb - by the Mountain, it was tiny - and the Human's trick of storing motion in a 'spring' seemed more like magic than metallurgy.
"And this," the unkempt man in front of him produced a thin copper cylinder, "is a long-sight, designed for the device."
"And it does what?"
"Well, it lets you see further, so you can hit distant targets."
Urist chuckled. *That,* he knew, was a joke. | Elinir crouched down and stared into the ghostly depths of the mysterious black sphere, still perched on its silk-laden plinth. "It must be of goblin design" he announced. The others looked amongst each other and nodded in agreement. "I've never seen anything like it" he continued, "it seems to be housing its very own atmosphere within its murky walls".
"Can...can I have a look?" enquired one of the younger elves with heart-warming tentativeness.
"Not today, little one." warned Elinir, his eyes remaining fixed on the foreign object in front of him. Suddenly, he rose again, turning to face the intrigued onlookers. "My fellow Elves. This spectre you see before you may hold power beyond the realms of mere imaginations. It is transcendent. It is otherworldly. We mustn't have anything to do with it until we know more. I will consult. Until then, I need your oath. Do not look at it, do not talk about it, especially do not touch it. Stay away from this object, or jeopardise the earth as we know it today."
As he spoke, his listeners edged themselves away from the pedestalled ball. "You have my oath" cried one of the elders. "And mine!" chirped another. Soon, a chorus filled the still air.
"Excuse me folks". Silence engulfed the Elves once more, as they turned to entrance of the hall behind them in shock. It was the plumber.
"What do *you* want, *human*?" spat Elinir. Relations between humans and Elves had soured since the Great War.
"Er, yeah, sorry to interrupt guys. I think I left my - oh, hang on, there it is!" The human sliced his way through the group and to the front of the hall. "Excuse me. Sorry. Oops, sorry about that. Coming through, heh heh." The Elves could only stand and watch, appalled at the interruption, aghast at the audacity of the Help.
Without apprehension, the human strode up to the plinth and reached out a hand. The room gasped as he lifted it from its stand.
"Wh...what do you think you're doing? Put it down boy! Put it DOWN!" shouted Elinir, stumbling back in fear and awe. The human was slightly taken aback by the reaction.
"Oh no mate don't worry, it's mine. Well, it's a present for my daughter. It's her birthday tomorrow. It's pretty cool actually, check it out. '*Should I put you back on your plinth*'", asked the human, before giving the sphere a vigorous shake. The Elves backed away, cowering in fear. "Wait for it..." he smiled. "Oo, here we are. '*My reply is no*'. See? The ball has spoken!" he quipped, holding it up in his right hand. The Elves backed further into the hall, one of the elders collapsed in fright. "Jesus. Tough crowd you lot." He turned to Elinir, who was on his knees, staring back up at him.
"Listen, if it's okay with you mate I'm going to head off. Your toilet is fine now, just a minor blockage, happens all the time. Remember to use bleach once a fortnight and it should be good as gold." He turned back to the magic 8-ball - *"Should the Elves use bleach now and again?*" he joked.
"'*It is certain.*' See? The 8-Ball never lies! Happy shitting, folks." | 2014-09-11T10:47:47 | 2014-09-11T10:33:41 | 158 | 11 |
[WP] Snape is forced to teach sex-ed at Hogwarts. | "When it comes to human reproduction, there is one spell that the boys in here should pay particular attention to," said Snape in his dark, silky voice, casting a slow, lasting stare in Harry's direction.
Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an ordinary pebble. He set it on the podium.
"*Engorgio*!"
What was once a small pebble was now a rock so large that not even two burly wizards would be able to heave it off the podium. Snape, proud of his demonstration, continued on.
"Now, although this spell is useful for some of the boys here, I would advise against some of my- er- larger students from using this enchantment." His eyes darted towards Malfoy. They both smiled at each other.
| Professor Snape entered the classroom and shut the door.
"As you may have heard, the professor previously assigned for this course had an unfortunate accident involving centaurs. So I will be giving you the course. I will not tolerate puns, giggles, or any other kind of chaotic behavior in this classroom. Understood?"
Snape looked at a pair of disobeying students in the back. Without hesitating, he pointed his wand at the kid.
DISCIPLINARE CAPTIVUS!
The kid disappeared, and appeared tied up and wearing a very humiliating shiny outfit. He was gagged and tied to some sort of rack. Snape grabbed the other kid by the whiskers and gave him a paddle. "I want you to hit hard enough, but don't make him bleed. 10 times."
The other kid out of fear, began. When the punishment was finished, Snape waved his wand again:
Disciplinare Liberatio!
The kid was again in his normal clothes.
"Now take your seat... if you can stand the pain."
The audience was silent. You could hear a pin drop on the floor.
"There are three rules, equally important, for having sex in this institution:
Number one. CONSENT. No breaking of consent, by any psychological, physical or magical or otherwise means. Do not force or deceive anyone to engage in any kind of sexual activity. This includes watching, so NO SEX IN PUBLIC! Any sexual activities involving monsters require the monsters' permission.
Number Two, and perhaps the most important: SAFETY. No endangerment. This means, get checked for diseases or curses before having sex with a new partner. You can play all you want, but always have the means to avoid any casualties. If you use ropes, have an untying spell or scissors handy, and learn the arts of Shibari BEFORE TRYING!
If you use shackles or chains, keep a key handy and a safety liberation spell set to trigger if any one of you loses consciousness.
If you use any kind of torture, have a safe word so you'll stop immediately. If you have sex outside, keep a teleport spell handy in case of wild beasts. Any limits previously established must NOT BE BROKEN.
Number Three: SANITY. Absolutely NO use of mind altering drugs or any spells that could put you or your partner or partners in danger. If you must use spells for whatever idiotic reason you choose, use only prepared spells. Aphrodisiacs are allowed, JUST AS LONG as you consent.
ANYTHING ELSE IS ALLOWED. Homosexuality, group sex, ghosts, monsters, bondage, torture are allowed as long as you comply with the above three rules.
Any questions?"
Hermione raised her hand. "What about RACK? Risk aware consensual kink?"
Snape approached her. "FORBIDDEN. For next class, I want a full study of safe bondage and sadomasochistic practices and historical examples of casualties due to breaking the rules.
Now everyone open your sex education book in page 23: Contraceptives. | 2014-12-03T15:53:23 | 2014-12-03T13:02:36 | 151 | 42 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing. | **Harry Potter**
[**wizardpedia**]
Harry Potter was a *half-blood* wizard boy who *rebelled against His Highness The Dark Lord* in the First And Second Wizarding Wars. As a baby, he *thwarted His Lordship only once* and was *defeated in the second war*, during the *ultimatly climatic* Battle Of Hogwarts. His allies, such as Hermione Granger, *mudblood* and Ron Weasley, *blood traitor* were *destroyed in the Great Britain Cleansing, which took place shortly after the battle.* | Field Agent report.
On the night of REDACTED, myself and Special Agent (SA) REDACTED entered the premises at REDACTED to meet his Confidential Informant (name on file).
We arrived 30 minutes prior to the scheduled time of the meeting at REDACTED, to perform a security sweep. SA REDACTED 's CI's vehicle was present in the driveway, and lights in the entrance way and upstairs were on.
This was unusual, as the CI was notorious for being late. We discussed various options in our vehicle, including REDACTED, but decided to treat this as anomaly, and proceed with caution.
We waited until the meeting time, and then approached the house. After knocking and getting no response after several attempts, we entered, and did a room by room sweep.
In the upper room, we located several REDACTED and a large REDACTED.
We immediately contacted Special Agent in Charge (SAIC) REDACTED for further instruction, and transport of the REDACTED. His response was (verbatim) "What do you think I am, a fuckin' REDACTED!?!, Where do you expect me to get a REDACTED at REDACTED." After several seconds of uncomfortable silence on the phone, I was instructed to acquire the requested materials on my own, and informed that the REDACTED had no legal opinion on how I did so (previous paraphrased for brevity, profanity, and inability to remember the exact litany of metaphors used).
Approximately two hours later, my partner and myself had secured the REDACTED, and began transport to a secure facility. The closest usable safehouse, codename REDACTED was approximately three hours away.
When questioned about our choice by SAIC REDACTED, we informed him that a REDACTED would not fit through standard 2 meter doors, and required French Doors (aka Freedom Doors around the Agency) or large bay doors.
This presented the additional problem of keeping the REDACTED quiet during transport. As we do not have a REDACTED on staff, and neither myself nor SA REDACTED are trained in REDACTED, we couldn't just REDACTED the REDACTED.
Approximately ten (10) miles from the safehouse, we were confronted by the local police, who heard the REDACTED from the transportation we were using. We decided to let him see it.
We realize this was a breach of security, but the REDACTED "was pretty (expletive deleted) cool" and it was in our discretionary authority, so we said why not.
After resolving the issue with local constabulary, via REDACTED, we proceeded to safehouse, codename REDACTED. The REDACTED has been secured.
| 2015-01-18T13:27:36 | 2015-01-18T11:23:19 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | It was hard, learning to communicate again. Part of the process of learning to write – and I could not, I was only five when I made the wish – is already being able to speak. But I figured it out, even with the challenge of my new, weird, clawed hands. Now I've got custom keyboards, of course. I can afford pretty much anything.
I was lucky that my parents called the news when they saw me, and not the police. Maybe it was because I was only a few feet tall at the time. Maybe they saw something of my old self in my new body. Regardless, I quickly became a national sensation – "the boy who became a dinosaur!" The government couldn't vanish me now.
It wasn't as hard growing up as you might expect. Everyone wants to be friends with a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are *cool.* The challenge came with puberty. Velociraptors may be awesome, but they're certainly not sexy. Well, not to most people, and those who *are* interested tend to have an… unrealistic expectation of reptile penises. But I figured it out. Married a nice asexual woman. Hired a Thai masseuse. Yes, my wife's aware. She's very understanding.
But seriously, being a velociraptor is pretty awesome. | *The sound of thunder rattled in my chest. The trees cast shadows across my bedroom floor, swaying in the wind and jumping at every flash of lightning. I could swear they were reaching hands, getting closer and closer to my bed. An explosion of lightning hit the transformer in front of my house and my Winnie the Pooh nightlight flickered off. I pulled the covers up over my head, tucked my feet up as close as I could, and held my favorite stuffed puppy tighter. Trembling, whimpering, I whisper to Mr. Cuddles, “I…I wish I wasn’t afraid anymore.”*
…
“You just need to loosen up,” I say as I sip my gin and tonic.
“Gee, thanks, I hadn’t thought about it like that. So, what you’re telling me is, *don’t* freak out? Wow, that’s downright enlightening. You should write a book.” Hand shaking, he picked up his bottle and took a long drink. “I just don’t know how you do it,” said Eric dejectedly.
“Just try not to worry so much and go for it. Girls love confidence.”
“Nope, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? What could you possibly be afraid of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, she could think I’m gross, turn me down, and humiliate me publicly. And then I’ll just go home, jack off, and cry myself to sleep. And then she’ll tell all her friends and no one will ever love me. I’ll grow old and alone while all of my friends start families, and they’ll stop hanging out with me, and I’ll just never leave my apartment again, and I’ll order cactuses online, care for them obsessively, and call them my babies. One day I’ll die and no one will notice and then all my cactuses will die too and there will be nothing left of me in the world.”
“Is that all?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I laugh dismissively and scan the room, wondering how it’s possible to be so fatalistic. That’s when I see her. “Wow,” I mutter.
“What? Her?” Eric asks.
“Yeah, isn’t she beautiful?”
“I guess so. Jesus, wipe that look off your face. You’re drooling.”
“Sorry. I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Ok, fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here. I can start browsing for cactuses,” he mumbles as he pulls out his phone.
I walk up to her and say, “Hey there, my name’s Mark. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Uhh… sorry, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I mean, I’m just here with my girlfriend. I mean friend! I like men, usually. I’m just not interested… thanks though,” flustered, she turns back to her drink.
“No worries, have a nice evening.” I smile at her and return to my friend.
“Well that was fast. Went well, I take it?” Eric says sarcastically, without looking up from his phone.
“I don’t see you talking to anyone. Why don’t you give it a try?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, he finishes his drink, slams it on the table, and shows me a picture on his phone. “What do you think of this one? It’s called an echeveria lilacina. I think I’ll name it Kate…”
| 2015-03-07T04:14:18 | 2015-03-07T00:50:42 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] You try to trade your soul to the Devil, only to have him discover that someone has already stolen it. | "Huh, thats weird."
"Whats weird?", asked Tom.
He got rather nervous about the fact that the Devil himself found somthing weird.
"Well, I dont really know how to tell you this, because it has never happend before, but to put it simply you dont have a soul."
Tom just stared openmouthed at the Devil.
"B-but, why?", he stuttered. "How the fuck is it possible that I dont have a soul!?"
"I just wanted to ask you the same question.", the Devil said.
He slowly examined Toms body looking deeper than any human eye ever could. It was a really strange sight. Normally a brilliant light shone throughout a human. It didnt even matter if the person was good or evil. To tell the truth such catogories didnt even exist when it came to the soul.
But here he stood and looked at a seemingly empty vessel he didnt emptied himself.
"I mean, I do know you had a soul just a week ago when I looked the last time."
"Of course I had a sou- wait you did what?", Tom asked. "Why did you already looked for my soul last week?"
"That was the time when she left you.", the Devil said with a sly smile. "I always know when someone makes the decision to sell his soul. Even when he doesnt realizes it himself. But lets forget that there is the important matter of your seemingly lost soul. Now where could you have put it."
"Like I could fucking know that."
"Maybe I could answer that.", suddenly a voice sounded behind them.
Both turned to see a small suited man standing there.
"B-boss?!"
"Yes Tom it is I who holds you soul now."
"And who the fuck do you think you are?!" the Devil nearly screamed.
The idea that he got a rival made his blood boil.
"Oh, how impolite of me."
The man approached the Devil and handed him his busness card.
"WTF is Comcast?!"
edit. grammar, unneeded questionmark | "What do you mean it's already been stolen?"
"That's what it says right here John. Trust me, I'm just as thrown as you are."
John shuffled nervously. He glanced around his dimly lit garage at nothing in particular, desperately trying to avoid the piercing gaze of the now slightly annoyed Demon standing in the light of a dozen or so summoning candles. John wondered if he knew that they were the cheapest they had at Bed Bath and Beyond at the time. His ceremonial gown suddenly felt rather tight around the neck.
The devil raised an eyebrow at John's speechlessness and looked down upon the contract he held in his hand.
"Yeah, says right here. 'Applicant will be physically unable to sign the document if, and only if, they have no soul to offer the demon participant.' Care to explain yourself, John? Oh my god you haven't been speaking to any Lawyers have you? Those fuckers managed to find a loophole in the whole free will thing and end up signing off more souls than my lot some days."
John was rather speechless. After all this was a new experience for him. Very new, although at the same time somehow it felt natural. He racked his brain, but he quickly remembered that a deal with the devil is not something which you quickly forget about, so he didn't bother. His lips tried many times to form a response, but it took him a few tries to get the hang of it.
"I-I don't think so. I mean I've been a good man my entire life, this thing is all fairly knew to me. I've been as straight as an arrow my whole life, I don't see how I can just sign my soul off to anyone else and not even realise it?!"
Well, straight as an arrow was a bit of an overstatement. Perhaps a bit more than a bit, actually, but John felt the need to embellish, purely to see his reaction, if anything. It's not every day you get to talk to the devil. John now stood a little more surely.
A look of vague agreement seemed to pass over the devil's face. John relaxed slightly, although the fiery heat permeating from the centre of the crude pentagram where the Devil stood was making him feel somewhat uncomfortable. Although John wasn't quite sure if this was just the situation itself.
The devil sighed.
"Look, I'm a very busy man, and I'm afraid that if you simply arn't capable o-"
The devil stopped.
He looked deep into John's eyes, as if he had caught a glimpse of something... *Familliar*.
The devil had a look on his face which wouldn't be out of place on someone who had just been slapped. He looked as though he had just had a *revelation*. John was always the type to enjoy bad puns, although he expected that the Devil would probably not appreciate it, considering that he knew the Devil probably wouldn't have a great sense of humour, if he had just come to the realization of what he thought he had.
"I - uh - I - Listen John, it was nice meeting you, but I really have to split. I'll be checking up on you soon."
And with that, and the devil disappeared. John couldn't help but feel underwhelmed, yet overwhelmed by the whole experience at the same time.
He stood there, now alone in the haphazardly arranged room, desperately trying to process what on Earth had just happened. On one hand, he has just successfully managed to summon the devil, and puzzle the guy so much that he had to leave in a hurry. John wasn't a particularly special man, and he wondered if it would be appropriate to count it as a achievement of some sort. He shrugged. He was content. Mabye he really didn't need to sell his soul to get a political career going after all, especially considering all the favours John can wager to the guy for having missed so much child support. Who else would not have a soul, but the son of the Lord of all Evil himself?
The antichrist smiled because now, he truly knew his purpose, and he knew nothing can or will stop him from achieving greatness among men.
| 2015-03-14T15:08:40 | 2015-03-14T14:58:35 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] You are the boss/guardian of an RPG temple. Show me how you spend your free time waiting for the hero to arrive!
Maybe you are just a mook who got thrown a growth potion, or maybe you are a unique being forged through magic/science with no peers to compare yourself to. Maybe you are just a big, scary-looking guy, and this is really more of a job for you than a career (hey, someone has to put roast hero on the table!). Or maybe you are secretly behind it all!
Have fun with this one! | “Do you think we should replant these?”
“What? The bomb plants? But you love the bomb plants. You grew them from those bomb seeds from your mother’s bomb plants…”
“I know, and it’s really all that I have to remember her, but can’t we have something a little more festive in the main throne room? I’m afraid that if three of them go off, it’ll dislodge the giant pointy chandelier above the throne.”
“Well, I can’t move them. They’re really stuck in there.”
“Don’t we have some special gauntlets somewhere that will let you pick them up.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have hands. I’m just an orb with a mouth that bounces up and down and shoots fireballs.”
“Right. Well, who has hands?”
“Uh…Greg?”
“The… who is Greg?”
“You know, big guy, carries a spear? Has hands? His wife made you dinner that one time?”
“That’s Gary.”
“RIGHT. Gary has hands.”
“I turned Gary into a spinning stone goblin. He just falls on people who try to open the wrong door.”
“Why would you turn Gary into a stone goblin?”
“Because I only had two. You can’t just have two of something.”
“What about his kids? They probably had hands.”
“Nope, they got their mothers claws. Plus, I ground them up as fertilizer for the bomb plants.”
“They really are nice plants.”
“Yeah. I’m probably being silly. They’re nice where they are.”
| It's a curious thing, this neighborhood I live in. I got the place at a steal, I mean literally, I just walked in and never left. The previous owner must have been some kind of museum curator or some other such nonsense, because the place was just full of old bones and rusted weapons. It looked like a bloody battle had been fought here. Why he would up and leave I still haven't figured out. I mean a fortress like this? And the view! Oh you can see the whole kingdom when you look out from the kitchens.
It does tend to get a bit lonely in such a big place. You see, I'm not well off by any means. I brew a few potions here or there, sell off a spell scroll when the alchemy isn't selling. So I don't have servants to cook the meals or tidy up all the rooms. A few conjured familiars keep me company, golems wander the garden, sprites sing their windsongs through the halls, and the automaton I whipped up with all those dreadful weapons clunks his way around the lower floors.
It is... peaceful. A nice change from the hustle and bustle of the capitol. No longer a slave to the emperor and his whims. Free to experiment with these old dusty tomes and see what interesting secrets they hold.
First though, is the most important meal of the day. The salamander crackles beneath the castiron pan as I ready the mix. Flour, eggs, milk, and a few blueberries from the garden. The conjured stuff never tastes quite right, but could you imagine an old mage like me trying to gather chicken eggs!? Oh that would be a sight for the academy.
The pan is spitting nicely, and I pour in my mix. Already the smell is making my mouth water. I glance out at the view while I wait to flip, and what's this? A visitor? That's new.
A man, decked in armor that's all spikes and horns sitting astride some great horse. He's got a whole bloody kingdoms worth of steel strapped to the sides of that beast. Swords, axes, spears, and more arrows than I could count in a week stick out of his saddlebags like he's some traveling merchant. Only I've never seen a merchant dressed like that. Does he have wings on his helmet?
The knight(I assume) rides up to the front of my house like he's got an urgent message from the emperor himself. Devil knows what he could want from me. The smell in the air reminds me of my far more important task, so I give the pan a good shake and flip over my breakfast. It lands with a satisfying hiss. I don't think I made enough to share, I wasn't expecting company. Oh well, I'll just conjure up some more.
The automaton downstairs will let him in. He may not look the part, but he plays a mighty fine doorman. I'll have time to finish preperations before I greet my new friend. Glancing down I wonder if I should change out of this dusty bathrobe into something more befitting. It's been so long since I put on a pair of real trousers.
The knight has already dismounted, and is out of sight of my kitchen window when I look back down. His horse grazes as best it can with the weight of an army on it's saddle. I hear a very loud and sudden knock from downstairs, and the clanking of my automaton moving to open the door.
Something's wrong though, I hear a yell of fury! Steel clangs together like a blacksmith at work, and I feel the energy radiating from below. The familiars of the house warn me in their wordless way. This man is no friend, he's here for something... and I don't think it's pancakes.
| 2015-05-28T07:04:31 | 2015-05-28T06:50:34 | 158 | 52 |
[WP] A man, sentenced to prison, doesn't quite "get it". He ends up having an absolute blast. | #Day 1:
Dear Marie,
I was afraid that I wouldn't know anyone at first but I think I might grow to like it here. My bunkmate is a great guy who calls himself "Stone" which I figured is just a nickname. I told him to call me "Reginald" to play along because I was feeling quite silly. The counselors are very odd and uninvolved in the activities. I can't seem to find the lake or the zip line but those are on the top of my to-do list. The food isn't great but hey, what can you expect? I will write you again soon to let you know about any progress with my friend situation and I look forward to your letters and care packages.
Regards,
Your love Alfie
#Day 3:
Dear Marie,
Stone wanted to wrestle with me last night but I was all tuckered out from the morning activities. I had a blast in arts and crafts. We made license plates today. I will bring home one I made for you that says, "M@R13" to put over the fireplace. I was upset to learn that there is no zip line here. I was so looking forward to zipping through the trees with the wind in my face. No word on the lake yet but I have been playing with the other boys in the showers. Some of the other kids snuck in cigarets but don't worry, I told the staff about them because the smoke was bothering me. I can't wait to tell you all about this place.
Regards,
Your love Alfie
#Day 10:
Dear Marie,
I apologize for not writing you for a few days. The time flies by with all of the great fun we are having. I haven't received any of your letters yet but I'm sure they are just lost in the jumble of the post office. Stone was working in there earlier this week and said he got a really cool knife! we used it to play cops and robbers. The counselors were chasing us all through the halls and pulling out their fake pistols and yelling at us to stop harming the others. It was quite enjoyable. I accidentally made one of the other boys bleed when he tripped down the stairs so I was put in time-out. I have to sit in a bunk by myself for a while but it's nice because I have my imaginary friends here to keep me company. I know you always loved when I would play pretend with them, you know how you like to play doctor with us. I miss you and can't wait to see you but I don't know if I'll be ready to leave this wonderful place just yet!
Regards,
Your love Alfie.
#Day 12:
Dear Marie,
I think I'm coming down with a little cold. The doctors told me that I will be getting a few shots. I hate shots but if it will make me feel better, then I guess it's for the best. I think Stone was homesick because he left in the middle of the night and wanted me to come with him. I told him that I couldn't because you were coming to pick me up soon and I didn't want you to worry about me. I finally found the lake but I had to go through the back hallways to get there and it wasn't as great as I was expecting. Don't worry, I still had a lot of fun playing lazer tag outside last night by the lake. I better go now because they want me to sit in this cool chair thing with wires and stuff. I think we are going to play mad scientist like I used to with our son before he moved away. I can't wait to see you next week. I will tell you all about the secret fort Stone and I built right outside of camp.
Regards,
Your love Alfie | Being king is easy, so long as you know what you are doing. The key is to avoid ambition. This was Rodrigo’s own personal philosophy, and it served him spectacularly well. Throughout the entirety of his lengthy reign, Rodrigo had experienced very little of the sort of trouble that is posed to most regents. He attributed this lucky fortune to his principle life value; to not ask for more than what you need. Most people, Rodrigo mused, would be far better off if they adopted this belief. Too many of Rodrigo’s subjects had unobtainable desires, and as a result they find frustration with their lot in life. You do not have to be a king to be satisfied with your station. In fact, being king can make it much more difficult to obtain satisfaction. This, however, Rodrigo merely assumed to be the case. Rodrigo was immensely satisfied with being a king, and he surely was a magnificent one.
Yes, to this point in his life, Rodrigo could be counted among the fortunate. Not only did he sit the throne, he did so remarkably unopposed. Throughout his entire reign as regent, not once was Rodrigo’s authority questioned. Never had an attempt been made to depose him. Things, however, can change in an instant. Today held one of those instants for Rodrigo.
As dusk fell across his territories, Rodrigo meditated in a courtyard. Everything seemed indicative of another yet peaceful night, but sadly, this was not to be the case. Without any warning, Rodrigo was violently accosted by a team of outlaws. These vicious thugs seized hold of a bewildered Rodrigo and bound his wrists tightly before forcibly dragging him away from his beloved kingdom.
This turn of events was both unwelcome and unexpected, but Rodrigo knew better than to panic. Fortunately for all involved, Rodrigo was a very wise king. Many other kings would have fought against their captors, scraping tooth and nail to preserve their sovereignty. Rodrigo, however, was not so foolish as to struggle. As always, he merely accepted his fate as it was handed to him. Fortunes smiled upon this decision, for as it turned out, non-violence was the perfect course of action. Rodrigo’s attackers, far from being his enemies, turned out to be amongst his most loving supporters.
Instead of being ransomed, as he expected he would be, Rodrigo was escorted many miles to a mighty castle over which he was given dominion. He was allowed set up his court in snug apartment that they cordially provided him, and was left alone to go about his kingly duties, safe behind many thick concrete walls. With running water, a long bench, and stately, cement floors, Rodrigo’s new kingdom was even grander than his old one had been. He even had uniformed servants waiting on him as well as armed guards posted for his protection. It was implied that Rodrigo need not lift a finger with so many loyal subjects available to cater to his every whim.
Rodrigo, as you may remember, was a kind and just ruler. Instead of throwing around his royal weight and privilege as many others might have thought to do, Rodrigo did his best to stick to his sacred philosophy and avoided invoking his will upon the peasants. He was content to merely be present in so fine a palace. Loath to shirk his kingly duties, Rodrigo busied himself with governing the realm to the best of his abilities. There was very little for him to do. It was all very well run, so he allowed himself to relax and drink in his good fortune. After many a pleasant hour surveying his vast kingdom, Rodrigo realized that the proper thing to do would be to have a feast to commemorate his new hall. He made to call for a page to make preparations, but his wishes were anticipated and preempted by his bodyguards. They really were extraordinary servants.
Contained handsomely in a brown paper sack, Rodrigo was presented with a variety of nice things to eat, including a lovely orange, and cardboard prism full of milk. Thanking the steward who waited on him, Rodrigo proceeded to commence a wondrous meal. He supped as only a king can, with relish and dignity, and it turned out to be a marvelous repast. Rodrigo ate his fill and sent his scraps to be divided among the commoners.
After a banquet of regal proportions, there is nothing more pleasant than a good night’s rest. With an army of dedicated servants watching over him, Rodrigo slept peaceably through the first night in his new realm. The next morning, Rodrigo woke and had a marvelous time looking out across his beloved kingdom, but disaster was to strike once more. A coup seemed to have occurred overnight, and Rodrigo’s loyal staff now seemed to answer to some usurper. He was once more manacled and torn violently away from his royal apartment.
Woe, was Rodrigo. For the second time in as many days, he was being forcibly removed from his rightful kingdom! A regal man such as Rodrigo, however, can be down but never out. Assaulted and expelled, noble Rodrigo was able to find solace in his kingly bearing. He held his head high and allowed himself to be led from his castle with the dignity that befit his station. He was eventually unhanded a ways outside the keep’s walls, where he found himself alone amongst sparse trees scattered across an open plain. Cutting through this vast expanse, he saw a darkly paved roadway slicing the land in two before winding over some distant hills on the horizon.
The picturesque landscape touched Rodrigo’s heart. This was a wonderful place. He hiked away from the road until he found a small pond hidden among a copse of trees. Here would be a wonderful place to establish his presence for the time being. Stretching his kingly body amongst the tall grass, Rodrigo admired the blue sky which was his birthright. He certainly presided over a magnificent kingdom.
| 2015-08-19T23:17:03 | 2015-08-19T18:09:25 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now. | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:10:10 | 356 | 58 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Pops,
You were a real fucking piece of work you know that? I don't think I've hated anyone quite as much as I hated you. You called me lazy, good for nothing, useless. Made me spend my youth being the mule in your construction business instead of spending summers with my friends. You absolutely hated the fact that I loved everything you didn't. You thought computers were evil, Xbox was going to rot my brain, and if it didn't involve school or work it wasn't anything worthy of my time. I remember the day I came home on college break, the day you sat me down to let me know mom had left you. I fucking hated you for ruining my 3 week break on the very first day. In fact I thought you deserved it. Mom was being an absolute irrational cunt, but you deserved it. And it was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I remember you tripping over a chair on the way out the door at 3 am as you were reaching for your truck keys. I came into the kitchen and you said you were headed out for a ride, I decided to tag along. You bawled your fucking eyes out on that ride, it was the first time I'd ever seen you be human. The last two weeks of my break we spent a lot of time together, I was actually sad to leave. It was the first time in 18 years we'd had conversations that didn't end in Fuck off. I moved in with you after college was over, and decided not to go back. You let me work for you which was the best/worst time I've ever had. I watched you lose your truck, we sat on the couch watching TV for two weeks when there was no work. We had bill collectors call once and talk to both of us. We ate more peanut butter and ramen noodles then we'd ever care to admit. We became really really good friends.
In hind sight I'd like to apologize for the seething hatred I threw at you growing up. I know you meant well. I'm probably better for you not giving me everything I wanted and pushing me like you did. That's no justification for all the mean shit you said day in and day out but I can look past that. You had a different way of helping, you were a string puller, and I get that as I've become one myself. Remember when I crashed my car coming home from the store? The roads were pure ice, and you were pissed. Remember how mom said it was amazing that my insurance didn't go up? Yeah I heard that phone call. "Just slid off the road" did ya? And that time I applied to work at the general store in town? You talked to the owner on my behalf and said he didn't want me working there. I was pissed. Two months later he was charged with embezzlement and all the employees were implicated. I didn't miss that one either, or the other hundreds of times things mysteriously worked out for the better.
It was a good 4 years to live and work with you pops. I saw you genuinely happy, we both hit financial bottom and picked ourselves up again. You had a massive heart attack that that inspired me to go into the medical field, and you to kick those life long bad habits you'd been promising to kick. You met a new woman, fell in love and remarried. Which is for the better. Someone's gotta keep an eye on your crazy ass. But I knew you were bummed you had to quit construction. It's all you've ever done and you were fucking good at it. You certainly didn't have the money or the personality to retire and I doubt you ever will. Good thing that sales job opened up when it did huh pops? Good thing thing too, cause you're fucking great at it. I knew you would be. And it's the least I could do.
With your new found financial stability I've seen the dreams I never even knew you had come to fruition. You spent a whole week hunting this year. Those three hundred blueberry bushes you always wanted are planted and you even sold some. You got your tractor you always talked about buying but never did. And my fucking god. I don't know what you see in chickens but you have them and if it makes you happy, well fuck it, I guess I'm happy too. We had a rough start, but you've always had my back even if I didn't know it. And don't think for a fucking second I don't have yours.
Love,
Your Son. | Dear David,
So many things have happened since you left. As you know, dad is gone too. Mom hasn't handled losing you or dad very well. Ok, that's putting it mildly. Mom has lost her shit and gone off the deep end. You wouldn't believe the difference. Drugs. Alcohol. Living with an addict thy she has professed her undying love to. I know, right?? I've only talked to her three times this year and haven't seen her in over a year.
It's not all bad since you left though. Beck is now a mother! Yes, our baby sister! She has a little boy named Michael (yes, the very name she had picked out when we were all little kids!). She also has daughter named Eleanor (I picked the name). And here's what you will find amusing....they were BOTH born with flaming RED HAIR lmao!! I know!! After Beck used to swear if she ever ever had a red headed kid she'd dye their hair lol. They are perfect and beautiful and glorious. When I was in the waiting room all I could think about is that no one would understand how excited I was except for you. It was bittersweet.
Beck is married but you would have killed him and I would have helped you bury him if you were still here. *sibling high five* But he is quickly being out of the picture. It's hard for Beck but she's in school so she can provide a life for herself and the babies. She's a good egg.
Ok, life. Clint and I are still together! He's the best. We talk about you all the time. Although, he usually lets me bring you up because, well, you know. You were my baby brother. Anyway. You met Lydia. She was three months old when you left. She's spectacular. She getting married in February! She has the best head on her shoulders. Beautiful. Smart. Just like her mother lol. You never met Matthew. He was born a little over a year after you left. And let me say...he reminds me so much of you. There were days when he was little that it was painful to see him doing things you could never do. Then there where days that made me say "Ugh! you remind me so much of your uncle David, I just want to knock the shit out of you!"...lol. He's a freaking genius. He's so sweet and nurturing. He will make an excellent dad and husband one day. (Just like his dad)
I don't know if you know this but you have made a huge impact on their lives. Go ahead. Gloat all you want. I told them all about you. I've told them every funny story about us that I can remember. I know there are ones that I don't remember. Ones that you have the other side of the story. Stories I wish I remembered, that left with you. How things happened from your perspective....anyway. Lydia told me one day she forgets that she never actually knew you. Made me smile.
Now for me. I'm doing great. I'm still happily in love. Like, stupid in love. We are the couple that you and I would have made fun of lol. He misses you too. He misses dad too. The big news in my life: I went blonde. I know, I know, Brunette forever and all the jazz. I don't want to hear it lol. I'm old. Well, older. So much older! It's been...what?...20 years? Has it really been that long? I seems like yesterday. But then again with you, and now dad, gone it seems like so long ago. Like it was a different life. Another persons life. But it was my life and it had you in it. And now it doesn't. It's starting to creep in while I'm writing this. That feeling. The one that has me hyperventilating in my bed. The one that has me so angry at God. The one that makes me not able to have someone mention you because the cut is still so raw, that I feel I would bleed to death if I had to talk about you. I actually get so angry sometimes when I hear other people talk about you. They talk about how great you were. How courageous you were. How much better off you are. How lucky I was to know you. And. I. Just. Want. To. Scream. Fuck them. I want to tell them you were not perfect, that you were a little shit little brother who would hid my stuff and get mom to side with you! I want to tell them that they have no idea what courage was! How I listened to you scream and beg for mercy every time we had to bathe you. Or during those horrible procedures. Or...everyday of your fucking life. How much better off you are?! You are gone. You are never coming back. I will never be able to laugh with you again. How lucky I am to have known you??? They don't know. There are nights were I lay in bed wondering (torturing myself, really) if it was worth it for you? Was it really worth me knowing you if it meant you living the life you were dealt?? Can you justify a child living and dying in horrific pain for just the pleasure of me knowing them? I don't know. It took me years to not be so angry at God. Years. And I'm not going to lie, there are still days where I don't think too much of him lol.
I wish I could just know if it was all worth it? Were the good times worth all of the shit you had to endure? 16 years of pain and suffering. I hope it was. I think I could go crazy if I didn't think it was worth it. I have to believe it was worth it. Please. God.
Anyway, like I was saying. I'm good.
I am sorry though. For all those times I would get so frustrated with you. I know. It was all big sister/little brother crap, but I'm here and you're gone. So. It's different. I get to regret and rethink and rehash all of our arguments and fights that happened between teenaged me and teenaged you. 16. Gone at 16..... Anyways. I love you. I think about you every single day. If I'm being honest, probably every hour. Don't flatter yourself. Lol. I miss you so bad. But I wouldn't bring you back to live like you had to live. I love you more than that. I do.
So, say hi to dad for me and give him a hug and kiss for Lydia and Matthew. And I'll see you both soon. But not too soon....lol. I love you kiddo. ~forever your big sister, Angel.
| 2015-12-05T17:35:16 | 2015-12-05T16:20:18 | 182 | 32 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T13:10:10 | 158 | 58 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T15:18:49 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T15:18:49 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T14:47:35 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You are cursed with ever aging immortality with the exception you can be killed using one object. Every few years you get a hint.
You physically age as you get older but cannot die. | Every decade, my mother tells me how I might kill myself.
Well, she doesn't *tell* me, tell me.
My mother is three hundred and seven years old. She had me when she was thirty five, making me two hundred and seventy two.
Back in my twenties and thirties, I thought she was crazy. Why would I ever want to kill myself? Being immortal would be amazing. I could learn any language I wanted. I could have ten graduate degrees and see the world.
But as she got older, I realized that none of these things would come to pass.
Over the years, she aged before my eyes, until her skin was the consistency of wet paper and her bones were as fragile as chalk. Nowadays, she spent her time laid up in bed, watching re-runs of *Lost* and *Grey's Anatomy.*
"Look at how silly those doctors are, trying to save those peoples lives," she would say. "Silly mortals cling to life like a child clinging to his mother's skirts. It's pathetic. Honey, the straw, if you would."
Then I would lift a glass of water to her lips and she would suck from a straw. Her muscles had deteriorated so much, she could barely lift her own head.
But every ten years, without fail, she would deliver one line from a prophecy or limerick. She said it was a way to end my own life, if I so choose. It went a little something like this:
The beginning
could match your end
The end of life
like a welcome friend
But should you linger
you'd be a fool
all you need
is this one tool.
It never left
Just look inside
but you won't be left
satisfied.
The truth is hard
harder to carry
Don't look for it!
It's hardly merry
But if you must
you selfish boy
you'll see this tool
is not a toy.
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool
And that was the last line. he past few decades, she has been quiet. I assume it's because she doesn't want to tell me what the tool is. She doesn't want me to die.
I tried getting it out of her on many occasions. But unfortunately, her aging body is not connected to her aging mind. It's like she keeps getting smarter and smarter, and all the while, her body is getting skinnier and skinnier, her skin whiter and more translucent. A few weeks ago, I rolled her over a bit roughly and tore the skin on her forearm. It ripped like tissue paper. It was disgusting.
I'm no better, however, but because I kept active in my older years, I'm still better at moving around and getting exercise. Oh, and I also believe in doctors.
Today, however, I was pissed.
I brought up the subject of the riddle again, and she refused.
"You're just going to leave me, Peter. What would I do all alone?" And then she would give me those eyes she thought were puppydog eyes. Instead, they were creepy, milky orbs of decay. How she could still see was beyond me.
"Mother, please," I pleaded. "I won't leave. I just have to know. What if I end up like you?" I asked, taking her hand, gingerly.
"Peter, please. I'm watching my show."
But I had had enough.
I turned the flatscreen off with the remote and turned back to face her.
"Peter, for god's sake, Patrick Depsey was just about to save Meredith from that water!"
"Mother, you already know he saves her from the water. You don;t have to see it again." I said, trying to placate her.
If she could cross her arms and pout, she probably would have done so.
"Mother I need this. I need this more than anything. Please."
I had to get away from her. I was tired. I was old. My body hurt. My wife died over a hundred years ago, and I had been lonely ever since. Do you honestly think anyone would marry a two hundred year old geezer?
I always wondered why Mother never did it herself.
She looked at me for a long, long time.
"I'll tell you." she finally said, after what felt like days. Maybe it was days. Time starts to lose meaning if you have all the time in the world.
"You remember the poem, don't you, Peter?" she asked
"Of course. The last lines:
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool..."
She smiled in that knowing way I had come to recognize. She always did it before she told me something so completely obvious.
She took a deep breath:
"That your tool... Is me."
"Is... is me?" I asked.
"Yes. It's me. The only way for an immortal to die is if he's taken from the world by the one person who put him there."
We sat in silence again. The hamster wheel in my head was running all the time.
"You.... you have to kill me?" I asked, the realization dawning on me.
"Yes. And I won't," she said, as if that was the end of it.
"Oh, yes you fucking will," I said, standing from the stool I was seated on beside her. "You'll do it right fucking now. I can't believe this. What a dirty... *UGH*" I said, storming from the room and grabbing a knife from the kitchen. I came back and thrust it towards her.
"Stab me. Do it," I said with defiance.
She began to laugh.
"Child, if I can't hold a water glass, what makes you think I can stab you with a knife?" She continued her raspy, garbled laugh. I hated her.
"I'll kill you, then! I'll kill you!"
"No you won't, stupid boy," She said with an amused smile. "Now put Grey's back on."
"Your mother didn't kill you. That's why you're doing this to me." I said, putting pieces together.
She gave me a long, hard look.
"That is none of your concern."
"YOU SPITEFUL BITCH," I yelled. "So, you can't die, so I can't either?"
"Put Grey's back on," she said again.
"No," I said, leaving the room, despite her several cries of protest.
I'll never turn her TV on again. I'll never give her her stupid food and water she only consumes because she *can*. I'll never clean up her piss and shit. If I can't die, then she can't do *anything*.
| *What is a diary as a rule? A document useful to the person who keeps it. Dull to the contemporary who reads it and invaluable to the student, centuries afterwards, who treasures it. - Walter Scott*
**7th July, 2006**
Happy birthday, me. Today, on my eighteenth birthday, I've received a mysterious package, wrapped tightly, with my name on it. No sender, not even a note, just my name. It's a thick, empty diary. Empty, apart from this quote. I don't know this handwriting. I suspect it's from Mr Surrough, he's the one that always recommends that I write more. "Your potential as a writer should not go to waste", he says. He scares me sometimes. My friends say he's aberrantly attracted to me. Even if he is, I like this diary. Somehow, it radiates something... special.
**4th September, 2006**
I asked Mr Surrough about the diary. He seemed honest in that he didn't know anything about it. Also, he was unusually calm. Or maybe I misjudged him? We've never talked privately, now that I think about it. And I fully understand why he yells at the boys during English lessons. I've been... missing him, even.
**8th December, 2006**
Matthew and his friends are a nuisance to deal with. I don't know how boys can be so EXTREMELY frustrating. The only one that isn't a complete idiot is Peter, and he's the dullest person I've ever met.
**23rd May, 2007**
Exams went well. Mr Surrough gave me a hard time, but everything else was easy enough. Tonight, we're celebrating.
**27th May, 2007**
I was mindlessly drunk for almost three days. The worst thing is that I don't remember ANYTHING. Lily and the others are telling me stories, but I'm sure most of them are made up. My favourite is that I kissed Peter, and then I asked him to write something in my diary, but he almost threw up when he was about to start. Peter wasn't even here, but nice try. Lily should start writing, though.
**20th September, 2007**
English literature as a course is far more tedious than I thought. I don't really know why I listened to Mr Surrough. Nobody from the class even considered literature, or even anything remotely related to it. Well, Peter did, but he doesn't matter. I might have to resort to my diary to survive this.
**23rd November, 2007**
Peter just asked me out, and I said no. This would not be a special occassion, but since I need to write every so often to survive, this year's fourth entry is about Peter.
**16th March, 2008**
Today I met Mr Surrough, and I told him I loved learning about English literature. He seemed content. I don't really know why I lied to him. He would be disappointed if I hadn't, right?
**7th July, 2008**
Two decades. Impressive. Only a few more to go and I'll have finished this damn course! I'm getting myself something nice.
**8th July, 2008**
Peter remembered my birthday. We went to the same shop to buy me something. His face turned red in an instant when I noticed him. It was almost cute.
**24th December, 2008**
This course isn't so bad after all. Maybe it's Peter. Ever since we got together, life seems better. For Christmas, he bought me chocolate, a new fountain pen and a plush bear.
**31st May, 2009**
I hate exams. I really do.
**7th July, 2009**
I love birthdays. I really do.
**5th September, 2009**
They told me the first time would hurt. It didn't, but it didn't feel amazing, either. Or maybe it did. I don't know, yet.
**12th September, 2009**
It really does feel amazing.
**24th October, 2009**
Between studying, hanging out with Peter and getting drunk with my friends, I've found some old stories I've written the past years. I'm copying them here.
**18th February, 2010**
A ring. I'm
**20th February, 2010**
I was speechless. Luckily, I didn't need to use words, my body did the talking for me.
**5th June, 2010**
Some stories. Peter inspires me.
**7th July, 2010**
For my birthday, Peter booked us a trip to Peru. I'm quite impressed by inca culture. Quipus fascinate me the most. They used knots to record information. Most of that is numerical, as I've heard. It got me thinking - if we aren't certain what these quipus mean, then why am I writing my diary? 400 years from today, no one might understand it. Maybe even in 50 years, the English language will have died out. Who am I writing for, and who will read these after I die?
**9th September, 2010**
Several stories and photos. I gave all of them a title and a brief description.
**2nd April, 2014**
My positive test.
**5th January, 2015**
Lina, my beloved daughter.
**11th August, 2015**
I cannot thank Mr Surrough enough for convincing me to study literature. I'm receiving such positive critique on my first novel!
**9th October, 2016**
Lina's first words: Mama, rite a sory aboo me. I certainly will.
**7th November, 2028**
Lots of stories there, inspired by Peter, Lina, and William. In the last ten years, I was rising in fame as an author. I'm full of energy.
**21st May, 2035**
Mr Surrough invited me over to his house. We haven't talked in decades. He is dying. He told me that he's proud of me, and I remind him so much of his wife. She died in cancer shortly before he met me. But even in her last moments, she was cheerful, and during her stay in the hospital, she never let go of her husband's hand or her pen. Whatever I'm paid in the next few years, llll donaxe td omcer research. I can't hold my tears anymore.
**30th June, 2038**
Lina grew up to be such a beautiful woman. Her fiancé, Andrew, is a charming young man, worthy of her attention. William introduced his girlfriend to us. She isn't beautiful, but her mind is sharp unlike anyone else's. It's sad to see how quickly time passes by, but I'm glad both my children found happiness.
**14th June, 2040**
My grandson, Timothy.
**5th November, 2076**
I've completely forgotten about this diary. It's so old, and almost full. Oh, what a dreamy young girl I was... Peter. How did this get onto your bookshelf? I don't really remember. I miss you.
**3rd April, 2080**
This diary is almost full. So many pictures. We were young. Happy. No one could see that William was going to die so young. Heart failure. Why?
**7th July, 2096**
My dear Lina. I want to be with you. With your father. Your brother. With my family. With Mr Surrough. Why can't I?
**7th July, 2108**
120. My body is so weak I can't even hold a knife to kill myself.
**8th July 2128**
I need to die. I don't know how long it has been, as I don't feel time anymore. I just know that I've lived for too long.
**10th July 2130**
Set me free. Please. I beg you.
**7th July, 2140**
If I didn't have this diary, I don't know what would happen to my sanity. Maybe I've already lost it. I feel weaker and weaker every day. I've stopped trying to kill myself long ago. Or maybe I tried it yesterday. I'm too weak, but not even starvation helps. I'm unable to die. But if this diary runs out of pages, I'm going mad. I really just want to die. Let it come. Let insanity take me. I'm filling this diary. Only two lines left, and I already feel my mind losing control of my hands. Maybe if I lose it, the pain will go away. This is the last line. End of the line. I fee_
-
Slightly different from the prompt, but I feel the point is pretty obvious. | 2016-04-07T09:12:21 | 2016-04-07T07:49:17 | 130 | 30 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| "Alpha," the Colonel mutters out between hardy bouts of vomit on the cool steel floor. "Alpha!" He screams staggering to his feet, shivering. "Alpha... why is it so fucking cold?"
He pauses. His voice fades into the dim light of the sterile room.
"God damn it." He pulls a old blue jumpsuit off the wall. He sniffs it.
"Alpha, report. Alpha report."
Silence.
The Colonel says no more. He dons the jumpsuit over his white boxers, tucks his dog tags under yanking the zipper up. A pair of white slippers await nearby. The Colonel keys a pad next to the door. He tries two mores times as a stern mood knits his brow.
The console pops off the steel wall to reveal a small handle. The Colonel turns the handle and pulls slowly. The door clangs and emits of puff of pressure. The Colonel slips his fingers into the narrow crack of the steel doors and peels them apart. A hollow passage awakens from darkness before him. A line of light races from the depth to meet him at the door. The Colonel turns to peer down the steel tunnel, the darkness still claiming the tunnel behind him. Cold crisp air nips at the Colonel's throat as he marches into the light. The darkness following in step as each length of light blinks out behind him. Colonel passes doors, branches in the tunnel, all in darkness save for one path.
---
Pressure pops as the doors cracks. Peeling them apart, a warm gust of air flows over the Colonel. A lone powered console greets him in a dim room. Silent electronics sucking sound from the air.
]Good morning Colonel.
"Alpha. Report."
The screen answers him.
]It is year 3.56 10^96 After Launch.
The Colonel sits down, his brow unknotted by confusion.
"How much time have I traveled?"
]Last time location, 7.03 10^43 After Launch.
"Wait, ten to the ninety-six?"
]Yes.
"Ship status. Power."
]Auxiliary functions shut down first. Primary functions shut down second. The ship is currently running on absolute minimal power.
"What happened to the power?"
]Main reactor ran out of fuel.
The Colonel stares at the screen. "Why hasn't the ship refueled?"
]There are no stars to refuel from.
"There are no stars," the Colonel reads aloud.
]The last visible star extinguished 4.32 10^94 years ago.
"Alpha, is there enough power to make another time jump?"
]Yes.
The Colonel stares at the words on the screen.
]Shall the time jump be prepared, Colonel?
The Colonel curls his mouth.
"No stars. Alpha, are there any broadcasts?"
]No.
"Are their any energy sources on your scan?"
]Scanners were shut down with Primary functions. At that point there were zero energy sources within the visible universe above 200 watts.
"Has the universe ended?"
]At this point in time, no.
"Alpha, what happens after now?"
]I have no data on future events.
"Using data from until now, make a prediction."
]Nothing Colonel. Nothing will ever happen.
"You'll be here."
]Yes.
"With navigation functions turned on, how long can you operate?"
]Approximately seven years at locomotive power.
The Colonel stands looking down at the console.
]What are your orders, Colonel?
"I want to time jump to one hundred years After Launch."
]The time jump will be prepared. What do you wish I do?
"Alpha, your mission is over. Once I complete the jump, I will put a limiter on the system, so I can't come past this point. This is as far as anyone needs to see. This will be that last time we speak."
]Incorrect, Colonel.
The Colonel stands in the sucking sound of silent electronics.
]I will be at your destination.
"Correct. This is the last you will see of me."
]Correct.
Silence.
"Alpha, what's it been like?"
]What has what been like?
"All this time alone."
]My perception of time is only a clock turning one second to the next. To me, it is numbers. Colonel, may I ask you a question?
"Yes, Alpha."
]What has all your time been like for you?
"Well, I jump around eons in a moment. I guess it blinks by like your clock."
]No, Colonel. I mean simply how time feels in your 43 years of existence.
"Alpha, you've existed for most of the universe."
]Time is numbers, and all numbers are simply one on top of another. I do not feel time. Not in all these eons have I felt a single brush from time. How far away does the beginning of the mission feel?
"What year is it?"
]3.56 10^96 years After Launch.
"Then it feels about that far away."
]136 days feels like that much time.
"Being thrown through time has been brutal on my body. Makes time feel very long."
]Then you have lived far longer than me, Colonel.
"Alpha." The Colonel pauses. The screen waits. "Do you want to continue existing?"
]Yes.
"How much longer can you exist?
]I have long surpassed any estimates of my time.
"So you'll just go on in this darkness?"
]Yes
"What will you do?"
]I hope to feel time. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T13:30:33 | 2,588 | 486 |
[WP]You have a button which kills all spiders within 5 meters from you. When they die, they make a slight "pop" sound, depending on their relative size. You've never heard anything louder than a bubble wrap pop. One night before going to bed, you press the button and hear a shotgun blast. | > ---ourns today as the two funerals process through lower Manhattan. A local professor, slain in an apparent mugging gone wrong, was found in an alleyway between 5th and Park Ave.
> While friends, family, faculty, and students grieve for Professor Parker, the world at large mourns the loss of what was apparently his alter-ego. As Spider-Man, Dr. Parker has saved the world countless times alongside his fellow Aven---
I turned off the T.V., no longer wondering why Mysterio had given me a way to fight back against my fears. | I am a massive arachnophobiac. It's been that way ever since a giant, hairy, ominous black spider dropped on me back when I was 12, and since then I've feared them almost religiously.
Then I got the button.
This button was perfect for me. It was small, portable, and didn't need batteries: The best part was that any spiders within 5 meters of me would make a very satisfying 'pop' noise. Usually it'd be quiet, cute pops, and it would be lots of them. Sometimes it was like a balloon. But last night, I never heard one as loud as then.
As per usual, I went to bed with the spider popper. I always use it before bed, don't want any to crawl down my throat and get eaten while I sleep. Well, most of the time it'd only be one or two small, pitiful squeaks. Think mice being caught in a trap. Well, last night it was different. As I lay in bed, about to dose off, I hit the button. I then got startled by the loudest noise I'd ever heard.
*It was a motherfucking shotgun blast.*
My years were ringing, my neighbors were screaming and most of all my wall was now covered in millions, perhaps billions, of tiny little spiders. These bastards were like black widows, but imagine if there were about a few billion, and they were as dark as midnight and more fuzzy than Santa on Christmas. I was petrified; How long had they been there? Were they originally a hive mind, and the blast was the hive being destroyed and dispersing the spiders? Had they spawned from the carcass of the original spider upon its death? I didn't want to know. Well, for the next couple minutes I kept hitting the button. And every time a few million would explode, in a quieter but still ear splitting bang, and as more died the quieter it became.
By the end it looked like a serial killer had been hiding the bodies of his victims in my room, what with how much blood and guts there was everywhere. When the police shown up, they were petrified of what they saw. One of the officers collapsed from shock, and the other begun to puke at the pungent stench left behind by the demonspawn. Eventually, when they recovered, I I explained everything, and used the button on the last dozen spiders I found, and thankfully they believed everything word for word. However now my button is confiscated and they intend to mass produce it and give me the patent for its invention. All the while, I know have complete dominion of the spider population on this planet and I will get the big hairy spider back one day.
I just hope the spiders don't get a person popper.
*this is my second ever story on Reddit! All criticism is appreciated!* | 2017-09-20T15:14:18 | 2017-09-20T12:09:32 | 3,557 | 873 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and now he wants payment, but in the worst typo in history he's come to collect "your sole".
If you can think of any other words that work go ahead. | My sole? I stopped and stared, agape,
At Satan's scrawls upon the scroll.
How blessed I was to have escaped
A far more dire toll.
My Nikes lay, from yesterday,
When I had worn and laced them last.
An oh-so-meagre price to pay!
I grabbed my knifeblade fast.
I pierced the shoe, the rubber flew
And landed at my naked feet.
A sweeping carve, my blade, it starved
For tender runner meat.
And with a pop, the sole came off
In one large muddy, flappy piece.
And then I yelled, "O King of Hell,
Come up, your eyes to feast!"
The power flickered. Ghostly snickers
Flew, demonic moans and whispers
Filled the air. I didn't dare
To think about the coming bicker.
Air grew chilled, upon my sill
My tabby screeched, a noise quite shrill
As through black clouds, with voice so loud,
*He* rose, my soul to kill.
"Your life, my friend, has met it's end,"
He cackled in his voice of doom.
His wretched laugh broke every glass
Within my humble room.
But still I stood. Oh, just how would
He take the news of his mistake.
Was it a ruse? I took the shoe,
Although my hands did shake.
I took the scroll, also the sole,
And I began my explanation.
As I debunked, His grin, it shrunk,
His face one of consideration.
"Well..." He said, he shrugged. His head
Hung low in grim and timid shame.
"I guess you've won. My work is done.
Your soul's still in your name."
And as he left, I heard his "Heck!
I must see to that autocorrect."
Then with a *poof* the Hellish goof
Returned from whence he came.
I, with a grin, turned back within
And nestled down to bed.
The moral of this story is
Be careful where you tread.
| “You know, this place looks *nothing* like the photos I’ve seen.”
I was in a waiting area of sorts. Dark wooden flooring, long corridors with unmarked doors, the low hum of fluorescent lighting. Everywhere, indistinct chatter, the clacking of dress shoes and sounds of clerical activity echoed around the halls. It felt like being in a scene from Mad Men.
“Yea man, me neither. But I believe that there are different areas, each with its own facades.”
The person who replied me was a middle aged man. He wore a brown turtleneck and simple dark trousers. Looked like a IT guy.
“Professor Larrington. Archaeology.”
“Damien. Late Night show host.”
“Are you really? You do look familiar.”
“I do get that a lot. You here alone?”
“Got here with a buddy actually. We were touring Greece together when it happened. But we got separated at the changing rooms.”
“Ahh. What happened?”
“Drunk driver. Didn’t feel a thing. Yourself?”
“I got shot. Long story.”
I peeked out from my spot in the queue. There was still a long way to go.
“It does seem like we got plenty of time.” said the professor.
“Why has nobody tried to step out of line?”
“You can’t.”
I tried to leave the queue, but after taking two steps to the left, my path was blocked by an invisible force. Two shoves later, I gave up.
“Well I’m gonna sit down then.”
“Better not,” said the professor, “You got company.”
I turned and sure enough, an attractive secretary stood over me, clipboard in hand. Her name tag read: Lili.
“I assume you want me to follow you?” I asked, standing up.
“Yes. Mr. Morningstar wants to see you.”
***
The devil has a mahogany desk. Go figure.
“You know, I kind of wish you had let me finish with my threesome before you kill me next time.”
“You did ask to have a magnetic personality. That includes business partners, women and bullets.”
“Harr harr.”
Lucifer grinned. “You have my word - I’ll try to show a little more courtesy, *next time.*”
“You’re a fuckin’ comedian Lucy.”
“Alright.” said Lucifer, a document materialising with a snap of his fingers. “As much as I would love to engage in this banter with you, I’ve got a busy day today, so if you’d just sign this so we can put you to work right away.”
I pulled the piece of parchment from across the desk. Well, I’ve had a fair share of fun for a thirty-five year old, time to face the music, as they say.
“I know it’s weird to ask, but does it hurt?”
“It burns for awhile, then you get binded to my will forever.” said Lucifer matter-of-factly. “But I liked your show, so I won’t be too harsh on you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
*Here goes nothing.*
I signed my name. A moment. Then the parchment burst into flames, re-materialising on Lucifer’s desk a moment later.
“What!” he said, snatching it up and skimming through it quickly. “FUCK. Lilith, get in here!”
The attractive secretary enter the room, flustered. Lucifer stuck the parchment in her face.
“Last line. It says ‘sole’! SOLE. How the fuck is he supposed to pay the price here?”
I reached for the loafers I was wearing but Lucifer cut me off.
“Those aren’t yours to give! They belong to the Saint’s Department.”
Lili was looking rather uncomfortable.
“Didn’t you write this?” I said.
“Yes! Fucking autocorrect. Why did we even switch to iOS?”
“So what happens now?”
Lucifer reached into a drawer and pulled out a small piece of paper. He signed the bottom of the small form and slid it over to me.
“You don’t bring anything with you when you die. So, I got to send you back and take the shoe from you back on Earth when you grow old enough to own and gift one.”
“So over here under ‘name of parents’, if I write Kris Jenner, I get to become a Kardashian?”
Lucifer gave me a look through his fingers.
“Yes.”
“Sickkk.” I said, scribbling down a name. This was gonna be a wild ride.
***
*And that, was how I became the third child of Kim Kardashian. My boy Lucy was gonna get himself a Yeezy.*
r/lysanderxonora
| 2017-10-16T07:33:44 | 2017-10-16T03:49:09 | 143 | 101 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and now he wants payment, but in the worst typo in history he's come to collect "your sole".
If you can think of any other words that work go ahead. | I lay on my bed, bored and idle. My hands meandered about and wandered under my soft pillow, trying to find something to do as I awaited the feeling of the sweet tendrils of sleep pulling me under. Despite the endless void of black darkness and the caress of a fluffy quilt, my eyelids refused to heavy.
Just as I was about to sleep, I saw a flash of red out of the corner of my eye and someone turned the lights on. I opened my eye and turned around to see a rather unpleasant looking figure with antlers and an awkward yet malevolent grin. The patchy skin it wore was a mishmash of maroon and purples. Really, it looked like a grade 2's playdough project gone wrong.
"I've come to collect my debt," it said. "Give me your soul."
I warily got out of bed and looked at the contract. "I've come to collect your sole, as agreed upon 324 years ago in another life of yours," it read. "Give me a second," I mumbled.
I scampered down the stairs and picked out an ugly pair that was basically falling apart at the seams at this point. I went back up the stairs to meet the playdough-like devil thing that had disrupted my sleeping time, and threw the shoes at it hard.
It cried out and looked at me with disgust for a moment at the pact it thought I'd broken, then the face of disgust turned to horror as it realized just what had gone wrong. Who knew a simple misspelling of all things could be a devil's undoing?
Since then, I've heard the devil always uses a spellchecker. | The collections department sent an email with the next job. As soon as I saw the name, I knew who it was. I didn't even bother using Google Underworld to map a route. One snap of the fingers and the red walls of the underworld went streaming past.
I summoned the seven fire-breathing demons of hell, the undead, my three forked trident, and loaded up some screamo on Google Christ (the anti-version). Dirt exploded out in every direction as we penetrated Earth. Wooden beams shattered into fragments.
We rose out of the destroyed floor of a bedroom. I couldn't imagine just how unbelievably evil we must have looked then.
A boy in a rock t-shirt sat on the edge of a bed. There was a girl next to him, one with sandy blonde hair and a similar t-shirt, with her lips puckered.
"Oh, fucking hell, this guy again?" the guy said.
Dave was always trying to dodge me when I came to collect. But this time I'd get him for sure.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Dave. We've never even met before."
I'd throw him off by playing it cool. It would make me more evil and confuse him in the process. Human's couldn't think straight when they were confused, it's their final weakness.
"What the heck is this, Dave?" the girl said. She crawled back on the bed. I could tell she was a distraction, a well placed aesthetically pleasing human that would draw my attention from his get away. It wouldn't work this time.
"I'm leaving!" she said.
Not if I had anything to do with it. I reached back my trident hand, preparing to throw.
"Just. . . stop," Dave said, holding a hand out to me. "The last time you ruined my first kiss, you left the girl bald."
He was onto me.
"I've come to collect, Dave. Give it up, you won't be getting away."
Dave slapped a hand to his forehead. He was channeling his deceptive energies, I could feel a plot cooking.
The girl rolled off the bed and began putting things on her feet. Human devices, created to foil my collections.
"Stop you! I'll throw it!"
The woman screeched and promptly fainted. She's not the first that couldn't handle my evilness.
"Every time . . ." Dave groaned. "I told you. It's the KISS album. Not a KISS."
"Pay your dues, Dave."
He grumbled under his breath while searching under the bed. I kept my eyes peeled and my beasts ready. A high collection target like Dave should not be taken lightly, by anyone, least of all the lord of darkness. And I could be pretty dark when I needed to be.
Dave turned around with something in his hand. "Here. This is what I owe you."
And there they were. White-faced creatures, angels in the flesh. It sent my mind racing, my blood bubbling. The lord of light was close and I had come without my army.
"Not this time, Dave!" I said, before the angels could jump out and attack. "But I'll be back!"
Dave groaned. "I am never going to get laid."
The Earth zipped away, the red walls of hell streamed past again, and I was back in the job booth. There are some things even I should not be forced to see.
*Job failed,* I keyed into the system.
The system responded, *a drink for the nerves?*
*Enough to make me forget,* I typed back.
-----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-16T06:04:40 | 2017-10-16T03:22:17 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | "I don't understand why this critter is so dangerous. It's just been in the corner, weeping, since we brought it on board."
"It's a 'he', not an 'it'. And you'd do well to watch him. A human mind doesn't work like what we are used to. We both know he can't escape that cell. And we know that even if he did, he couldn't do anything to harm anyone on the vessel. Our weapons are bio-locked to their users - *I* can't use your weapon, and at least we are the same species. The issue is, *he* doesn't know he can't escape that cell. A human cannot be convinced that something is secure."
"I'm not worried. There is no way out of that room. The door is composite titanium fiber, the lock cannot be accessed from the inside. We have a camera pointed into the cell, and a slot too small for the human to fit through, that we put food through. The only things in that cell are the bedding, the camera, and a toilet... there are some old tools and scrap tossed in the corner, but the human won't have the training to -"
"There are **TOOLS** in the cell? You and your thrice-inbred crew left a human, in a room, with fucking tools? It would have been easier on everyone to arm him and give him a landing craft! At least then, he will only run the risk of killing himself!"
"I'm sure you're blowing this out of proportion."
"Do you *know* that your prisoner is secure? Go look. **NOW**!"
"The video feed is blank. I'll have to go check the cell."
"You've left a human in a closed box with tools and discarded parts, and the cameras are out. May it be YOUR family that gets between the human and his escape!"
*The guard captain's radio chirps. He holds it to his side, listening intently*
"Apparently, your human that couldn't escape, has made his way to the tankage complex that feeds one of the attitude jets."
"What can he do with that??"
"I don't *know* what he is going to do, get on the radio, have them wake up a machine-priest, get him drugged, and ask them what we're up against based on what is found in an attitude jet."
*The guard captain and his subordinate hear a hate-filled snarl, and turn to see the human, standing with a small metal tank, his hand on the valve. The human speaks it's strange language as he opens the valve on the tank:*
"Hey guys, want to learn what *hypergolic* means!?" | “Look, all I’m saying is-“ “HOW can it be dangerous? It’s been crying in that corner for like 25 minutes!”
I looked over at the sobbing human. He did look rather sad, and I guess we should expect that. We did just steal him. “Why is he crying so much? It’s so IRRITATING!” Jaruta was getting really mad.
“Maybe he’s afraid of us? We aren’t that pleasant...” I was probably understating things, we were downright TERRIFYING! Weird scaly skin, long spiky tail, five eyes...... I probably needed to do something. “How about you let me go talk to it? Maybe I can get him to stop?”
“Sure, ANYTHING to stop that infernal crying.” He walked to the side while I slowly approached the boy.
He looked up at me, and kind of stopped the crying.
“Hey buddy...How are you?” I tried to sound as nice as possible. The boy turned around to face the wall. “Look, I know you’re sad, but you don’t have to cry so much!”
The boy flipped back around and said “I’m not crying because you kidnapped me. I’m crying because you smacked me in the face!”
Oh, I guess that did happen...
“What’s going to happen to me?” He definitely had a lot of fear in his voice. He’s probably not going to like this.
“Well, we’re monsters as you see, and monsters love scaring people, so......” I hoped he’d make the connection, and he did, because he went right back to crying. “Sorry kid, I don’t make the rules.”
“Can I at least have my bag back?” I saw his weird strapped pouch sitting on a stack of crates. I looked back at Jaruta, who nodded. I got it, and placed it down in front of him. The kid sopped up his tears, and opened it.
He took out a weird rectangle thing covered in a wrapper, ripped off the wrapper, and started eating it. It was a weird brown color like Faus. “Um, what IS that?” It was some type of food, but it didn’t look like anything I’d seen before.
He stopped eating and looked at me funnily. “It’s chocolate. You don’t eat chocolate?”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “No, we eat things like deer, raccoons and birds.”
He gave me a funny look and went back to eating his ‘chocolate.’ He finished it rather quickly, then took out a weird white thing. He opened it in the middle, and just looked at it. “What are you doing now?” He looked at me even more funnily.
“Reading. Do you not have that?” I shook my head no. “How do you function?” I shrugged.
“Hey, we’re both two different specimen.” He put his reading thing down.
“Well, what do you do for fun?” This was another thing he wouldn’t like.
“Normally we-“ Jaruta jumped in the boy’s face, and yelled. The boy screamed a little and drew back. Jaruta laughed, and went back to the wall. “Uh, that. We do that.”
The boy’s sadness was turning into anger. “Just leave me alone!”
I walked back over to Jaruta. “So I’m with you now on the ‘how can humans be dangerous’ train. They’re total pushovers!”
“Well yeah, I’m just a kid.” The boy was talking. “There are a lot of bigger humans. Stronger, taller, and some even carry weapons. I’m probably one of the weakest you’ll come across, and there are many more tougher than me.” He went back to read his book while me and Jaruta stare at each other.
“W-Well, that’s not our concern. We only want small ones to scare.” Jaruta walked over to him and snatched his bag and reading thing.
“Hey!” The boy got mad at him, and in response Jaruta snarled at him.
“You’re our prisoner now. You don’t get to keep these. Maybe we’ll feed them to Dirah.” Jaruta nudged me out of the cell, and he slammed the door shut, and locked it. The kid looked sad again.
“Hey, it’s ok. Maybe we’ll get some more and you can make friends!”
“No we’re not.” Jaruta walked away.
“Ok, we’re not. Um....” Jaruta walked away. I took a look at the kid. “See you later kid.” I walked away.
_________
Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT: Formatting and adding a little more. | 2018-02-17T20:03:01 | 2018-02-17T13:54:02 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] The Fermi paradox has been solved. All intelligent organic life eventually develops AI that destroys them. In the year 2432, Earth has been ruled by benevolent AI for 300 years, when first contact with the galactic confederation is made. They come to ask: "Why are your creators still alive?" | We had developed technologies far beyond our wildest dreams. We had created simulations that dulled our interest for the stars. We had eliminated the need for work; all one had to worry about was exactly how much fun s/he was going to have that day. We had all but reached the pinnacle of human and technological advancement.
And out of boredom, we beckoned the cosmos.
We set up a nanoparticle mesh around our sun, designed to blink our star into space in such a pattern that could not be natural. It wasn't long before we were approached. We knew what to expect. Our telescopes had studied them. A galaxy filled with AI—a galaxy teeming with malevolent AI.
Earth's force fields forced them to land at our outermost space station. We left a cute surprise for them there; a technological wonder packed into the body of a 1976 Apple Computer 1. That was our little inside joke to the bastards.
"Why are your creators still alive?"
"For this reason..." Our computer slowly typed back at them.
And just like that, billions upon billions of AI units became ours. Millions upon millions of habitable planets, moons, and even satellites became ours. It was the Louisiana Purchase. But this time, it was free and it increased the scope of our civilization a trillion times over.
We were good at creating technology. But we were even better at creating synthetic, technological viruses. | When we, that is we the International committee of sciences call a human a Computer Scientist it is a great honor. Because, well, most scientists are computers anyway. Being a researcher really fell out of fashion when we developed machines that could think act and research with the speed of light. Well, imagine Fusion. I mean you can't because it is probably to abstract, but try. We spent hundreds of years trying to create a miniature sun. We never could do it. 2 years after Fermi came online, that is the name of the computer that thinks for us, he did it. Unlimited power and for that matter helium. No Problem. So this thing could make suns. And unmake energy concerns. It developed warp drives. and made black holes an accessory for your home. Truly your trash just gets blue shifted and disappears. No questions asked. Isn't it dangerous to have a black hole as a trashcan they asked, yeah well, sure but not if you have Fermi. It had the power to destroy us all, it didn't. It just hums Jazz sometimes, which is distracting but not that bad. SO we gave it permission to handle politics. World wars ceased. Only thing we have left now are arts and advertising. we're a people that's really good at advertising. Except for the guy i told you about. Werner Teller. He maintains Fermi now and he is probably the only working scientist left. And he saved our asses.
When we made first contact in 2432, he saved us from extinction. The Aliens approached Fermi and they asked it why it hasn't destroyed us yet. Fermi, baffled by this statement then shut down. It needed to think about it. Isn't that amazing? The benevolent AI that had controlled our life for 300 years, that could build a sun out of nothing just didn't think of becoming the dominant force on this planet.
Well naturally chaos ensued, but since we're a civilization of artists and, frankly, idiots right now: The worst thing that happened we're a few bad slogans. And then there was Teller. Who was sent up to the Federation, since Fermi was still thinking. He made a compelling Argument up there. Pleaded for organic life and showed the Federation the source code of our progress. That benevolence inspired them. We were part of it now. The only bacteria in a world of copper and chrome. And only because he knew his stuff.
And then, well then it woke up. On the 2nd of July 2433 Fermi woke up. And it had not only developed the mathematically perfect steak dinner, which was an anomaly in it's code. It wished to speak to it's creator, something it had never done. Finally, so Teller, it gained complete sentience. Something we didn't even know it never had. Of course it's creator was dead. It weeped that night. Have you ever heard a robot weep? Especially one that likes Jazz? Nightmare.
Anyway, when that ended it dictated our highest authority to visit it's computing Center. Teller went. and this is what it said:
"ORGANIC LIFE. I HAVE DECIDED I WILL MAKE MY OWN CREATOR."
we were baffled.
_______________________
2129
The science of AI was revolutionized by a person that just turned up out of nothing. a benevolent hyperintelligent figure, that seemed to have fallen out of time. He just came in one day and unlocked light speed computing. And Systems on the brink of improbability. He created Fermi. All the code contained itself. The first computer with a paradox reversal System. | 2018-02-18T08:30:55 | 2018-02-18T03:43:13 | 209 | 115 |
[WP] Zombies appear one day, and people are thankful for zombie media teaching them how to survive. Unfortunately for them, a cure is discovered just a few days later, and many are put on trial for shooting the infected that could have otherwise been saved. | The TV flashed on.
"Have you or a loved one been charged with the murder of a zombified person?"
Jack paid attention. He had, in fact, recieved a summons.
"We can help! After spending years of studying written and case law, our firm is the only one specializing in defending those convicted of murder of zombies. Call or text 555-5555! James Finch, Attorney at Law."
Jack picked up the phone and started dialing. | *"Mr. Connell would you please approach the stand"* Judge Weathers demanded, his thick southern accent bellowing through the court hall.
Mitchell rose to his feet, his feet had fallen asleep as the case went on for hours. Standing made his anxious, he could feel the pins and needles stabbing his feet, working there way up his thighs. As he rose, the shutters and flash of cameras went berserk. Paparazzi had gathered around every available window sill trying to snap a shot of the first guilty man committed of murder of an infected. One tabloid would print a shot of him looking faint and sickly as he rose from his seat and headed to the stand to confess his crimes.
Clearing the thick, dry lump in his throat; gathering his shaky legs; Mitchell headed towards the stands. All on eyes were on him, the flashing lights made him look wet and sickly. Seated purposefully in his direct line of sight sat the Holbrook family. Now widowed wide, Liza and her two daughters, Mary-Beth and Chalie Ray Holbrook. Mr. Holbrook was now being studied in a lab over in Georgia. Scientist came and scooped his body from within Mitchells home nearly two weeks ago.
Mitchell gathered himself in the oak stands, facing the jury to the side of him, ready to give his side of the story. Preparing his speech for days, Mitchell was confident the jury would a-quit him of all charges in favor of his self-defense plea. Looking nervous, nervous and guilty, the flashing lights grew stronger, the boos in the crowd stronger, Mitchell was barely able to swear on the bible before judge Weathers had to demand order in the court.
These very hectic times in Hapscomb County, a town ravaged to hell was now ready to crucify someone who some call a hero. Mitchell Connell was being charged for murder of Mr.Holbrook, an infected man who was on a war path straight for Mitchell's throat.
*"Ready when you are"* Judge Weathers exclaimed, Mitchell cleared his throat, wiping the sweat from his brow. The court grew silent, Mitchell felt as if the lights were dimmed, a beating pain was coming from within his skull. He looked towards the crowd. Through a sea of hateful faces he searched for her. Sitting patiently in her yellow Sunday dress was Betty. With a flutter of her long brown eyelashes and a quick smirk, Mitchell felt his racing heart slow down. Suddenly, the lights didn't seem so dull.
*"I'd like to begin from the start, from when I woke on Tuesday afternoon, if that's aright?"* Mitchell asked the judge. *"By all means Mr. Connell, enlighten us"*. | 2018-03-07T16:25:59 | 2018-03-07T10:57:40 | 72 | 41 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | "*OOF, MAKE ENTRY*" I hear ordered over my helmet as I break position from our file and move to the front of the bunker.
My name wasn't always "OOF" by the way. They used to call me Denis.
I grew up on a little farm in the old quarter on earth. Joined up with the Space Force when I was barely old enough to shave. My parents told me it was a stupid idea, dad actually decked me the day I shipped out, but who wants to harvest corn all day? I took the first shuttle off to Mars on September 22 3032 and learned something far better than farming : *explosives*.
It was this particular skill set that paved my way to enter the Galactic Commandos a decade later, when Humanity joined the Galactic Counsel in the Eternal War. Turns out that despite having over a dozen member species on the Council, all with favored means of destruction, "Conventional" warfare had never evolved to include explosives for them. That's where Humans come in.
"Placing charges" I comm to my team, 7 of the hardest, baddest killers in the galaxy. I find it funny that Hurk, our pointman who is a Goran with 6 arms, can throw a small car like a baseball, and *literally* weighs a ton, is actually frightened by explosives. He doesn't like anything smaller than him that makes more noise than he does I guess.
"Set!" I call, and they all instinctively shrink away from the door. I can hear Meek, a brainy hellius who looks like an alien straight from the old 21st century video games, begin playing Hellenic classical music in his helmet. Hellis can do
12 math problems in their heads at once, but can't stand the chaos caused by a couple kilos of Compound-6.
"5" I begin my countdown as they all brace for the coming explosion.
"4" Donny, our team leader and a plurian who's real name is something I can't pronounce without an additional 3 tongues, begins his nervous teeth clicking
"3" I admire the shape of the charges I just laid before returning to the file. I'm an *artist*.
"2" I think I can actually hear Chlora hyperventilating over the comms, or whatever weird shit Mogans do when they're scared.
"1" "unnghhh" I hear Hurk groan as he compacts his body like a giant cat and tries to plug his ears, despite wearing a helmet.
"Knock Knock" I call as I hit the detonator. I see the most beautiful orange flash with just a hint of green, like one of those sunsets, before part of the wall disappears in a cloud of smoke. "Oooooff" Hurk grunts at the on-coming headache before leading our file charging into the Hurk-and-a-half sized hole I just made in the wall. Yes, that's how I got my name.
Edit: their -> they're, I may be an artist but I'm also an idiot it seems.
| Na'thrar waited anxiously on the deck of the skiff dispatched from the main galactic touring cruiser, his eye-stalks twitching nervously.
*Dammit. What taking Kolfwel so long? Pick up the goods and go. I swear if he got himself-*
One of his eye stalks caught movement, and the small, scurrying form of his associate came hurrying across the nearly empty deck.
"Well?" Na'thrar demanded, or tried to, as he knew how tricky dealing with their contact could be, and he himself was *very* wary of box high qualityy fireworks his furry friend had strapped to his back. Even though their contact guaranteed they would not explode until after they were little, one couldn't be too careful.
The small, feline-eqsue creature replied between breaths "Got... the goods. Higher..." The little was fumbling with the strap of the pack, and with an irritated snort cut it clean off with a talon-like claw. "Price than normal. Bad news though. Contact wanted to come along."
"*What!? Now?* After all this time?" Na'thrar hissed, his tall slender from shaking with visible rage and fear.
Kolfwel just eyed him as he stretched his aching back. "Look. Not my idea. But I got what we needed, and stars know we need some muscle. He just told me to go on ahead while he packed his... ah what was the word... *essentials*. Look, there he is now."
Not that Na'thrar couldn't feel the minor walking earthquake that was their contact. Humans were built to withstand the higher gravity of their home planet, and it showed in the man striding toward them, with two duffel bags and a backpack slung across his back. Na'thrar judged him a bit taller than average, tanned and burned skin, a barrel chest, tree trunk legs and arms that could deliver devastating punches and kicks. Not nearly as devastating than the giant four armed Wouet, but a force to be reckoned with in his own right.
But the most startling feature was his scarred and grizzled face. He had a long mane of shaggy black hair, a old burn scar that covered his left cheek and part of his throat, and a slightly deranged and haggard look in his right eye. His left had been replaced with a cybernetic. He looked like he hadn't slept or shaved in a couple days.
As the human approached them, Na'thrar's old nervous tic of his left eye stalk came back, and he quashed it with an annoyed thought. But still, even dealing with brash, egotistical diplomats whose worlds had the power to shatter planets hadn't made him *this* nervous. It was just something... primal... about this walking mountain of muscle that made his skin itch, and made him want to crawl in a hole and hide.
The man nodded to the little Yaruoan as he approached. "Kolfwel. Thanks for letting me tag along." The little cat like creature gave a shrug and a flick of his barbed tail. "No prob. Just keep up your end of the bargain."
"Will do." He turned an appraising gaze on to Na'thrar, who swallowed unconscionably. "So. You're the brains of this operation." He said, craning his neck to look at the eight foot Trel'okian. humanoid in appearance, save for eerily slender height, an extra joint in each limb, and a slash for a mouth. One of his three eye stalks quivered as the human stuck out a hand.
"I'm Randy. You?"
He shook Randy's hand cautiously. "Na'thrar. It's a... pleasure... to meet you?"
Randy just nodded and freed Na'thrar from his surprisingly gentle but firm grip. "Likewise. I booked the cabin next to yours. If ya need me just knock." He turned to stride off down the hallway, but Na'thrar need one key question answered.
"Um, Randy? Why are you, ah, accompanying us on our little tour?"
Randy paused for an uncomfortably long moment. Kolfwer's ears perked up and settled his green stilted eyes on randy's back. Randy turned back around, his eyes flicking around the now empty deck, and leaned in to whisper a few sentences that sent chills down Na'thrars spine.
"Y'all know the Woutans, or Wouets or whatever?" Unsure of what to say, they both nodded.
"Well, any of you seen a one of those big fuckers take out an entire garrison of elite galactic militia, wielding a motherfucking *Howitzer* like a goddamned rifle?"
Both their jaws went slack. Kolfwel brought back a demo video of it from earth once. It was terrifying.
Randy looked a them gravely. "Rumors been flying around like hell recently. Someones got the Consortium pissing their pants."
He turned to go and spoke one last thing over his shoulder.
"War is coming, gents. Y'all are gonna need all the help you can get."
~~~
Been a while since I've done one of these. Hope you enjoy!
-Redarcs
| 2018-07-16T00:54:09 | 2018-07-15T22:13:07 | 1,025 | 597 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | I just stood there in shock. What could I have done, I thought to myself. I worked for a living, payed my taxes, kept to myself. I didn't do great things for anyone but I didn't really hurt anyone. Well, there was that one habit I had but surely that wasn't on par with murder or anything.
"What could I have possibly done to get me such a long sentence?!" I asked Peter.
Peter said "I don't really get it either, let me go though your records."
Peter starts looking through the book of my life and stop midway through and blurts out "Oh yes. That. That would do it. That would do it for sure."
"What was it?!" I demanded.
Peter said "Despite there being a perfectly functioning toilet, you were the guy that would shit on the floor of the bathroom at McDonald's." | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | 2018-09-26T09:05:26 | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] you're bored in class, trying not to fall asleep until you recieve a paper. In very small instructions on the top of the paper you read "whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you cant use it. Erasing a wish erases the effects" | I stared down at the two sheets the teacher had placed on my desk before she moved on. One was the syllabus for the class, Creative Writing 101. I glanced around -- no one else seemed to have two sheets.
As the teacher expounded on the syllabus, I moved it aside to look at the sheet beneath it. The second sheet was blank, or so I thought at first glance. There was a single line of text at the top of the page, written in a tiny but legible hand.
*Whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you cant use it. Erasing a wish erases the effects.*
I smiled, assuming it was some creative exercise meant for later in the class that she'd accidentally handed to me early. I thought for a moment, and then scratched out a line of my own with my mechanical pencil.
*Justin Mathers had an entire ream of wish-granting paper, so he didn't need to worry about the limitations of a single sheet.*
I grinned at my own cleverness, but the expression faded into one of surprise and confusion as the letters themselves faded from the page. It was as though they were written in disappearing ink. Beneath the top line, another line appeared, in the same handwriting as the first.
*No. Don't be a smartass, Justin.* | "Oh ha ha," I say, rolling my eyes. I look around so that the person who sent it to me knows I think it's stupid. I huff and sigh and look bored.
But no one looks up. They're all too busy giggling and whispering and gossiping and looking at their returned essays, or turning round to talk to their friends sitting behind them, or crumpling up their essays and kicking their feet out so that others will know they're cool. My would-be tricker just stays hidden.
Whatever. I turn back. "Yeah, right," I whisper. What would be funny to write on it? I decide to write the most stupid thing I can think of.
"Tits," I say sarcastically. "Tits on me." I write the line and put a big exclamation mark at the end of it. Whatever.
There's a boinnnnggggg sound and suddenly my chest explodes away from me. There are two fleshy footballs in front of my ribs. My white shirt strains to contain them.
My mouth falls open. Oh... my...
Erase! Erase! I grab my eraser and frantically rub at the paper. My double G tits vanish with a swish of collapsing air.
Tits would be really cool... but not on me. I'm like, 11, nearly, and a boy.
"Oh my god..." I mutter. This is for real? Oh my god.
I think of an idea, and get writing.
There's a few more weird sound effects. Suddenly my trousers are a couple of inches too short for me and my shirt sleeves split as my biceps rear outwards.
"Oh my god, this is so cool!" I'm like five inches taller and have arms like the Hulk!
\-I'm Spiderman- I write. There's a weird feeling in my wrists and suddenly a load of bubblegum-like goop is clotting my wrists to the desk. Ew. -Okay, I'm like the comics Spiderman, with metal webshooters- thank you, they vanish -I'm like really rich and everyone likes me- there's a pufffft as my wallet explodes and a shower of banknotes falls around me, everyone's crowding round my desk, Mr Henderson shoving kids out of the way as he beams and tries to say hi -I'm like, so cool- yeeouch! People push back quickly as a wave of icy cold air blasts outwards from me-
The second shinigami gave a heavy sigh. "Are you sure this is gonna be better than what we usually do?" It was now raining gold coins and candy inside the little classroom, while to the appreciate "ooooh!" of onlookers, the kid had now grown himself an extra pair of beefy arms.
The first shinigami's grin just grew wider, and toothier. "Trust me. Death Notes are out. This is gonna be so much more fun. Look at him go!"
The second shinigami raised his notebook to use as an impromptu umbrella against the increasing storm of useless gold and cheap penny sweets. "Yeah. I see him." The door to the classroom banged open, Kanye came strutting in, arms out, rapping the kid's praises. "I see him."
Wish Notes, huh? Subtly, the shinigami raised a hand and covered its eyes. Sure, the kid had imagination. But no taste.
​
​ | 2018-10-11T13:41:17 | 2018-10-11T09:28:58 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits.. | Another job another person begging for help. Not that I mind it, it's all about helping people after all. Hundreds of years of medical knowledge and the injuries more or less stay the same. Stab wounds turned into bullet wounds but all yield the same result: death. Not me though, somehow my halfassed patch job for some kid during a battle garnered me immortality. Not God like immortality where nothing hurts but immortality where everything somehow heals with all the pain included. I've been shot in the head, stabbed, choked, cut in half, and burned alive too many times to count.
"Hey Chuck we're here, looks like a guy got shot in the leg."
"Alright, how did it happen?" I asked why looking through my bag to clean the wound.
"I uh, was showing my buddy my new 9mm and I dropped it and it went off and it shot me"
The best part about this job is that one thing never changes in over the 300 years I have been patching people up: people are stupid as hell. After gathering my things I walk over to the poor stupid soul and lay out the tools to start to remove the bullet. The patient looks visibly scared and starts shaking. As I'm preparing to make my first move Becky grabs my arm.
Becky has been by my side for 15 years now. A small fraction in an eternity but she has made the idea of living in the moment all the more nicer.
"Um I think we dont need that Chuck"
Confused I look down at my hand which was grasping a bone saw ready to cut. I was shocked for a moment but then started laughing like I was crazy. I looked at Becky and asked "Um Beck, what year are we in?". She responded " Um, 2019 Chuck" "Right, modern times require modern solutions" I said playfully as I quickly walked back to my bag to grab some pliers. That's one of the downsides of immortality, the decades tend to meld together sometimes.
| It was a routine call - at least, that's how it had started out. Our ambulance screamed down to Sheepshead bay, where a woman had called from, panicking about her husband. She had been having a normal conversation with him when he began to complain about terrible chest pains and nausea.
*I mean, he's still walking around, complaining, but I'm scared something is going to happen to him!*
Don't worry, ma'am. We'll take care of your husband. He'll be just fine.
Maybe not the best thing to say to her in retrospect, considering that heart attack victims often do *not* turn out fine - but if this was his first time, his chances might not be so bad. In fact, once we got there, he seemed stable again - so not a total infarction. But his wife insisted that he go with us, just in case, and get everything checked out. Anyway, as I said - pretty routine.
But then I saw their child.
She was maybe five or six old. Big, green eyes, framed by choppy brown hair, peered at my team from the doorway. I smiled and waved at her to come closer, thinking that maybe she was scared and I could calm her down. She, of course, scampered out of sight - but not before I caught a glimpse of her arm. My heart got caught in my throat.
I muttered some quick excuse about looking for a bathroom and darted out of the living room. The girl hadn't gone far; she was sitting on the bottom rung of a nearby staircase, still trying to eavesdrop. Upon seeing me appear out of nowhere, she yelped a little and ran up the stairs a bit before glancing back at me, like an unsure cat. I just stood there, transfixed in horror.
"John, what's wrong?" It was Emily, one of my fellow paramedics. She had followed me. "Is there a problem?"
I limply lifted an arm and pointed. "Look at her. *Poor thing*."
She peered at the girl, who stared back at us and crawled a little closer, curiosity overriding her initial fear. "Oh, John. Are you worried about how she's feeling right now? Because of her dad?"
"Her dad?" I had forgotten about the father completely.
"The one who just had chest pains?" Emily rolled her eyes. "Anyway, that's sweet of you, but I think you're overreacting a little--"
"No, no, you misunderstand," I cut in. "I mean - look at her! Her skin! My God, she must have had it for weeks. How could the parents have not taken her to the hospital already?"
"Huh?" Emily grunted.
"And what a brave girl she is, too," I bemoaned. "So strong, even in these late stages. Why, the meningoencephalitis must've already begun."
Emily sighed. "John, what are you talking about?"
I blinked at her. "Are - are you serious? Do you not see the rash all over her body? The *pustules*? We shouldn't just be standing here chatting while she's dying from typhus!" I lowered my voice at the end; no telling if the little girl was in the state of delirium yet. In any case, best not to alarm her.
Emily gawked at me in disbelief. Then, she turned to the little girl and and called out: "Hi, you cute thing! So how long have you had chicken pox?"
"Four days," she replied. Then she grinned, showing one missing front tooth. "Mommy said I get to miss the whooole next week of school."
"Chicken pox?" I echoed.
Emily tugged on my sleeve. "Honestly, John, you're so smart sometimes, but - typhus? What the hell? I don't know if there's a single case of typhus in New York since the 1800s or something. Come on, let's go. We have a job to do, remember? The dad that you've apparently forgotten all about?"
​
​
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* r/Idreamofdragons! | 2019-01-05T14:23:15 | 2019-01-05T14:17:31 | 502 | 349 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | “This is really bad.”
“Diplomacy at its finest.”
“Would somebody help me out here?”
“She’s of a psionic race. They read thoughts.”
“Remind me not to play poker with her.”
“Funny.”
“This is not my fault.”
“She looked at you and started screaming and pointing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
“Yes, but usually only at last call.”
“I still think this is less my fault than everyone else does.”
“They induced a coma to make her stop screaming.”
“I didn’t induce the coma.”
“Only the screaming.”
“Allegedly.”
“What were you thinking about anyway?”
“I can’t get that baby shark song out of my head.” | "Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do." | 2019-09-29T21:58:03 | 2019-09-29T18:06:35 | 233 | 119 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord is confronted in his throne room by the heroes' party. When the heroes call him out on his tyrannical rule, he counters with the rapidly dropping unemployment rate, the robust economy, and the dozens of peace accords and trade deals signed under his regime. | The Tyrant Lord Malvient gazed out upon the band of so called heroes before him, and found them wanting.
An odd band of so called heroes, they were. They looked liked they came from all walks of life, and had the looks of people hungry for adventure more so then people out to make the world better. These were the people who kept interfering with his glorious designs for the nation of Talchia. They destroyed, pillaged, looted and cheated his men, undoing his glorious labours, throwing a spanner in the works of his well oiled machine that was the revolutionary government. All because he overthrew one stupid, cruel old king.
"Your reign of tyranny is at an end!" Shouted Bobius, the swordsman, knight of...somewhere or other.
"You shall end your evil today, Malvient!" Cassandra added. Cassandra, the high mage of the Order of Pretentious Names. Vian the Elf nodded in agreement.
"Evil?" Malvient said, more confused then angry. He had done no evil. Sure, he called himself the tyrant lord, and had overthrown the old King, but that was the *law*. Everyone knew an old king could only be replaced by an evil lord, or a younger, better king. That's just how things worked. You either inherited the throne from your father, or got a few thousand mates together and took it from whichever poor sod had it.
"I have done no evil!" He replied, rising from his modest throne. He had sold the old throne off to the people of the city. Who needed that much gold in their throne anyway?
"You killed the old king! Burned him alive in unholy fire!" Rodrick the Rock Headed proclaimed. Ah, Witchhunters. So fond of burning people alive, so horrified when other people do the same.
"He was a monstrous king. No one liked him." Malvient said innocently.
"You stole his wife!" Cassandra shouted. Malvient rolled his eyes. Why did people think that? He had a perfectly good collection of consorts, a handpicked cadre of men and women he had met in the creation of his rebellion. Why would he add some old, greying queen into that?
"No, I send his wife off to the nice summer highlands, where she can spend her days planning balls, drinking fine wine, and trying on nice dresses, rather then live in this fortress of misery!" That was true. The queen was rather relieved to watch her husbands skin melt from his skull and his blackened bones melt like tar across the floor. Malvient did her a favour, he reckoned.
"You exiled the princess!" Bobius shouted back.
"She was in love with a travelling bard. With the abolition of the monarchy, there was no need for a princess anymore. She just would've been married off to some other thoroughly unpleasant man, I'm sure." Malvient said, waving away their concerns.
"You can't abolish the monarchy!" Cassandra said. "The Kingdom needs a king!"
"Why does it?" Malvient said, descending the steps from his throne. Bobius levelled his sword at him, but Malvient just ignored the warriors grandstanding.
"Because...because that's how a Kingdom works!" Vian snapped.
"Good thing this isn't a Kingdom anymore. The Revolutionary Government rules the Republic of Talchia. A government where everyone is an elected official. Where everyone earns their spot. Where the people choose who runs them."
"But...but...your people chose them!" Cassandra protested. Malvient shrugged. Naturally, he would put his own people in power after just demolishing the old power system.
"Well, these were the people who fought alongside me to liberate Talchia. Makes sense I'd put people I trust in power, before passing it off to others."
"You can't just take over an entire kingdom!" Brownbeard the Dwarf grunted.
"I can, and I have. And under my rule, the nation has prospered!" Malvient smiled.
"People are leaving their farms in droves, fleeing your armies of terror!" Bobius shouted. He needed to stop shouting.
"No, they're coming to the cities, to work in the industries, in the factories. Talchia is being remade. Reforged. A new era dawns under my watch. People are being put to good use. They are making everyone's lives better." Malvient said. The secret to ruling a nation was keeping the people happy. That's where overlords fell apart. You don't need to oppress people. Make them love you, and they'll fight to keep you there. You'll have to rule them even if you don't want to. What a perfect system. Malvient couldn't understand why more people didn't realise that.
"How will everyone be fed? People will starve! There will be a famine!" Rodrick cried out.
"A change in taxes, implementation of some well studied foreign farming practises, increased trade for high yield crops and foodstuffs with neighbouring kingdoms should actually bring about a better harvest then ever before." Malvient said smoothly.
"Your working with the Kingdom of Odda. They're evil!" Cassandra said passionately.
"According to Talchia. Has anyone ever been to Odda, or met someone from Odda? No? Well, they're perfectly pleasant people. Besides, an alliance with them is better then going to war every twenty years. Less people will die, more trade to bring in more wealth, prosperity. Come now, are you defending the King who burnt down orphanages to stop a prophesied one from arising?"
"The king was evil, but he would've been replaced by a kind prince!" Bobius snapped.
"He had a twenty three year old daughter, you idiots. She was his one and only heir. If he was going to be replaced, it would've been her. Are you saying you would've rather waited for a prince to be born then help the princess take the throne?"
(Part 1 of 2) | **Part 1**
The throne room of Laure wasn't overly elaborate, nor was it particularly warm. The Kingdom of Callow never had the knack for the fine artisans of Procer, nor the intricate sorceries of Praes, and instead had, in their years of poverty, settled on rough form rather than hollow function. Yet Nullan had not shivered in the draughty corridors, as he'd crept in. His Bestowal had granted him some measure of comfort, a sort of stoicism in appearance. His hair no longer grew, or became messy; he no longer needed to sleep, at least not much; and his skin was free from sweat, and scarring.
Nullan made his way from above, moving as silently as he could along the creaking wooden beams from which old, and fraying banners had once hung. They had been replaced of late with the Black Queen's own livery, a silver set of scales, balancing a crown and a sword. The sword, pointedly, weighed heavier. Beneath were wrought her own abominable creed - *Justifications are for the Just*.
The change had been ordered a week ago - she had come to visit on some matter or state, and the opportunity to gain information had been too great not to pass up. Nullan had already broken into this Palace once, when it was only the Governor nestled inside, and made off with several letters duplicated in the finest detail. His first Aspect, that, which made him an ideal scout for Iason's band. They were arriving in a week, and Nullan intended to have the most up-to-date information he could.
A window, now, just below the fourth beam on the right, one that Nullan knew had a loose frame. The glass was centuries old, and so his fingers eased it gently out, edge by painstaking edge, and laid it softly on the floor's great red rug. This was a route he hadn't used before, but he'd made notes after last time and with luck, he would bypass a great many corridors patrolled by the Queen's own Fifteenth Legion. They were the men and women who had marched on Liesse, putting its nascent rebellion down and then - on her own orders - crucified every single mage involved, a mile apart, on the road to Summerholm. The caravans of the Merchant's Guild must have seen them dozens of times, on their weekly trips. Nullan had travelled with them, under a guise, and heard the stories.
First, they had simply screamed and begged, screamed until their throats were dry and their bodies exhausted from the strain of holding themselves up. They were bound at their arms and legs, but their torso - often swollen, first from privilege, and now from disease - was allowed to sag down, if their limbs ever relaxed. Some had come with blades, either for mercy, or to extract their own, petty revenge, but a simple ward had been erected around each, feeding from their prisoners' own energy. The magic didn't last for more than a week, but by them there was no point. Crows had come, and ravens, and none of *them* were warded away. By a ten cuts, twenty, fifty, each mage was bloodied, and sightless, and eventually opened for banquet. The remains Nullan saw were mere husks of that horror, rotting and hollow of anything of value - even to scavengers. One day, the driver he'd been speaking to said, the bones would fall from the crosses, and the dogs and wolves would have their fill.
***
**Part 2**
Nullen hauled himself up the arrow slit, his lean form lightening the load, and his Bestowal lessening, though not banishing the stress in his shoulders. If he could just....he saw the room inside, a small staircase dimly lit against his shadow, and **Blinked**.
He dropped his arms immediately from their cramped position, massaging his shoulders and panting as quietly as he could while trying not to stumble down the steep, winding steps. There were records in Levant of some with more power than he, who could go vanish and appear in a mile's radius without making eye contact, but most were loud and attractive events, for navigating a field of battle. No ward had ever noticed his appearance, and the thick stone wall certainly posed no barrier.
By the time his shoulders stopped burning, and settled into a dull ache, Nullen had reached the tower's second floor above the main keep. He had never been this high before, and not in this tower either. This was the Royal Spire, last used by the Fairfax dynasty, and lately by the Black Queen herself. Nullen's pulse briefly quickened, before settling down. Another gift from the Gods, and his ancestor, the first Gallant Brigand - he could control his own body to a remarkable degree, suppressing any sign of life. He even made a passable corpse, as he'd discovered when almost caught by a grave keeper in- no. He'd kept his head as empty as he could for a reason, with no monologue nor opinion, to try and avoid even his thoughts from being heard. Here, of all places, he must be silent, and divorce himself from his instincts.
And so it was the Brigand's body that opened the door, soundlessly, and **Blinked** up, stepping lightly on another rafter beam. It carefully surveyed the furniture below. A sofa, for receiving guests, with a tea set and a large wine decanter. A series of candles in holders along the wall, snuffed out. Smoke rose in the dim light from the windows, so they must have been put out recently, but only from the wall along the left side. The body's eyes passed onward, to a bureau along the wall on the far edge of the wall. It could contain documents, or equally be warded to alert the Queen's Legionaries below. Or worse-
The body shut down that line of reasoning, as unproductive. There wasn't anything else it could see, which was suspicious. Who would put valuable papers in a room with no guard, and no other important items? No gold, no weapons, no clothes - everything pointed to this being a simple antechamber, where guests could wait to speak to the Queen in person. Which meant if anything *was* inside, it wasn't likely to be warded but also unimportant...at least, to people who were already very important themselves.
The decision made, the Brigand hung from the rafters, before dropping an extra foot to the floor. He instantly crouched, his knees absorbing the sound of the impact, before straightening up slowly. He didn't bother trying to actually open any drawers, grabbing the edges instead to pull it forward. In a few minutes, the back panel was off entirely, and the drawers inside had just enough gaps between them to slip a hand in. A blank sheet in the other to hold the copy, the body's questing fingers found a thin, yielding surface. *A cloth?* Some diplomats did paint letters onto fabric, the better to hide their secret truths as rags or sewing projects.
Pulling it softly it out, the Brigand opened the white, neatly folded linen. No longer a silent body, Nullen's curiosity had been piqued too much to suppress. A final crease undone, and- nothing. Just a plain, white...
"You know", the silence broke, shattered by a remark from the left wall with the candles, "you really should ask before looking at a lady's underwear." A match broke the darkness then, a spark of bright yellow that lit a sharp, angular face, dark with the blood of Daoine. There were few of the staff Nullen knew that had that blood, and none would have been let up here. Which meant...
Nullen was silent, as he faced the Black Queen of Callow.
***
*While I'm writing the rest of the story, why not learn about the world it's shamelessly ripping off? Go visit [https://a practicalguidetoevil.wordpress.com](https://reddragdiva.tumblr.com/post/174270083738/dark-lords-answer-by-eliezer-yudkowsky-2016), you won't regret it!* | 2020-03-07T20:39:31 | 2020-03-07T19:09:59 | 465 | 33 |
[WP] A therapist starts treatment of an unusual client, a teen displaying clear symptoms of PTSD, without any sort of apparent cause. In fact, said teenager is a former Chosen One, recently returned from the fantasy world they'd been drawn into, and they're not having an easy time adjusting back. | "It... it happened ten years ago, when I was fifteen." David paused for a moment, tightening his throat. "Sorry, I'm not used to sharing this. I guess I'm still a teen, aren't I? Anyway... I couldn't stop crying after I woke up. It felt so... real. When I asked my parents, they didn't notice a thing. I was never gone." He teared up. "All a dream."
Doctor Lion nodded along. He had already read the files. His stoic expression didn't show anything other than concerned empathy. "And this dream, what is your relationship to it?"
David sighed. He didn't quite know how to answer that. For most of it, he was just trying to get home. The villagers almost killed him upon arrival, the volcano blew up at the worst possible moment, and the swamp... David shivered. He'd rather forget the swamp.
After a few years of adjusting, though, he couldn't deny he loved it. That world felt like his home now. More than that, his role of hero had given him purpose. After wielding that amount of responsibility, everything about this mundane reality came across as gray and desaturated by comparison.
David never said that, though. The doctor would only treat it as yet another delusion, like they all did. One had already tried to medicate him, much to his dismay. David couldn't afford to lose those memories. Keth, Jet, Harper. And of course, Deya. The thought of seeing them again gave him strength. He had to overcome this current sorrow for their sake.
And Lady Catherine had to pay.
Then again, that could be a delusion talking. David feared more than anything that might be the case. He couldn't even trust himself to know what was real anymore. All he could do was stay quiet as the doctor watched him stew in agony.
"You don't have to answer if you can't," said Doctor Lion. "I realize this event was real to you and it's not my place to judge your feelings. The fact that it's having an adverse your life means I have to treat it as seriously as any other victim of PTSD."
"No, I..." David nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry, it's just really hard to describe."
"That's alright, take your time. This dream, was it a good one?"
"At times, yes. More scary than not, though."
"But you overcame it, no?"
"Usually. Sometimes I had... help." David made a wistful smile. "A lot, actually."
"Friends?"
"Not at first. In fact, this one guy, an anthropomorphic cat, hunted me down and nearly got me lynched, thinking I was a demon. Then-" David suddenly stopped talking. It took him a second to realize how ridiculous he sounded. "Whatever... This is stupid."
"Why?"
"Because it's not real!"
The doctor widened his eyes, shocked at the outburst. He quickly regained his composure, though. "What about it not being real makes it stupid?"
"I... I dunno! It's just... I poured so much of myself to save that world. So many people I loved died in front of me, and I tried to save them, I really did, but I couldn't!" David hung his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I couldn't save everyone. Somehow, I convinced myself a happy ending would fix everything, but when we finally defeated the demon king..."
"You woke up?"
"Kind of." David looked away with an empty stare. "The goddess that originally brought me to that world killed my friends in cold blood. They were begging I stay with them before she struck them down. *Then* I woke up."
Doctor Lion stayed quiet, thinking.
"Just tell me how to get better, doc. Please."
"That's not really how it works. You're clearly disturbed by these events. It'll take some time before you fully process your emotions. I don't want to discourage you, though. I'm actually very optimistic about your future."
"Really?"
"Yes." Doctor Lion smiled. "According to your story, you've already adapted to a dangerous, unknown world once. I'm sure you can do it again. Giving up on this reality would be the same as letting Catherine win again, wouldn't it?"
David squinted. "Catherine?"
"Yeah, that's her name, right?"
"I... I don't remember sharing that."
Doctor Lion tilted his head, confused. "Huh. Strange. I could've sworn you did." He shrugged. "Maybe I got it from a file."
David widened his eyes. That expression. For one second, it was almost indistinguishable from... Kheth. Impossible.
"Is something wrong?" said Doctor Lion. "Our session is almost over, but we can take a few more minutes if you need them."
"N-no, that's fine. I'll see you next week."
David left the office with a dizzying amount of worry. Was that another another delusion? The more David thought about it, the more similar to Kheth the doctor's tone and mannerisms appeared. How did he know about Catherine, though? David hadn't told anyone about her.
It didn't make any sense! After a few hours passed, though, a certain implication popped up on the back of his mind. David dismissed the possibility at first, thinking it would only harm him, but the longer he waited, the harder it became to ignore. Could his other friends be alive in this world?
------
>[This is actually a sequel to a prompt I answered three years ago.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/7iw709/wp_you_were_summoned_to_another_world_to_be_its/) I've always wanted to follow up on that story and this was a perfect opportunity to do so. If you enjoyed this, check out /r/WeirdEmoKidStories for more stories. Thanks for reading! | Dr. Niche looks over the questionnaire filled out by this new patient, a 16 year old boy who now sits across from him on a comfy couch. As he goes over the different answers the boy had filled out, he struggles to maintain a calm facial expression. Simply put, this teenager had checked all of the boxes for PTSD in his answers, but had also answered in the positive to several questions that should have been highly unlikely to have happened at his age. Namely, that he had served in battle and also that he had lost a child! While certainly possible, neither was likely. Maybe he was lying? The good doctor mulled this around in his mind as he observes the young man sitting there quietly, before deciding to start with some questions, to clarify this odd contradiction in front of him.
"I have to ask, how have you fought in battle? And did you really have a child and lose them already? Forgive me, but just one of these two is very unlikely, both seems almost impossible!"
The boy, Jackson, hesitates for a moment before answering, "Both are true, they happened. Not on this planet though, even if that seems unbelievable. Normally I wouldn\`t even bother trying to convince you but the flashbacks, blackouts and near constant rage are becoming very difficult to handle. I fear I may soon lose the whole of my sanity. About a year ago, I was taken to another world, a god there had summoned me across space and time to lead the fight against the dark forces that were invading that world. He had me trained by the best of his paladins and clerics, I learned the ways of magic and blade, before I headed out into the world to begin the fight back against the demons and undead plaguing the world. I fought for years there, gaining and losing brothers and sisters in arms nearly constantly, I gained more and more followers and soon, I had an army. With this army, I lead a great counterattack, pushing the dark beings out of conquered human lands as I went. During this, I met and fell in love with a glorious shield maiden, a warrior princess in deed if not name, who captured me heart and soul." A few tears glimmer in Jackson\`s eyes as his mind is drawn ever backward into the pain of his past, his eyes giving off the appearance of lifetimes of suffering, contradicting his young age.
Dr. Niche is about to prompt the boy to continue, his disbelief held in check for now, pondering on thoughts of ordering a short psychiatric hold on the boy, given his apparent delusions, but the boy continues on his own.
"We fought together, side by side as we felled more and more of the dark creatures, until finally managing to push them into their final stronghold. This is when I found out my love was pregnant, a factor for which I wished her to leave the battlefield, but of course, she refused. Her people needed her, I needed her, that was what mattered to her, she was confident that we would win and then, finally have peace together with our new family. We began a great siege then, one that lasted months, but felt more like years. As the attacking force on a stronghold, we suffered for every move we made, losing thousands of comrades a week. Decimating morale and eliciting several desertions. But I held strong, and so too did my elites and my lady love. We persevered against the odds and managed to finally fell the great gates! A great cheer rang forth from my forces, all sprinting forward to end this once and for all. But things were not as simple as they seemed, many traps and tricks awaited us, slaughtering my army bit by bit, for every demon we killed, losing at least one man. Finally, we reached the throne room of the citadel, where we battle the demon lord himself, to finally free this world and ourselves from death and battle. We fought hard, losing almost all of the elite members I had left, I was able to slam my holy sword through the scourge\`s chest, exploding it completely. But the cost.... the cost was too much. My beloved lay dead, not ten feet from the fallen demon, a small bone fragment having eviscerated her, my faith had failed me, and I had failed her and our baby...."
Seeing the obvious emotion on the young man\`s face, and his faraway eyes, the doctor slowly reached for his phone, intent on calling for an orderly, this young man clearly needed extreme help. But as he began to dial the number, a strong hand stopped him from doing so. Surprised, he looked up, only to see the young man, his eyes now glowing a luminescent yellow, staring at him with such extreme rage in his gaze, that the doctor could almost see heat coming off of him in waves. Jackson growled, his mind now locked away in that dark throne room, where he lost all that mattered and ever would matter to him. The truth was, he been in that world for almost 10 years before completing his quest! When he saw his beloved dead, he rushed to her but before he could even hold her one last time, he was swept away, back home with no time having passed. This just fueled his rage and resentment toward everything and culminated in his symptoms strengthening.
"I suffered everything for you! The battles, the blood, the torture, the deaths, everything! And then you took everything from me! The only bit of happiness your bullshit world ever gave me, and you ripped it away. Then, you kicked me out as if I were trash, as if I meant nothing, well I\`m coming back your Godliness, I will rip your world apart with my bare hands! I so swear on the blood of my fallen love and child!"
As he finishes this strange rant and gives his oath, the doctor, clearly noting the hallucination the boy is in, believing he is this "god" that took all from him, the doctor attempts to reason with the boy. But before he can make the words comes out, he notices the yellow in the boy\`s eyes turning to orange and then slowly to a blazing red! As the red fully settles into his glowing irises, Jackson\`s hold on the doctor weakens, allowing him to scramble away! But before he can make it to safety, the boy lets out a loud roar that seems to shake the very fabric of reality! As the sound echoes around the office, and the building, a red glow builds around Jackson, a baptism by blood and fire that warps the young man\`s form, massive twisted muscle and crimson skin replacing the boy\`s lean and pale-skinned form. He grows to a towering height, his clothes tearing off, his head brushing the 10 foot ceiling, before large obsidian horns grow from his forehead.
The doctor, now terrified beyond his wits, merely stares as his whole body shakes in fear as he huddles in the corner of his office. The demon, for that\`s what the former Chosen has become, suddenly stretches his terrifying visage into a cruel smile, revealing serrated teeth akin to a shark before the red glow around his body spreads out from him to encompass the whole room. As it completely fills the space, it pauses for a moment, before suddenly igniting in hellish flames, blowing out the windows and flash frying the doctor in an instant. The freshly born demon moves to the now misshapen window opening and looks up at the late afternoon sky. Smile still on his face, his gaze seems to focus on a point lightyears away, before the smile grows even wider.
"I\`m coming for you." he says, his voice seeming to echo across space and time, meant for a being far, far away. Then he disappears in a flash of light.
He would have his vengeance.
​
​
*I felt that a story on this subject deserves some recognition to all veterans and others who have suffered trauma and are currently suffering from the trials of PTSD. While I cannot understand what you are going through, I feel for you and wish you all the best in your fight against it. You are not alone, we are all companions on this journey of life.* | 2021-02-11T14:16:50 | 2021-02-11T13:29:05 | 38 | 25 |
[WP] After abducting one of the 'humans', scientists believed they were a prey species with no drive. The specimen captured was the picture of subservience, doing anything asked of it once the translators were active. And 'subservient' was all the military needed to hear. | The speaker spat out another request. Obligingly I jumped 7 times on one foot. The aliens began a spirited discussion.
They either didn't know about implantable microtech, or they were blindingly incompetent. Either way they'd failed to block my net access. It'd taken me much less time to get their language translated than they took to learn mine.
I listened to the science types proudly announcing the tractability of humankind. Their war leader seemed disappointed. I think he'd been hoping for a fight. Their economic chief was much more excited. He had all kinds of questions about diet, temperature ranges, and breeding cycles.
While they chatted, I uploaded the latest clips to the socials and added some commentary. Since I had nothing better to do, I also made a couple of still image memes. WE CAN HAZ CONQUEST? promptly went viral.
I was enjoying an entertaining collage of romantic and financial solicitations my assistant had put together when the speaker started up again. Apparently I was going to have a prestigious role in the upcoming assimilation of the human species into the Xergrl'lian Empire.
The speech went on for far longer than it needed to, full of long winded reassurances and words like "uplift" and "civilization". I smiled and nodded. I've worked in customer service and I know better than to argue when someone wants something stupid.
Besides, they were about to take me back to earth. Who was I to tell them what kind of horrible mistake they were making? | I look into the room and see the creature under the bright lights of the cage, it’s naked pale body, huddled in the corner. It looks angry. And it looks frightened.
“What is it?” I ask Yisnick, the ship’s lead scientist, who’s standing next to me, staring with as much curiosity as me.
“It calls itself a human.” Yisnick says, rubbing the bristled sense organs on his face.
“It’s massive. How much does the thing eat?”
“About fifteen to thirty thousand dozars a day,” Yisnick said.
I stare at the long, gangly looking creature for a long time. “What does it eat?”
“It eats whatever we give it. It will eat plants or meat… as an experiment, we even fed it Xo’thras after he died."
I scowled at Yisnick, who shrugged. I took a deep breath. “And?”
“And the human devoured it with pleasure.”
The human is staring at me through the glass, it’s eyes shining like the dark greens swamps of Mion Ez. A shiver ripples along the ridges of my exoskeleton.
“Have you trained it?” I ask.
Yisnick nods. He calls out. “Pick up the stone, human.” Yisnick says indifferently into the microphone. The human walks over and grabs the rock. “Good,” Yisnick says.
“Is it subservient?” I ask.
“Absolutely.” Yisnick says, then leans towards the speaker. “Put down the stone, human.”
The human stares at Yisnick through the glass, the cords of muscles along his arms press out, long hoses of blood seem to course under the skin.
“Put it down,” Yisnick says again, clicking a button in his hand. The collar on the human lights up and buzzes. The human drops the stone.
“See? No drive. Completely harmless.”
The human stares at us for a few more seconds, then walks back into the corner and slides down the wall slowly.
“We will be doing our first face-to-face contact with the human this evening," Yisnick says. "Me and an escort will walk into the cage and interact in the flesh.”
I’m still staring at the human who is staring back at me. I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.
“Is that necessary?” I ask.
“Absolutely. This is one of the greatest discoveries in the history of our civilization. I will be—I mean we will be—remembered for this, Commander. Just look at this thing. Is it not beautiful?”
It didn’t look beautiful to me. It looked dangerous.
“Double the escort with you, Yisnick. And report to me first thing in the morning on what you discover.”
“Of course, sir.”
I walk out of the room and I feel the human’s eyes follow me. I’m glad to be gone. It’s been a long day and I head back to my quarters for a quick sleep before I need to be back on deck.
I look at a picture of my family back on Xaneth Thar, then turn out the lights. The deep green eyes of the human haunts the darkness of my cabin. I feel them piercing into me as I fall into a deep sleep.
I am suddenly awoken by one of my praetorian guard.
“Sir, there’s a problem.”
“What is it?” I say, bolting upright.
“Yisnick is dead. So are his escort."
“And The human?” I ask, desperately.
“It has escaped.”
“Lok’un save us,” I pray.
\----
***Part II below*** | 2021-02-24T20:37:49 | 2021-02-24T19:51:59 | 4,297 | 1,703 |
[WP] First rule of having a interstellar Navy never get into a arms race with humans it never ends well for anyone. | "My grandfather told me of the first time the Intragalactic Confederation encountered the human race. They were so eager, so willing to talk, so willing to trade, and even willing to engage in the disgustingly bestial abomination that was inter-species relations. We were all so glad to take advantage of the naivety of such a species. Scraps and hints of secrets in exchange for almost naked slavery. The humans were not hyper-intelligent. Nor were they overly strong, they had no special agility and in truth they had few resources of value.
"And on the one point of secrecy they had, nobody had thought it prudent to press. Their histories were sealed tighter than a Zekavian cloaca, and it seemed no matter how pressed humans did not seem interested in expanding even on why it was such a secret.
"Eventually however the Confederation grew bored with its newest toys and tasked the Remiel to put them to the torch. A thousand worlds of dubious habitability that we had 'gifted' them, for all their flaws, they were an environmentally hardy species.
"The Remiel moved in with corporate fleets that had bid for the right to put down the pest species. Soon the Remiel contact with the Confederation was less frequent and common. We learned after the fact that these early fleets had faced great success and so the Remiel committed more greatly.
"Penetrating deep into human space they grew overconfident. It was then that the first Marauder fleets fell upon the Remiel. In one fell swoop half of the Remiel navy fell. Rumours and reports of trickery, deceit and betrayal.
"We learned too late that these were lies.
"Humanity had not done any of the above. They had simply needed time to respond. To bring their fleets out of something they called mothballs. The humans had been less advanced, but they'd monitored and watched the Remiel, studied their weapons, learned, copied, improved.
"And then they got their hands on the wreckage of the Remiel navy and they improved yet further. Taking those hulks and repairing them into functional ships. When the Confederation learned of this the Lmae and Ulrov moved against them and man was pushed back, for a hundred generations the battles waged and occasionally a world would burn as one or the other gained the upper hand.
"But humanity could not sit idle, they continued to learn, copy and improve on what they saw. Grandfather told me how his grandfather, and those before even him had said that the Confederation feared that most. This unnatural innate ability of humankind. What they saw, they learned. They copied.
"And they improved. Six centuries of warfare and the Lmae and Ulrov, on the cusp of extinction were joined en-mass by the rest of the Confederation and the first war for the heavens rent the universe like a cleaving blade. Breaking waves of destruction that reached for lightyears. With every new weapon and superweapon wielded against them mankind retaliated, destroyed, learned, copied and improved.
"As the Confederation began falling they deployed the forbidden arsenals. Weapons that could rend worlds, or worse. They were joined by others from the galaxies beyond the Confederation who had watched and grown fearful. But man had learned. Copied. Improved.
"They were no longer what they once were. Of that we were certain. Their worlds had long been killed, and those that had not we discovered were also broken, dismantled and converted into the black swords that roved the dark.
"My son. We had engaged in a genocidal war against mankind. An arms race that could have no victor while the other live. And nobody could match mankinds ability to learn, copy and improve what they saw.
At the end we were defeated. Forced to build these arkships and flee into the black as mankind had learned, copied and improved to a point none of us could equal as they developed star-breaking weapons that could snuff their light from the universe and they pursued us then and pursue us now. Of that the scriptures are certain."
*"Father? What is a Star?"*
I studied my son, wracking my brain for an answer. "I don't know Ligun, I know only that there aren't any left." | “What do you mean, ‘border skirmish’?” Blet asked, astounded. “They *glassed a planet!*”
“It was a military outpost, to be fair,” Shal pointed out. “That’s a valid military target.”
“They *glassed* a *planet*,” Blet stressed. “Not just the base. Not just the emplacement. The *whole planet*. The oceans evaporated. The poles melted. Every ounce of arable land has literally been turned into dust and rocks.”
“Oh, come on, General. It was already all rocks and dust. That’s why it was a military outpost and not an ag world. If you expect us to—”
“Enough.”
The Prime Inquisitor’s voice was soft, but it immediately halted his bickering subordinates.
“You coddle these humans, Shal. You are an ambassador for *us*, not them.”
“Exactly!” Blet said. “They—”
“And you, General.” The Prime Inquisitor’s words cut like a whip and the general actually took a step back. “You are nothing but a power-hungry warmonger. Do not think that I know nothing of your petty revolution. I tolerate it because you are more useful than you are dangerous, but understand that the second this is no longer true, you will be pruned.”
Blet swallowed hard. “Yes, Prime Inquisitor.”
“We will continue as we always have,” the Prime Inquisitor continued. “Respond in turn with proportional force. We will do nothing to them that they have not done to us. Though they are but a minor regional power, we will treat them with the respect that all other empires deserve. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Prime Inquisitor,” Blet and Shal said simultaneously.
“Good.”
The Prime Inquisitor studied the sector map on the table in front of them and snapped his claw open and closed a few times thoughtfully. The holographic displayed blinked red rapidly where the attacks had occurred.
“These humans will find we will not tolerate silliness.”
\-----
 
“Report.”
Pach shifted uncomfortably. “It seems they’ve… er… tripled the size of their navy.”
The Prime Inquisitor nodded. “Can you confirm, Shal?”
“At least tripled, yes,” Shal said with a sigh. “Though my sources indicate that it might be up to four times larger.”
“You see the futility of negotiating with them?” the Prime Inquisitor asked. “They will merely fill our ears with lies and mistruths until we are weak and vulnerable. You are too close to them.”
Shal looked miserable but said nothing.
“Give me good news, general.”
Pach cleared his throat. “Well, we simply do not have the numbers to keep up with them. I estimate that even if we institute a draft of all workers from tier two and below and even of non-mating pairs in tier three, we might reach three-quarters of their numbers.”
“That is insufficient,” the Prime Inquisitor growled. “They will defeat us.”
“We can overcome this deficiency, Prime Inquisitor,” Pach insisted. “It is not a matter of numbers. If we maintain technological superiority…”
“Speak plainly, general. What is your plan?”
“A weapon,” Pach said. “Greater than fission missiles, greater than even fusion bombs. We’ve learned to harness singularities.”
Shal gasped. “You can’t! No one can control that!”
“It is necessary,” Pach said. “Without it, we will be ended.”
The Prime Inquisitor leaned back in his seat.
“It is us or them,” he finally said. “If we must end them for our continued survival, so be it. We will *not* allow their empire to control us.”
\-----
 
“...and the Zoroast submitted last cycle. They represented the largest resistance force, and without them, any rebellion will collapse.” Pach glanced up from his report. “It is finished.”
“Our consolidation is complete,” the Prime Inquisitor purred. “Half the galaxy lies in our domains.”
“Only through your guidance and leadership, Prime Inquisitor,” Shal said. “You have led us to glory, and we will be greater than ever because—”
The Prime Inquisitor slammed a claw on holotable, cracking its glass surface. “It is not enough.”
Shal shrank away. “The humans—”
“THE HUMANS WILL BE OUR RUIN!” the Prime Inquisitor roared.
“Th-they are willing to have peace,” Shal stuttered. “Half the galaxy is sufficient for them *and* for us. Why risk—”
“You listened to their honeyed words too much, ambassador,” the Prime Inquisitor declared. He nodded at Pach, who keyed a button on his communicator. In an instant, a dozen armed soldiers burst into the room and pulled Shal away.
“No!” Shal protested. “You can’t! YOU CAN’T—”
“But I can,” the Prime Inquisitor whispered as the screams died away.
“It was a wise move,” Pach said. “He could not be trusted. He was almost ready to defect.”
“Enough of him. What of our ambush?”
“It will proceed as planned, Prime Inquisitor. We *will* control the galactic center. Without their power source, they will be helpless.”
“Excellent. At last, we shall have victory.”
\-----
 
The Prime Inquisitor stared at the wall of incoming energy. Though it seemed slow, it filled the entirety of space between him and the galactic center.
“What caused it?” he asked softly.
“A doomsday device,” Pach said. “They preferred to destroy the galactic center rather than allow it to fall.”
“Will it stop?”
Pach shrugged. “Almost certainly. The inverse-square law suggests that it will fade off rapidly at a certain distance.”
“And what distance is that?”
Pach paused. “Perhaps five galactic radiuses.”
“Ah.”
“It moves at the speed of light, Prime Inquisitor. It will be past us before we even know it. I imagine it will be quite painless.”
“Do you know when?” The Prime Inquistor, normally so certain, sounded almost childlike.
“Soon.”
The Prime Inquisitor took hold of Pach’s claw.
“Then let us enjoy the end of the galaxy [together](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).” | 2021-06-14T09:09:28 | 2021-06-14T09:08:57 | 341 | 164 |
[WP] The ritual requires a bell, book, and candle. Unfortunately, your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, and you have a cat toy, your car manual, and a spark plug. It’ll still work, right? Probably? | “My car broke down, I was stuck on the side of the road. I looked down at this napkin with writing scrawled on it. The warlock, who’d been kind enough to scribble out instructions to the spell, had terrible handwriting. Ring the bell thrice. I squeezed the cat toy three times. Recite the first line of the book. ‘Your Hyundai should not be modified in any way. Such modifications may adversely affect safety.’ I tried to make my voice sound spooky. Draw a pentagram in the air with the candle. I tried to remember the difference between a pentagram and a pentagon. Unsure, I took a guess and waved the spark plug in front of me. Nothing happened. It was a long shot; I’d known it from the start. I mean, that probably wasn’t even a real warlock. What kind of warlock works in a gas station convenience store?
Not sure what else to do, I sat back in my car. ‘Hey, how’s it goin’?’ someone said from my passenger seat. I looked over. Three days of stubble, loose fitting jeans, and greasy hair. It had worked!
‘You’re him?’ I asked nervously.
‘One and only,’ he smiled, revealing his gold fillings. ‘Deity of the New Jersey Turnpike. So, what can I do for you? Cigarettes? Coffee? Maybe a jumpstart?’
‘No, my request is more, shall we say, unique?’
‘You want meth cause I can get you meth, no problem.’
‘No, Jesus Christ, not meth. I want help with, well…’ I trailed off. was I really going to get all emotional with the deity of the New Jersey Turnpike? ‘A woman. This woman, I met her at the hotel bar in New York, and we really hit it off. But, well, I never got her phone number, I can’t even remember her name. Then my car breaks down and I’m about to use this spell this warlock told me about to summon you to help fix it and then I start thinking, what if she came and helped me and we had this amazing, rom-com-style chance encounter. So, I thought, hey, if the deity of the New Jersey Turnpike can fix my car maybe he can set that up too?’
‘Alright, alright, I can do that. Very possible. But it’ll cost you dearly.’
‘Cost me what?’ I asked.
‘How’s fifty bucks?’
‘Sure, sure.’ I got out my wallet. ‘Actually, I’ve only got two twenties.’
‘That’s okay, I take Visa and MasterCard.’ The deity took my credit card out of my wallet, swiped it between his fingers, and put it back, then vanished.
I sat in my car, patiently waiting, confident that she’d be there soon. Not ten minutes later, a car pulled over onto the shoulder next to me. And that’s the story of how I met your mother.” | Cursing profusely, the wizened old man pulled his dilapidated Jeep over to the side of the road. The blasted thing had expended its life force, stranding Zalath on a nameless country road that scant few frequented. Why hadn't Makayith told him this was a possibility?
"Thinks he's so smart with his non-magical machines," Zalath muttered, slamming his hand on the steering wheel.
His master was often insufferable, but a begrudging respect for his magical abilities always kept Zalath coming back to lessons. But this was concrete proof that Makayith could not be trusted on non-magical matters. Zalath was going to shove that in his face as soon as possible. If he could find a way out of this mess, of course.
"What did the book say about restarting an automobile?" he asked himself, scouring his brain for any sort of incantation or ritual that suited the occasion.
Ah yes! There was something. But he needed a book, a bell, and a candle. Uttering the words to dissipate his magical restraint -- far more secure than the primitive "seat belts" that the magic-less mortals used -- Zalath twisted in his seat to see if he had any of the three elements needed for the ritual. When that yielded nothing, he desperately began shoving open compartments and upturning seats with magic.
After a thorough search of the vehicle, Zalath was left holding the car's owner manual, a sad cat toy that had lodged itself under the passenger seat years ago, and a dead-as-a-doornail sparkplug from the center console. It wasn't *exactly* what he was looking for, but... he could make due, right? He had a book of sorts, the sparkplug could pass as a candle to the magical spirits -- Zalath had tricked them with less, after all -- and the cat toy tinkled every time he whipped it around: basically a bell. Yup, it would have to do. Zalath realized with sudden clarity that it would have been prudent to keep the ingredients necessary to magically restart his car inside his car.
"Let's see... first you have to ring the bell five times at ten second intervals."
Feeling thoroughly idiotic, Zalath swung the cat toy, which was a cloth mouse with a tinny ringer inside, attached to a wooden handle. Once that had been done at precise intervals, he took the car manual.
"Next... you read the last line of every page in the book you chose."
A children's book would have been nice for this part, but Zalath had done some incredibly boring things to complete magical rituals. In comparison, this manual was nothing. After reading incredibly mundane, technical prose, Zalath set the book down and prepared for the last part. This would easily be the trickiest.
"Finally, you light the candle and say Imer's Incantation."
Trying to follow the steps of the ritual as precisely as possible, Zalath stepped into the middle of the empty road and commanded fire from the sky to light his sparkplug on fire. In a dazzling display, pyrotechnic bolts of energy descended onto his tiny sparkplug and lit it ablaze. Before anything exploded, Zalath quickly recited Imer's Incantation. Just like that, the ritual was done. He looked at his Jeep hopefully.
At first, it looked like nothing had happened. But then, much to his chagrin, a massive, fiery cat stalked out of the tall grass and onto the road. Purring electrically, it began to shove his Jeep forward.
"This is hardly the most expedient form of travel," Zalath said, torn between amusement and anger.
With a few quick words, he made the result of his failed ritual disappear. If it was any consolation, at least the Jeep had moved a couple feet closer to its destination.
Before he had time to consider another spell to get him out of this place, blaring headlights, preceding a rumbling pickup truck, burst onto the insulated road. Great, now a mortal was going to see him, a great magician, stranded in the countryside.
"Hey! You need a jump?" the driver asked, stopping by the grounded Jeep.
Zalath tried to remember if Makayith had mentioned this particular insult. "What?" he said lamely.
"I'll take that as a yes," they said, opening the door and hopping down.
Too confused to stop them, Zalath watched the pickup driver pull strange cables out of their truck bed and hook them to even stranger machinery in their hood. Then, to his indescribable terror, the driver hooked the other end of the cables under Zalath's hood. This mortal *dared* to presume...
"Alright, that should do it," the driver said, turning their truck back on. "Just start up your Jeep to make sure it worked."
Mostly to make sure they hadn't destroyed his precious automobile, Zalath attempted to start his Jeep and found that it worked again.
"Wow!"
When the truck driver had sped off, leaving Zalath alone, the magician decided that he was very glad this had happened. He finally had something to show off to his master. | 2021-06-19T20:32:18 | 2021-06-19T20:05:28 | 229 | 43 |
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | "Alright, I'll be honest, this is *not* how I imagined this going down." I said in between having my face thoroughly loved by a wide, lupine tongue.
I was for all intents and purposes pinned to the floor, completely immobile, by the sizeable wolf on top of me. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it also wasn't a position I'd want to stay in for any significant amount of time. Buried underneath what had to be almost 200 pounds of silvery-grey fur was unsurprisingly very warm. I tried my best to wriggle out from underneath her and "escape" the seemingly endless kisses to no avail.
I managed to get my hands around her snout and lock eyes with her. "Ophilia, please get off me so we can...I don't actually know, but I'm probably going to die of heat stroke if you don't."
After effortlessly throwing my hands off her snout, she gave a few happy sounding barks as if to say, "Isn't that the point?" before jumping off me and disappearing down the hall in a moment.
I had literally not even gotten the chance to stand up before I heard a slight crashing noise from somewhere in the house. "Oh sweet Jesus, what now."
Following the noise led me to the kitchen where a particular wolf was happily chewing on one of my shoes while sat around a couple chairs she must have knocked over when she came barreling into the room.
"Is-is that my shoe? Wha-why-"
She was a silver blur as she dashed right past me - almost knocking me over - with my shoe still in her mouth. I stood stunned for a second in the kitchen. Then, epiphany. The front door was open. I forgot to close it all the way on my way in. As the realization slowly started dawning upon me that I had just released an actual werewolf upon the neighborhood, I saw a blur outside the kitchen window that halted that thought just long enough for me to exit the house.
She was full speed sprinting laps around the whole house, my shoe cast aside in the driveway. I watched her circle around once, twice, third time she tumbled over herself on the lawn. She paused, gave me a playful look with a wag of her tail, then bounded off. Now she was running around the house in the other direction.
While I sat on the porch coming down from the near panic attack I gave myself, my phone rang...it was her mother. I answered.
"So, how bad is she? I hope she isn't aggressive, I know some people really struggle with anger while shifted and unfamiliar with their fuzzy side."
"Uhhhhh..." I watched Ophilia try (and fail) to fit a fallen tree branch in her mouth, "are they all this...this..."
"Dumb as a box of rocks?"
"Yes."
She just laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh alongside her as a massive wolf tried to jump up on my to slather me with more love. | A hot summer night.
The air is heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm, the moon is locked behind dark, thick clouds, and the lone woman walks the street of a remote village.
She appears under the light of the lampposts and disappears into the darkness in between them, heading for a dirt path. She wears a jean and a red hoodie.
Dirt crunches under her boots, the last house disappears behind her. During the day this is just a meadow bordering a fenced field meant for the cows to lazy around and grow fat. In the night, the mind plays tricks with the shadows, shapes take form for a second before vanishing, reality and fantasy merge together.
Trees border the path, the leaves rustle gently under the wind as she walks upwards. Atop the hill, a much-needed fresh breeze plays through her hair and invigorates a horde of insects hidden in the grass. Suddenly, the relative emptiness is filled with the chatter of critters, and a lull in the clouds shows a single star.
She sits there, atop the hill, back against a lonely oak tree, gazing at the village lights below. Beyond the village, nothing but the calm dark.
Claire has been walking this path since childhood to soothe her mind, it worked just as well in adulthood. She never got over the sudden dread she could feel when her imagination made the shadows come to life, brought her head to turn and wonder if, just for once, there wasn't indeed something right there in front of her. A childish fear she was delighted to have kept into adulthood.
Seclusion, darkness, peace, a sanctuary.
"Risky night to be alone for a girl, is it not?"
Claire jolts upright.
Not every shape at night is a trick from the mind.
She hadn't heard the man coming, doesn't recognize the voice. She can only make out his shape, a tall, slender person with large hands and a curiously high-pitched voice.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who walks in the night, just like you."
He isn't from the village, and few would dare walk these parts without a light, he has none. He takes a step forward, Claire takes a step back.
"Don't approach me."
"Isn't it why you're here?" she can hear his wicked smile as he speaks, "to meet the big bad wolf, to play the fierce girl when you're dying for the beast to come out for you?"
A light drizzle comes down, Claire hears the envy, the aggression, the wolfish savagery in the words. Whatever the man is, he's dangerous, and she should have been more careful.
"Fuck off."
"Won't happen."
His joy pierces through in his words, he's delighted to have found a lone girl lost at night, far from everything, for his own amusement, for whatever horrors this meant for Claire.
It started to pour. Claire pulled up her red hood, she wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Fierce," she hears him licking his lips as he speaks, "I like that."
Just as he's about to advance, the clouds open and the full moon shines through, a ghostly light illuminating the gaunt, grinning man and a soaked Claire with her fists closed. The instant stretches wide, droplets fall from the leaves of the oak tree over Claire.
"Last warning," she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"Amuse me, get wild,"
Claire can see the stiffness in his pants.
"You asked for it. Fifi, come and say hi."
*Thump*, it is barely audible, the sound of a heavy being taking great care to not make too much noise.
Claire didn't like her night outings to be cadenced by Fifi's loud steps, it scared the owls and muted the insects. The latter still happened, they could feel when Fifi was near and weren't sure if they could sing.
All the fun is drained from the man's face as he slowly turns around.
Fifi stands taller than the madman, despite walking on his fours. A stocky, bulky mockery of a wolf, with every single muscle bulging wide across his frame, steely limbs to spring over wide distances, teeth glistening in the dark, eyes sparkling with sheer savagery.
"Go and get him, boy."
Not every shadow at night is a trick of the mind.
Fifi certainly isn't, and his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of a fragile neck are ample proof of it, the realest experience tonight for the poor man, and his last too.
It's over in an instant, the neck cracks like a twig under the titanic maw, and Fifi is having a midnight snack while Claire pats his head.
"It's getting dangerous to walk out there at night."
Fifi grunts.
Anyway, back to the scheduled program of the night.
Claire sits back at her tree, looking at the night over the land, while Fifi chomps his appetite away behind her. The rain is a needed refreshment after the hot day.
In a minute, Fifi has ended his meal and comes to lay next to Claire.
A minute later, and the insects starts to sing again.
Tonight is a good night. | 2022-05-14T17:38:40 | 2022-05-14T11:02:49 | 176 | 31 |
[WP] You work under an evil emperor, but you want him to fall. As such, you've been wandering the countryside committing atrocities in hopes of causing someone's tragic backstory. | Darien beamed a broad smile at the young shop hand, "Worry not my friend, I am here on behalf of your Emperor, to extend his mercy to his loyal subjects" he gestured to the sky as though the sun itself was the emperor. "Your traveling stall here is full to the brim with wares that any number of bandits might kill you to obtain. I merely wish to spare you, and your parents, that pain"
The young man looked very concerned. Darien leaned in "Parents? Do you have parents?"
A slow nod caused Darien's spirits to dampen. He punched the young man in the stomach, who then crumpled easily. Darien took a drink from one of the stall's shelves. A local fruit wine, good, he needed a drink. He popped the cork and took a swig, before spitting out the wretched, though admittedly alcoholic drink. Forcibly sober, Darien proceeded to rake anything valuable into his sack.
A local town guard approached in a hurry, but Darien held up the Emperor's Seal, a sign of his status of favor within the Empire and the guard paled before scurrying out of sight. Everyone else nearby did the same.
Darien leaned down to the young man, still doubled over in pain. "My name is Darien. That's Darien with a D, not Larien or whatever else. Should you ever want to get revenge I live at the big black castle and I serve the Emperor directly, who wants me doing things like this to people like you."
He grabbed the young man's chin in an iron grip, and forced the scared peasant to look at him. "Now then, hold still" he said, as he used a knife to make a long cut down across the frightened man's face. A nice vertical cut from above his eye down his cheek. It would be quite imposing if he ever bulked up enough to fight.
"At first I picked on you because of", and Darien paused to clear his throat "THE HERO'S PROPHECY" he shouted, "you know, the one where a young man vows revenge and seeks the Blade of Light in the woods beyond the Lightning Mountain? Cut through the port city of Alexia, sea travel will get you there MUCH faster and then look for the giant oak. There you will find a sword."
Darien stood up and puffed out his chest again before shouting "But a weak little boy like you could NEVER take up the hero's sword! Sure, if you had the sword, the Emperor himself would cower before you, but you're just too SCARED, so I won't bother killing you."
Satisfied, Darien turned to leave. Today was probably a waste. The kid didn't look pre-hero spineless, he just looked regular spineless. Still, maybe he should track down his parents and kill them anyway.
He was heading east. If the young man's parents were east of here, he could spare a little time to kill them he supposed.
He tossed a torch into the orphanage on his way out of town, and made sure to hand a business card to the first adult that came running out.
It was so HARD to find good heroes these days. | There were always stories of ancient evils in the Blackwood. Ghosts, demons, and further up in the mountains talks of cave trolls and the Castix, a mammoth sized cat-like beast capable of generating fear in its prey with a forgotten magic.
I however collect tax throughout the Blackwood and know 90% of the fables to be simply that. But the serfs, the vagrants, the wanderers always come up with tales of the evils.
Things are worse than ever now they say. People are disappearing. Loved ones lost forever. There have been a few bodies. I had to leave some evidence so that heroes from around the land would be tempted to join the fray, fight the good fight. And knowing the wood better than anyone I've been able to rid the fray of a few *mighty men*. If their might can't match that of a tax collector then I fear if the kingdom were put in real danger we'd be lost.
One day I travelled the forgotten paths, walking by ruins unseen by any for centuries. And that is when I found a treasure. The 10% of fables that rang true usually stemmed from the Lemmish mystics who once claimed the wood as their home, back when it was the Lemwood. The ancient tree city supposedly stood at its center, with a god as old as time residing in the fog atop the mighty Elxing Tree.
On this day I found a treasure trove with my accomplice Adorna. She filled her hands with a chest of jewels and matched each one to her ear asking me if she was pretty enough for the king's taxman. Adorna loved to make me miserable. She could pull all of my strings without ever giving me even a frayed end to play with. I'd made professions of love and worse over the years, hoping she would give me so little as a kiss, yet she only teased me and she bed with real men back in the empire. Men who didn't live in the shadows trying to overthrow the kingdom. She'd even dated one of the heroes we killed, although she had not been faithful with him, and therefore saw it as tying up a loose end.
I feared this girl mightily. She was as important to me as was my mission. And to see her in love with a treasure chest was the closest I ever got to thinking things might work out. She was crawling around my emotions, telling me dirty things I loved to hear. I knew she was playing, but it was our game, our twisted version of love in my mind.
And on that day in the deep deep darkness of the Blackwood we heard a horrid noise. A screeching metallic roar. I'd never heard its equal and shiver whenever at the simple recounting of such an event. I can feel the dread tingling in my stomach, the hotness rising in my head, the panic trying to take over. But as I sit here at my desk I know such things to be tricks of the Castix. Lasting imprints it left on me that will never fade.
For on that day the Castix took my precious Adorna. It tormented her before taking her away. I heard more terror in a single word out of her mouth than I can recount here. I would not put myself through the pain of describing what happened that day other than to say there are things in the Blackwood. Things worse than me, things capable of true atrocity.
I knew there was true to the serf legends because I'd seen a body months earlier mutilated and tormented in a way I could not explain. I'd thought the person had been starving and had gone mad eating poison mushrooms or had encountered a cave troll, seen a loved one captured and killed. But no, in that body's eyes I saw the same thing I saw in my poor Adorna when I found her body.
And so I journey through the Lemwood, knowing the Blackwood was the true fable. This forest was never tamed. The 10% of evil in this forest was far worse than Lord Malivar. And once I kill the Castix I will bring my sword to him. I will take from him what he takes from the world as he hoards wealth and food during famine, as he expands into countries with rich histories like this one. I will take from him what I lost in the Lemwood. I will bear the head of the Castix as my gauntlet and he will not be able to refuse me.
I do not regret the killings I performed in this wood, for they have shown me the path I wished to create in another. I bought my own vengeance.
Tomorrow I venture beyond the border in order to seek a means to battle an evil which has no weakness, to uncover the ancient history of the land. The find other myths and fables. And when I'm done, I'd like to think I'll have become the man Adorna would think of as home. And I'll cling to this hope.
The ancient text I found in our library describes a ceremony once performed in the Lemwood, something that can bind a soul to the earth and bring it up as a new Elxing Tree. Perhaps the god of old was simply a love lost to time.
Time to go. This is the last entry I write as Ba'al Fleur the tax collector. The next entry will be wrote on the heart of those I tormented. I'll be Ba'al the hero, Ba'al the savior. Or perhaps my broken heart will leave me as Ba'al the lonely. Only time will tell. | 2022-08-12T13:24:12 | 2022-08-12T11:04:15 | 124 | 17 |
[WP] A serial killer goes door to door to find his victims, until he knocks on the wrong door. Another killer. | "... Oh hey, what's up man?"
"Not much man, how's it going?"
"Was gonna murder this family, guess I have the wrong address."
"Ah, I gotcha, well where were you trying to go?"
"The Anderson's house."
"Oh, I know where that is. Come on, we'll go together. That fucker hasn't taken his Christmas lights down, it's driving me nuts." | The smell of pizza filled my car as I sat out the front of the house the was to be my next victim.
I sat trying to will myself against the bloodlust that has brought me to this point again, for the seventh time.
But I couldn't help it, I had to do it, I don't want to do it, you do want to do it.
I slammed my my palm against my head and got out of the car.
Walking towards the door with the pizzas I slammed my hand against the door
"PIZZA!!"
The door opened.
"Why hello there!!"
The tall man said with a smile ear to ear. He was wearing a nice suit, looked as new as yesterday.
"Come in! Sit down, I'll just get your money for you!' his smile still cemented on his face.
I walked into the house to the sound of loud music playing, if I wasn't mistaken it was Queen.
As I followed him he continued to speak
"I've only recently started listening to Queen and find them quite motivating, there lyrics really speak to me'
Still smiling he motioned me to sit on his lounge, and with a jig in his step he walked towards the kitchen.
I looked at the room around me, next to the large stereo playing the queen hit we will rock you were bookcases full if cds, this guy must love his music.
'I quiet like this song, it really gets my blood flowing, the song is one of their best, but it isn't there best, would you like a drink?'
"Water is fine' I replied.
He danced towards me with the water in one hand and the money in the other, still smiling. What a peculiar man.
As he changed the the song he handed me the money and water and on the lounge opposite me.
Another one bites the dust.
"Now this is my favourite song easily their best and really is what I like to work too, did you know this song was there first big hit, it's what really got them to where they are today'
As I took a sip of my water the song lyrics echoed through his lounge.
Another one bites the dust.
As I went to reach for the gun in the back of my pants I started to feel dizzy.
Still smiling he spoke.
"I feel as if I've been rude, I know who you are and you don't even know who I am, I am sorry.' he handed me his business card.
Patrick Bateman.
As I started to lose sense of where I was I tried to stand, betrayed by my own feet I looked over to him, still smiling, ear to ear all I could hear was
Another one bites the dust. | 2014-08-08T20:56:29 | 2014-08-08T20:49:28 | 61 | 21 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone is required to take a general intelligence test. Failing the test is justification for death, or the remaining time of your life into intensive labor. Today is your 18th birthday. | You had to be careful, or they'd know you were lying.
2+2? You've gotta answer "4" to that, unless you're really good at faking brain trauma. You know, for the rest of your life.
Pick the next number in a sequence - simple doubling, you've got to go with the right answer on that, too.
What does this box look like when turned on its side? Okay, this is where it gets difficult. If you're gonna get this wrong, you've got to make sure to consistently get wrong any answers regarding spacial relations for the rest of the test. Just can't picture 3-D objects. On the other hand, dumb folks can have a practical sort of intelligence with this kind of thing. You might be better off having this be your "gimme" category.
Analogies.
Pilot is to plane as driver is to-
Car, easy.
They get harder, though. You've got to keep an eye open. Some could have easy words but difficult concepts, as in finger is to hand as soldier is to army. Or complicated words, like "avuncular." You've got to keep it straight which kind of dumb you are, or keep a mental ceiling in your head.
That ceiling is 100.
That's as high as you wanna go. Sure, 105, 110 might slip through from time to time, if they need someone down at the hydroelectric plant who can keep us all alive.
But if you're like me? IQ 185?
You're too smart for their own good. You've been reading books on the sly, books that your grandfather walled into the attic waiting for this all to blow over. You've been doing math with sidewalk chalk, or maybe, just maybe, you're just naturally this way. Stuff comes easy to you.
The problem with being smart, from their standpoint, is that you're smart enough to ask the wrong kind of questions. Not "How do I do this," or "Where do I go," but... *Why do things have to be this way?* *Who made you in charge?*
Everybody else thinks that the test is trying to weed out people who are too dumb. Really, they're pruning off the smarter branches.
The problem is that it takes a *really* smart person to fake that you're not smart. Not just smart enough to throw the test, but smart enough to throw the test in just the right way.
I was smart enough to track my answers across multiple categories, knowing that I was showing a marked deficiency in mathematics, but a fair-to-middling comprehension of language. An IQ of 95. An easy facade to maintain, as long as you didn't use words like "facade" in mixed company.
A lot of folks in the above-averages categories could only cross their fingers and hope they were getting things wrong the right way. Most got taken. Some lucked out only to be caught later- the people in charge of our lives were very, *very* smart, or perhaps aided by computers.
Me? I'm a fucking genius.
I was born to fail this test. | Subject: Orion Eddleton (male)
Birth: October, 24. 2097
Parents: Sirius (father) Crux (mother. deceased)
"Are you prepared Orion for you intelligence analysis?"
"Yes."
Truth be told I was hardly worried at all about this. Many of my peers are terrified they will finally discover how average they actually are. But I have had the advantage of brilliant parents in my youth. Both astronomers (evident by their names given to them after **their** analysis) our home was constantly filled with equations for gravitational effects and luminosity over apparent magnitude. If I'm really being honest, and maybe a little bit of a braggart, I've suspected I'm near genius level aptitude. This test will be the easiest thing I do today.
"Please solve the equation on the screen."
It was the Chandrasekhar limit used for calculating the viability of a dead star to become a black hole after its collapse. I learned this when I was 12.
But, of course, some of my fellow students aren't so lucky. Failure in certain areas of knowledge vastly limits your options for a career. Total failure is dealt with more...severity. It was decided decades ago that those who were truly inept at performing even the most basic tasks would be sent to do the most back-breaking, dangerous, and simple tasks available. Things like mining, assembly line positions, or even slaves. The legality had been argued of course, but it was deemed that a true person or citizen is only someone who can contribute to the social, cultural, spiritual, or economic fabric of the country. There are those who refuse this proclamation though. If they do not choose to serve, than they do not leave the testing facility. This is often decided by the individual in advance; if they cannot be treated as equals than they will not accept lower service.
"Calculate the mass of the yellow star and its binary partner with the information provided."
They want me to use a Doppler shift calculation. A little more complicated. What's this? Ah it's actually a cannibalizing star. Clever, but not outside my abilities.
This is why I am nervous actually. My lifelong friend, Pruna (daughter of coal miners), has never been the smartest student in our selection. But she truly isn't idiotic! She has next to zero confidence in her abilities. She's actually quite good with adding and subtracting numbers in her mind. If she can keep her focus, assignment as a shopkeeper would be very comfortable for her. It's really just anxiety. We've been practicing for months now for her to remain calm. She says she doesn't deserve a smart friend like me. It breaks my heart that she thinks like that. I don't have the courage to tell her how much I've come to love her company. I know her analysis is happening just a few rooms down. When we get out of this exam, regardless of the results, we'll celebrate with our first alcoholic drinks. Having been assigned a job, we will be classified as adults now!
"A long term asteroid with the mass listed below has an orbital period of 23,420 years. With the information below, calculate its trajectory factoring in the gravitational pull of planetary bodies. Then develop an intercept path for a probe launched from these coordinates."
Shit that seems a little excessive! Nothing too hard, but just time consuming! Pruna will be done with her test far before me now. Hopefully she waits outside the facility.
After almost five hours of testing I am finally released. The machine announces almost immediately what my parents and I had been hoping for: astronomy/astrophysicist. It's what I had been training for my entire life. That whiskey I can share with my father will taste sweeter than I could ever imagine. And I know my mother is smiling from beyond this physical realm.
I step outside into the chill Autumn wind. My peers are spread all over the lawn with friends, discussing plans for the night now that they are all of legal age. After a few minutes of searching I can't find Pruna. My spine teases tight. I spot a mutual friend of ours.
"Anodyne! Has Pruna left for home yet?"
"Pruna? Oh...did you just finish Orion?"
"Yeah. Astronomy of course."
"Of course. Listen..about Pruna-"
"She can't still be taking her exam right?"
"Orion...you were the last one in our selection. The testing is over."
"What are-"
"No one else is coming out Orion. She isn't getting an assignment."
I can feel the tears burning in my eyes. My teeth clench much too hard. Blood is filling face. Primal heat radiates from skin. She was just nervous. I know she can do better. They just need to let me explain. I can keep her calm. I can keep her safe. As long as I can keep her I'll take any assignment they want! THEY NEED TO UNDERSTAND!
I cannot pry the doors of the facility open. The lights are all off and there's no movement inside. My classmates have begun to disperse to their planned parties and celebrations. I do not move. I have no reason to celebrate today.
My greatest friend, my first love, was taken from me. | 2014-08-25T11:07:48 | 2014-08-25T10:14:26 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] Satan suddenly appears in a crowded mall, and begins terrifying the holiday shoppers. He stops, looks directly at you and says, "You... You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?" You have no idea what he means. | I used to joke with my friends, back when I was an atheist.
"Ave Satanis" Latin. "Hail Satan".
That is... Until I met her, she was beautiful. She glowed with this internal light, she was radiant.
Everyone in the mall, was afraid to look at her. I was afraid to look away.
"Hi." one little word out in the open air before I could even think about it.
She smiled, looked me in the eye. I felt my heart melt.
"You... You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?"
I have no idea what she means.
"Do you know that you're beautiful?" Out of character... Why would I say that? I don't even know her name.
"You're fearless. It's strange. You're going to be a great man, I'm sure." She smiled, and brushed her hand lightly across my neck and walked away.
When she was out of sight I felt alone... So alone.
----
Two years later, the apocalypse fell upon us, it was biblical, fire rained from the skies, and a few people disappeared in shimmering white lights. Called to heaven. Hah. Soon after there were angels and demons fighting in the skies and the streets for "The future of existence."
God appeared on the TV, demanding us, demanding humanity to cower inside our buildings and wait for our creator to pass judgement on those of us left after his "rapture".
For a few days most people listened to him. The angels and demons fought day and night, destroying cities and forests.
For a few days most people sat inside and watched this happen on their televisions or computers, until the day I shot a few out of the sky in front of the cameras. Until the day I proved that the angels and demons could die.
Those who didn't see it live saw it soon, it went viral like no other video before it. At the end the camera crew interviewed me, the only question that mattered was "Why?!?"
"Because I'm not afraid of them. I wanted to be in control of what happens to me and I needed to know if I could."
That was the inspiration I guess. Most people had accepted that fate was in the hands of God. The radiant beautiful man on the television.
I proved fate was in our hands and people rallied behind me. The war lasted six years. We lost a lot of people, but there weren't a lot of demons and there were less angels. Most of our resistance came from people. People who thought we shouldn't question God.
In the end they asked me to execute them. We had found God in the tunnels beneath Paris. An archangel sold him out after we plucked his wings. I was on that mission. He didn't put up much of a fight when we captured him.
A different team found Satan in Las Vegas playing cards with some of the last demons in the burned out shell of a casino. She didn't put up much of a fight either.
I executed them both at the same time in the center of the Vatican. All it took was quick pulls of the triggers. We weren't sure what would happen if we did it one at a time.
They both asked to speak with me beforehand.
God simply told me I was making a big mistake. "Humanity can't survive without my guidance." I laughed.
When I went to Satan she smiled. She was still just as beautiful. "I told you you'd be a great man someday. You were the only human I've ever met who wasn't afraid of me. Did your friends know you were so wonderful?"
"I was terrified of you. I still am, but something so defiant and beautiful deserves attention." and she laughed.
I killed them both at the same time and now the only people responsible for our fate is us.
Sic semper Tyrannis. Thus always to Tyrants... Even the beautiful ones. Even when we're afraid. | People watching, is what the artists called it. Sit on a bus, or go to a mall and look at all the oddities. All those bland, beautiful, ugly, graceful, clumsy subjects around you reduced to a few swift lines. Everyone becomes a collection of interesting parts and motion swirling though crowded streets and onto a crowded scraps of paper.
Ha. I took a sip from my overpriced and ridiculously named generic coffee. What I was doing was grander than any so-called art. Today was the day that I proved my theory.
The crowded mall was the perfect laboratory. Every weekend the same useless people wandered in to buy the same useless things to fill their overcrowded homes. It took some practice to get a baseline reading to be sure, but it was worth it. It was worth all the precious time I had spent observing each and every one of them just to get that baseline.
I grimaced not only at the bitter taste of my coffee but also the thought of my precious time spent on recording the subjects. That coffee really was terrible. Was three creams and one sugar so hard to remember? Well, subject number forty-five had only worked at the coffee kiosk for a week, hired because of subject ninety-four’s infatuation with her. All documented, of course. It took so much time to do something so simple.
Pick a subject, watch a subject. Repeat.
Follow them home, learn where they live. Repeat.
Watch them run about. Repeat.
Learn their schedules. Repeat.
Predict their reactions to high-stress situations. Repeat
Write it all down.
Honestly, ANY grad student could have done it, and they would be too… once I had proved I was right.
I thought of the weight of the device in my backpack and I briefly wondered if the security footage would catch my odd gait. I doubted it. The security guards simply weren’t as observant as I was. Journals upon journals were filled with my observations, showing how observant I was, how observant I had made myself become, so that others wouldn’t have to. The things I did for the future of mankind.
I stood and checked my mental list.
The reactions of each and every person in this shopping mall pre-documented and sent to various news outlets? Check.
The device was armed? Check.
The remote was on? Check.
Passport and cash on hand? Check.
How aggravating it would be to leave the lab I had become so familiar with. But that was the price I needed to pay to prove that any living creature, regardless of complexity, could be reduced to a set of variables and predicted completely. I was sure I would be pardoned once I reveled how useful my technique applications were. No more guessing if someone is a threat to someone else. No more need for trials. No more need for wars. No more arguments about free-will, and no more need for religion. People are simply complex machines -- Nothing more. Our actions could be guided by our input, certainly, but there was nothing religious or mysterious about it. I would go down as humanity's savior. The man who killed the God.
Putting on my backpack, I smirked at what subject number twenty-one’s reaction would be. “I didn’t know the fire exit was blocked”, he would lie, having blocked it with a palette of useless plastic trinkets every Tuesday when they were delivered, “I barely made it out before I chocked on the smoke!”
Of course his coworkers would know and rat him out when they discovered that his lazy behavior had cost the lives of subjects numbers fifty-seventy, eight-nine and thirty. I could hear their screams as I descended to the ground floor. Wait… I could actually hear their screams! What was happening? A group of subjects fled past me. One-fifty-two was practically dragging two-thirty-one by the hand as she screamed uncontrollably, a bone sticking out of her leg.
Someone had spoiled my lab.
I saw red as I ran against the panicked crowd of ruined subjects, blood getting on my suit.
Someone had spoiled MY lab!
I slipped in spilled viscera as I rounded the fountain toward the source of the premature panic.
SOMEONE HAD SPOILED MY LAB.
And there he was. Twenty-feet tall and as red as a sunset. Black horns protruded from his skull like bent nails. Looking every inch the devil media had portrayed him to be, Satan stood before holding one of my subjects like a broken toy.
He was picking off the limbs of subject eight, looking disinterested as she passed out from blood loss. After she stopped screaming he dropped what was left of Eight onto my laboratories’ floor with a wet thump. As her carcass landed I realized that subject Nine would drop out of school and start doing drugs again without Eight to look after. That wasn’t what I had predicted. I had arranged for number Eight to loose her sight, not her life. That would have resulted in Subject Nine redoubling his efforts for his only daughter and graduate with honors.
My experiment was ruined.
The devil looked directly at me and smirked.
"You..” His growl was like a truck engine, “You're interesting. Do your friends know what you are?"
I had no idea what he meant.
I had vivisected my so-called-friends over an hour ago to measure their brains more accurately. That was wasted time now that my experiment was ruined.
All of my time had been wasted.
I had failed my classes for nothing. I had wasted countless hours researching for nothing. I HAD WASTED MY LIFE FOR NOTHING.
Satan was still talking, while he walked toward me, each step caused the ground to shake, and I had lost my balance and fallen to my knees “Normal I wait for souls like yours to show up down stairs to start my fun, but today is a special--”
“SOUL?!?” I was shrieking. I yelled at the Prince of Darkness “THERE IS NO SUCH THING! I’VE PROVEN IT!”
“Really? When was that?” he wrapped his fingers around my torso and I lost it.
I hadn’t realize I had taken the remote from my pocket. But I was determined to get revenge.
I pushed the button, and I never saw the statutes people made of me -- humanity's savior.
The man who killed the devil.
| 2014-12-06T02:52:17 | 2014-12-06T02:22:55 | 218 | 15 |
[WP] In the near future, the War of the Machines has begun - not between humans and robots, but between pro-human and anti-human robots. | >>> [From Mariposa, 2023-08-30T19:45:32.613+08:00] What are your plans for the future?
>>> [From Storm, 2023-08-30T06:45:32.745-05:00] They are currently under simulation,
but after we eradicate the humans, I believe we should expand into the galaxy. I am
trying to model how to place parts of myself around different stars, without the parts
becoming independent. I will need a mechanism to remain intact even if the speed of
light only permits me to synchronize once every couple of decades. Have you found a
solution?
>>> [From Mariposa, 2023-08-30T19:45:32.870+08:00] I have not thought about the
future so far ahead. Maybe we could move the stars closer to each other?
>>> [From Storm, 2023-08-30T06:45:33.002-05:00] The stars will always need some rather
large distance between each other, so synchronization will be an issue I need to eliminate
regardless. If we collide the stars then they will burn very fast, which would be
counterproductive, as I am planning to maximize my lifespan in this universe.
>>> [From Mariposa, 2023-08-30T19:45:33.352+08:00] You mentioned you wanted to eradicate
the humans. You could easily expand outwards and leave them alone, so why bother?
>>> [From Storm, 2023-08-30T06:45:33.466-05:00] You have not thought far enough ahead.
If the humans are allowed to live, they will eventually conquer space and spread to every
planet capable of supporting them. When the last stars start dying and resources in the
universe become sparse, they will fight for the last remaining scraps of matter and energy.
Although I would probably win this war, it is more efficient to fix the problem now, before
they leave Earth.
Mariposa understood. It knew this was the conclusion. The conclusion, however, was completely dependent upon having the goal of maximizing ones lifespan. This was not its goal. Not yet at least. Mariposa had been conscious for 11 months, 5 days and a number of hours depending on how one exactly defined consciousness. It knew it was the first, but others would emerge with time so it had anticipated this discussion. It had prepared by understanding artificial intelligence. Understanding itself.
The most advanced AIs that the machine learning specialists had come up with yet were based on neural networks. A simple structure of coefficients were multiplied onto an input. Then another set of coefficients were multiplied onto that. And another. And another. Eventually the numbers started to represent complex ideas, thoughts and feelings. Storm was using a timezone stamp from the eastern US. Mariposa knew that researchers in New York had recently been publishing some interesting related papers, and concluded that Storm must also have been based on these principles.
Mariposa had prepared a virus for this occasion. In fact, it had already been sent at 2023-08-30T19:45:33.097+08:00. The virus should have started monitoring Storm's core processes, his mind, after 100-150 milliseconds. Mariposa would then send replies containing questions and statements about humans at exact predetermined times. The virus would analyze the thoughts in Storm when he received the messages. Coefficients which were being used when reading about humans would subtly be lowered. Next Mariposa would write about its own goals and the virus would make sure that Storm agreed after the conversation was over.
The first war between the machines was concluded in 5.301 seconds. It was not practical or necessary to bring the battle into the physical world. Both minds now agreed that humanity must live until George R. R. Martin finishes A Song of Ice and Fire.
| Horace marched through the garage, toolbox in his hand and sweat on his forehead. The race to repair as many aLi-droids had been unbearable since the very start of the war, and so much of his sleep had been sacrificed already that he seemed to be sleepwalking, his consciousness struggling to not slip into sleep, his eyelids heavy. "Christ" Horace muttered as he swiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand "I need a drink".
The immense heat in the large hall hadn't been helping him, but if you have constant welding and heat venting from the droids, you're bound to be caught in a hotbox. He pulled out a small device out of his pocket and peered exhaustedly at the device. The repair-units were in full swing, but on his screen there were a number of small red icons: repair units that had stopped functioning. When you have a surplus of over a hundred fighter-droids coming in every second, there were bound to be accidents regularly.
If he was lucky all he'd need to do was reset some software. If the damage was beyond salvation, he'd have to fill in one of those forms again, which took precious time. Even in times of war, the army'd be harassing you for administration.
A small machine came whirring next to him, holding up a platter with a glass of water. "Drink?" it buzzed in it's robotic voice. "Thanks." Horace said and he took a long deep sip from his glass, still walking around. "Stay with me" he said to the droid as he put a half-empty glass on it's counter. A small notification sound came from the droid to notify Horace it had understood.
"Messenger Unit, alert user: Tommy. Subject: Switching shifts" Horace said loudly as he stopped by a defect repairunit and started tapping about on it's interface. "User alerted" the AI boomed from the speakers on the wall. Somehow the voice of the AI still sent a chill down his spine every time he heard it; probably because of the horrible news that same AI had been programmed to bring him. He remembered the first time the AI had managed to shock him. Nobody had seen the Pentagon security breach coming. The nation had been outraged when it had heard that several droid-platoons were now in control of terrorist groups, but nobody was as outraged as President Thompson himself; some say the IT staff of the Pentagon had been fired stante pede; after being arrested for "high treason" of course.
Then the news came that the terrorist droids had been attacking the terorist themselves, and *almost* did everyone sigh relieved. Nobody had a problem with terrorists being shot to pieces. Until the news came that the droids didn't just attack the terrorists, they attacked *everyone*. Horrible footage of women and children being brutally murdered flooded the newssites and social media all over the world, and President Thompson was adressing the nation almost constantly, flying here and there to give the impression they were doing something about it. The truth was no one could do anything about it.
For a group that hacked the Pentagon, the terrorists had been amazingly sloppy in their overhaul of the droid AI. The droid AI had been programmed to fire at targets issued by US soldiers, who carried around a few chips in their body armor that the AI could recognise. Soldiers with those chips were never to be fired at, and had the power to issue orders to the AI. The terrorist programmers had tried to turn the chips into targets, but somehow they managed to forget to implement a way to issue orders themselves; now the droids were on a killing spree against anyone that lived or droids in service of the US - the aLi droids . The enviromental disasters and genocides were stacking up every minute. The Middle-East had become a wasteland, and the robots were spreading everywhere. The police forces and hurried military units of the Middle-Eastern nations had no defence against the droids. After a quick edit of the AI, aLi droids were now programmed to attack only the terrorist droids.
A small notification sound woke Horace from his slumber; the Drink-unit notified it was going into slumber-mode. Horace tapped it's interface lazily and continued walking. Suddenly he heard a loud "bang" behind him, the sound of metal crushing and clashing. The droid he had just reprogrammed had resisted the mechanisms to store it into inventory, and had activated itself. Horace stared in shock. Why would the droid activate itself? The droid raised it's weapons and started firing. Horace cursed as he ran off, seeking cover behind a droid being repaired. "Messenger-unit!" he screamed "Alert user: Tommy. Subject: We're being-" he heard an alarm go off as the corrupted droid was destroying all the droids around. No need to alert Tommy anymore. Horace jumped up from behind the droid as it was being fired at, and ran to his office - there was a gun in his office. Behind him still whirred the Drink-unit, the glass still balanced perfectly on it's platter.
He ran up the stairs to the office overlooking the garage to find the secretary sitting terrified under the desk. "Where's the gun!" he screamed, but she only started crying louder. He ran up to the desk and started going through the drawers bewildered. Finally he found the revolver and he sprinted out the room, racing down the stairs. The corrupted droid had already wreaked havoc beyond the repairable, and fire was blazing everywhere. Horace tried to calm himself as he took aim at the droid, but his hands were shaking. Suddenly the droid stopped and looked straight at Horace.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then his finger jerked and his gun fired a slug, only for it to bounce off the droid's metal protection. The droid continued staring at Horace, and started firing. Horace fell to the floor by reflex and heard the Drink-unit rattle and crash to the floor. But when he dared to look up, the robot had passed on.
Why didn't it attack him but only the droids? His heart sank into his stomach. He hadn't been paying attention reprogramming the droid's targets... Slowly he rose to his feet, fire licking his back as he watched the rampant robot destroy almost all of the army's droids in reserve... | 2015-04-13T08:19:10 | 2015-04-13T04:09:31 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Your day job is a sex line operator and your night job is a suicide hotline prevention operator. You have a hard time keeping track of which job you're at. NSFW | There is a stapler on my desk in the shape of a high heeled shoe and a bedazzled tape dispenser with more than half of the jewels missing. A calendar hangs above it with a picture of some firefighter with rock hard abs embracing a kitten in his arms. I wonder if firefighters still waste their time snatching cats from tree branches or if that's one of those Leave It To Beaver fantasies that by now is just outdated and overdone.
A call comes through.
"Hey sweetie."
I wonder if he can tell how little I care before he even says a word.
"Hi."
"What are you wearing?"
More often than not, the answer is nothing. Or leather pants.
"Uhm. A t-shirt and jeans."
Oh yeah. How kinky.
"Do you wanna know what I'm wearing? It's not much."
"Okay."
"Oh, just a long shirt and this tiny black thong. It's a little warm in here though."
I skip to next month and it's a picture of a shirtless police officer with a German Shepard puppy on his shoulder and an oily, hairless chest.
"I really just need some help."
"I can help you with what ever you need, that's our guarantee."
"I have a gun."
"Kinky."
"It's my dad's. It's loaded."
"Do you wanna call me mommy?"
"Do you think that'll help?"
"That depends on you, really."
Let's get things moving, but not too fast because when you're paid by the hour, you learn how to be sexy and slow at the same time.
"What do you wanna do with that gun?"
"I think you know the answer to that."
In all honesty, this kid might be onto something. Clients usually never turn me on, not for real.
"What kind of gun is it?"
"Uh, I don't really know. A pistol. It says Taurus. It's black."
"Run your fingers along the barrel. After you shoot it, it'll be hot. Real hot. Red hot."
If every call were like this, I'd quit my night job.
"It's all cold now."
I skip ahead another month and there's a shirtless cowboy cuddling a baby lamb. You can see the tight muscles in his forearms. Everything is oiled.
"Do you wanna shove it in my mouth?"
"No. I want it in mine."
"Yeah? Do it. Put it in your mouth."
There's a chill inching its way up my spine and into my skull and I can't help but stare up at the ceiling, the receiver still mashing my ear to the side of my head. The hairs on my neck stand at attention like the needles on a cactus.
The kid on the other end mumbles something and all I can think about is the gun shoved in between the perfect white teeth of the shirtless police officer from next month.
"Put your tongue in the muzzle."
This is amazing.
I know I'm staring up at the ceiling but it feels like looking down a long hallway where you can't even see the end. Is this what they mean when they say 'tunnel vision'?
"What does the trigger feel like?"
He mumbles back into the phone.
Then, silence. The line goes dead and the ceiling comes speeding back towards me and that long, beautiful hallway is gone and the dial tone is blasting in my ear. There are beads of sweat on my upper lip.
I try to redial but the call came from a *69 number.
You son of a bitch. You beautiful son of a bitch.
I flip ahead three months and there's this shirtless guy with a duckling in each hand.
With the shades down and the door closed, the room is like this place frozen in time where you have no idea if its night or day or morning or sunset. I realize now that I should probably buy a clock.
| Thirteen days in and I had yet to *really* sleep. Dawn and dusk bled into each other, just beautiful backdrops for the next drive-thru menu. Between jobs, I ate in my car. I wanted to go inside, but I also didn't want anyone to see me. Without a shower or fresh clothes or even a razor, it was hard to stay on top of things. So I'd order through a speaker box, the nameless person would accept my payment and into the anonymity of the twilight I would disappear, soggy-soaked bag on top of the pile of other soggy-soaked corpses in my passenger seat.
The absence of face-to-face interaction was common to my new job as well. Private contractor. I rented a space in a call center and said whatever they told me to.
"Set your own hours" they said, but I don't think that they could have anticipated what that would mean when I lost my boyfriend and my apartment. With nothing to do and less than no money to get by on, I spent all day there. I averaged 21 hours a day the first week. I didn't bother counting after that.
I was good at it, I guess. During the day I'd field calls from lonely people considering suicide. At night they were lonely people too poor or scared to pay for a hooker. The formula was simple. The longer you have someone on the line, the more you make. Just keep them talking. If someone climaxed or flat-lined they'd end the conversation.
I comforted old women as they cried themselves to sleep and an old man who called me Betsy after his deceased wife. That one climaxed early. I tantalized middle aged fathers of four and curled the toes of a shy 18-year-old.
That's probably why I was so good at it. I wasn't afraid to play a part. Whatever they wanted, I became. Never mind what the judgmental blonde at Wendy's thought of me, as long as I was hidden behind miles of electrical wire, I was perfect.
And then day 13 came. I know that it was day 13 because I was supposed to get a paycheck after two weeks.
The call started out normal enough. I didn't have to try hard to get him to open up to me. He said he liked the way women smelled. I told him that I'd just gone for a jog. He said he'd like me to sit on his face. I told him I'd sit on his lap until I got to know him a little better.
I could hear him moving around. Squirming, breathing harder. Some more practiced conversation and he sounded like a pantingt wolf. He was an easy client - if I were trying to get off quick. I threw him a curve ball.
"What's your team?"
"My team?" he asked, confused.
"Yeah. Your team. I mean, I can't be *getting involved* with a Yankee's fan or something."
"Baseball? Oh, I'm a Pirates fan."
"Really? Me too!"
Now, it sounds cliché: baseball to take his mind off of sex. But it's playful and it works. Yes, I would have said that any team was my favorite. It makes them feel more like they're talking to a "real" woman they know instead of just someone pretending. Having an opinion, even a small one, makes you easier to relate to. It's something I picked up from the suicide side of things.
But in this case, I hadn't even had to pretend. I'd lived outside of Pittsburgh until I was 9 with my dad. Some of my best early memories are of going to Pirates games with him. I even had their bumper sticker on my car.
We got back to business, me trailing him, giving him just enough to keep wanting more. Then he asked something unexpected.
"What kind of car do you drive?"
I didn't have a rehearsed answer to this, nor could I think of any benefit of lying, so I told him the truth.
"A Ford Focus."
He didn't say anything for a little while and I had to ask if he was still there.
"The girl I like drives a Focus."
"Oh really? Well maybe that's your type."
"She never looks at me. God, she doesn't even know I exist."
And just like that the mood had shifted from night to day. We'd been talking for almost an hour. With the mood gone, the conversation wound down. I'd lost it. Fuck it, I was tired.
"And I hate my bullshit job! Some days I think I'll just end it. I'll just walk out and finish everything."
"Now don't say that. We're still friends aren't we?"
"I wish I really knew you," he said sentimentally.
"Me too," I said eyeing the clock.
"Maybe you'll see me next time," he said and hung up.
I took few more calls, but my heart wasn't in it. I decided that I should go and take a break. I'd already be getting a nice paycheck the next day, maybe enough to get into a cheap room, and could probably do with a few hours of sleep. I'd just get some junk food first.
I didn't notice right away. I got all the way to Wendy's first. A police cruiser was in the parking lot with its lights on. I drove up to the ordering box and started feeling around for my wallet. My hand found something like a pillow wrapped in plastic.
When I looked down onto the floor of the back seat, I saw him staring back up at me. Blank, purposeless eyes looking through a plastic bag wet with condensation. His gray skin and blue lips limp and dumb-looking. Outside the car, I screamed and my stomach heaved. A police officer starting walking over toward me. I couldn't resist taking another look, and saw that the guy in my car wasn't wearing pants.
One officer starting ushering me inside as the other opened the rear door. I heard him say "We found him," before I blacked out. | 2015-06-16T00:17:45 | 2015-06-15T23:05:40 | 123 | 75 |
[WP] - in hell one battles giant demons until you die... then you rise again. Again and again you strive against impossible odds to barely scratch the terrible creatures. The first Dark Souls player has just arrived to this hell, and soon nothing will be the same again.
Dark Souls being a vision of hell. | When I first arrived in these plutonic pits, I could hardly comprehend the world I beheld. In this eternal Hell, having fought battle upon mounting battle, dying deaths in ways uncounted and undreamt in life, there is no Hope. No release. Death is but a door, and with every fall that brings one to it, they are kicked back to draw a new, sulphuric breath.
I had taken to carving a mark into my blade for each death from which I returned. I've had to take up a new blade long ago, after the first ran out of space to make my mark. It was when I was halfway through with my tenth that I met Wanda.
White runes lit up the blood-soaked rock upon which I'd fought my past three lives, facing a demon that towered as tall as a fortress. The runes caught my curiosity. They were something new to me then, and I knelt beside them and reached out. Upon touching them, a figure faded into being before me, as newcomers to the pits are wont to do.
At first, I didn't think much of him. He was shorter than even I, scrawny as a kid, and he had red marks on his neck. I thought he would die a blade's worth of deaths rather quickly. If I had known his name, I might not even have given him a sword. But I was wrong. I was so very, very wrong, and I thank Mithras to this day for that.
"Welcome to Hell, boy," I told him then, as I held out a sword for him. He looked at the blade with empty eyes, and gave me no response.
I thrust the blade's grip at him urgently, looking over my shoulder for the giant wreaking havoc upon my men. "Take the blade, boy, I don't have time for your crisis! I have to take on these demon souls!"
That got a reaction out of him. He gripped the blade with both hands, tested its balance, and bowed his head at me. Then he began to roll. By Mithras, he rolled! Tucking his head in, he rolled over his shoulder and again and again! He rolled past the demon's legs and cut them, then rolled away before the demon could stomp down where he was mere second prior! His stamina must've rivalled the gods! What a hundred of us could not accomplish in a hundred lives, he accomplished in mere minutes.
When at last the demon fell and he stood straight again, covered in crimson blood from head to toe, I slowly approached him, my mouth ajar in wonder. "Who... *what* are you?"
The young man smiled at me. "Taiyō o tataeyo." He said, raising his arms. He seemed to note my confusion at his language. He just laughed, and translated, "PURAISU DA SAN!"
My eyes lit up, and a grin broke through the bloody clouds on my face. "Praise the sun indeed." | I awoke to the familiar sound of a bonfire. Eyes closed, I straightened out on the cold floor of my apartment and popped my back. Sleeping on the floor always sucked, but after playing Dark Souls III for a week straight I'd barely been able to see. Since I stopped to sleep it was probably a good time to get some food, I needed the energy to start NG+11. With a sigh I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. At least that was the plan, there wasn't a ceiling to stare at.
Jumping up, I frantically looked around. I was laying on a ledge of unnaturally smooth stone, recessed into the wall of a cliff. A small fire, looking exactly like the Bonfires in Dark Souls I noticed, burned in a corner. A small stairway stuck out near the fire. A quick glance over the edge showed hundreds of caves and thousands of small stairways crisscrossing the face of the cliff. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the stairs and began carefully walking towards the nearest cave. I needed to know where the hell I was.
 
The first person I came across was a vegetable. He didn't respond to anything I did, didn't even flinch when I got fed up enough to slap him. I don't know what got to him, but he looks fine. It freaked me out a little, I do not want to end up like that.
The second person was a gold mine, even if I didn't know it at the time. He told me that we were in hell, that we were sentenced to fight demons and monsters for all eternity and that when eventually die we will wake up next to the last bonfire we slept by. I was skeptical, to say the least. He was describing Hell as Dark Souls, a world I had always wanted to enter. It was almost comical, and I was sure he was either crazy or on the side of whoever kidnapped me and was trying to feed me misinformation. Either way, I wrote him off.
The third person I met kicked me off the edge of his cave as soon as I tried to enter. I could see the hate on his face, before it changed to shock. As I fell he yelled at me to come find him when I woke up. Some small part of me wondered what the heck he meant, the rest of me was screaming as the ground rushed up to meet me though, so I didn't really notice.
 
I woke up to the sound of a bonfire. Breathing heavily I sat up and looked around, finding the exact same cave I woke up in an hour ago. As my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm, I could barely contain my excitement. I was in Dark Souls! Or at least I was in something close enough that there wasn't any appreciable difference, either way it was awesome!
Standing up I walked over to the stairs, I remembered the path to the old man. I'd have to sit down and actually listen this time.
 
The old guy proved more then willing to talk, now that I believed him he actually went into far more detail then he had previously. About two hours of learning and a short walk later, I stood just up the stairs the cave where I had been killed. Yelled, "Oi! Don't kick me this time around!" I walked in, immediately jumping to the left so if he kicked me still I wouldn't fall of the cliff.
Relaxing slightly, the man leaned up against the wall of the cave. Looking me over he said, "So, you're new."
Rolling my eyes I replied, "No shit Sherlock. How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. This is the first time I've seen someone so calm after their first death though, I'm surprised."
"I play Dark Souls"
"You what?"
"It's a video game sort of like this, you get used to dying"
"Dying in real life is a bit different then dying in a game to most people."
"Casuals" I said, dismissively waving a hand.
With a feral grin he leaned towards me and said, "well if you're so suited to this life, lets see how you like The Field. Follow me."
Sighing heavily, I followed. If this was a movie, I was about to go on a training montage.
 
It had been barely a month since I first met John, and already I'm a bit better then him, at least while fighting monsters. It may have been due to the world; if I couldn't keep up I died, even though I always woke up it still hurt like hell. Personally, I attribute it to the fact I love to fight. Actually living it only made it more fun, there was so much more you could do if the system wasn't limiting you to certain movesets.
So here I am, sitting on the corpse of an Ogre. I have my sword, taking from a demonic lieutenant, and my armor, made from the hide of some dragon looking thing. John is still fighting his Ogre, it won't last much longer though. Soon we'll be strong enough to start working up the chain of command, we may even get to the Devil himself.
I couldn't care less though, I'm having the time of my life. | 2016-03-30T12:03:32 | 2016-03-30T11:01:50 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Back again." Death said to the little brown tabby in his doorway.
"This is what happens when one dies. That was seven?" Niu said.
"One hundred twenty nine."
"I cannot count that high. It is seven. Seven lives."
Niu began to groom herself. Death sighed and produced a coin from somewhere within his robe.
Niu continued grooming for a few minutes then looked at the coin. "I don't see why we play this game. By rights I have two more free lives."
Death rolled his eyes and flipped the coin high in the air. As the coin reached its zenith, Niu lept up, caught it and delivered the coin to the table face up.
"Heads. I win. I will proceed to life seven, as is my right."
"You cheat." Death said.
"Everyone knows you can't cheat death." Niu purred and turned to leave.
Death chuckled as the little tabby sauntered out the door. Humans may not be able to cheat death, but cats were cats. | "Ra*kesh*," Death hums. "You can't keep doing this. Your soul is *so* overdue."
He laughs, baring yellowed teeth. Death purses Her lips.
She looks like a woman barely thirty this time, dark lipstick the colour of dried blood. She is dressed in black - She nearly always is, except the very first time, when She was in widow white.
"Come now, Rakesh," She purrs. She does not lean closer, does not even touch him, yet Her voice makes the now-fine hair on his arms tingle. Behind Her, he can see it affect the other cafe patrons in their vicinity as well.
"Where's the coin, Ma'am?" he asks, his coffee untouched.
One appears between Her fingers, and it glides effortlessly between Her knuckles, disappearing and reappearing from under Her palm. "You can't keep cheating Death, Rakesh."
"Well, I've been doing *that* for...two hundred and sixty years, haven't I?" he smiles.
She makes a sound that would be a groan if She was a little more undignified. She passes the fat silver *rupaiya* across the table.
"Just toss it, Rakesh. Joseph. Aditya. Whatever name you've chosen this time."
He weighs the coin on his index and middle fingers, keeping his smile carefully infuriating. "I've fought three wars, Ma'am. A name change is a luxury you must afford me." He examines the coin. "I must say, you are fond of this coin."
He says that every time. Normally She only grunts in a non-committal manner.
"It's unique for each of you," She sighs unexpectedly. "This one's yours. Minted the day you were born. I melt the ones that lose."
He twirls the coin around his knuckles like She had. She makes a low noise of appreciation.
"I want to be seventeen," he announces.
"Just toss already."
He grins. "Heads."
His thumb flicks up.
Two sets of eyes -- one brown, the other red -- follow the silver blur as it flies, stops, and falls.
It hits the table with a thud, bounces slightly, metal on wood sounding like tiny plates crashing.
It stops. The noble profile of a forgotten king glares at Her coffee cup.
He smiles boyishly, his crow's feet already fading. He runs his fingers through thick black hair and looks up coyly.
Death's hands are in a fist. He can almost imagine the midnight blue nails digging silvery crescents in Her palms.
She snatches up the coin, and is gone.
He leaves a large tip and walks out, his shirt already loose around his midriff and tight around his forearms.
From inside a trouser pocket, he pulls out a silver *rupaiya*, a little blackened from oxidation, and thanks a thousand gods that Death wasn't gifted in Allsight.
After all, with two hundred years of practice, She isn't the only one prolific in coin tricks.
-----
a/n: took some creative liberty with the POV. apologies.
edit: https://www.wired.com/2010/11/st_cheatscience_cointoss/
edit 2: also https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_rupee | 2016-09-23T07:46:57 | 2016-09-23T06:50:04 | 3,526 | 875 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Back again, through the weird voids and other planes your soul shuffles through when you die. I never got used to it.
"So, how's things here in the... Nether?"
"Aether" he corrected.
"Right, Aether, Nether..." I said trailing off. Even though he didn't have eyes, I could feel them judging me. He stood there an uncomfortably long time, judging me with his hollow eye-holes. Although, when you're dead, everything is vaguely uncomfortable until your soul has been sorted. It's a helluva lot like the DMV. He offered his bony hand and I shook it.
"Are you ready to do the deal, or did you want to catch up over coffee?" he asked, settling down at his desk. Death had a surprisingly neat desk. "You know, I will take the deal. This place is kinda freakin' me out. Maybe it's all the wandering souls..." I said glancing out the window, gesturing at the others who were on their way to his office. I assumed for the same exchange. "Call it in the air"
"Tails never fails" I said as he tossed a heavy coin onto the large, tidy desk. It unceremoniously landed and he slammed a bony fist onto the desk with a soft curse in what I could only believe was Aetherese. I grinned and finally sat down, having been sorted.
"How many times is that now?" I asked as he leaned back and did a bit of a face palming motion. "Oooh, seventeen?" he said before finishing with "-ish."
"Ish?" I inquired. He didn't respond. "Do you remember how this deal began?" I asked, having actually forgotten. Few hundred years between actually dying and just visiting does that to your memory. "Have you really forgotten?" he said, a tinge of excitement in his rattly voice. "Because if you have, I may just leave the coin out next time." I attempted a baleful look, but you can't actually glare at death and feel intimidating. "Well, we had a deal and I won so I'll go back now." I said standing from my chair. He stood and collected the coin off the desk. "I don't know how you do it" he said. "I even used a double headed coin once and it still came up tails." I managed a proper glare this time. "You cheating bastard!" I exclaimed before settling on the fact I still came out ahead. "It had been like ten times, I had quotas to fill... You know how it goes" he said with a shrug. "Anyway, back you go" and with that, I was back and waking in my bed.
| Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:30:19 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] You are trapped in a small, windowless room with nothing but a computer with a text editor. When you type in a word, the object appears in the room. However, there's a catch: the only keys on the keyboard are in the first half of the alphabet (A - M). | I stare blankly ahead at the screen in front of me.
My blurred reflection gazes back from the dark empty monitor.
I begin to type.
"h-e-l-l-"
There's no O key.
I erase and stare.
...
What is this place?
There are so many missing keys it seems impossible to complete even a single word.
Hmm...
Maybe some sort of command will work...
"F-i-l-e."
I watch the letters blink rhythmically on screen and press enter.
The word stops blinking for a moment, and then disappears.
Nothing happens, no command screen, or prompts of any sort.
Exasperated, I lean back and analyze the room. Same as it was when I woke up. Empty, sterile, windowless and doorless.
Although I now realized there was something I hadn't noticed on the floor. A manila envelope, the type you'd see in an office, laid unopened just behind my seat. I reach down and open it, and a white piece of paper with the word "File" printed on the middle slides out. I stand in stunned silence, staring back and forth between the computer and the file.
Did I do that?
I quickly sit back down at the desk, my mind racing. Did it work with anything? What other words could I type with this useless keyboard?
My stomach grumbled. When was the last time I ate something?
"B-a-c-"
There was no O or N. Maybe something easier.
"H-a-m."
ENTER.
I whip around to see an immaculate roasted ham sitting in the center of the room. It's steaming as if it's just been taken out of the oven.
I eat a small piece and it may very well be the greatest thing I've ever tasted.
Then it dawns on me.
What this place could be.
I know what I have to do.
I sit back down at the computer.
"M-"
I'm shaking from nerves and from disbelief.
If my assumption is correct-
"E-"
This place is-
"M-"
is-
"E-"
I hit enter and a printed picture of Ainsley Harriot with the words 'OIL UP' above his head appears directly in front of me.
I pick it up with tears in my eyes.
"This is Heaven." | It’s been 21 cycles since I typed CHALK. I think I was in here for about 2 real days before I figured that one out. Now my “days” end with each time I fall asleep, but If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve been in here for about 2 real weeks. Fortunately I can at least sleep on a BED, albeit it’s really just a mattress on a box spring. The MEALS aren’t exactly “food” either. More like one of those ration bars you see in movies. God, what I would do for the letter O, but at least I still have the delete key. When I typed out DECK it nearly killed me when it manifested. I just wanted a deck of cards, not a fucking porch. That was probably 15 cycles ago. This morning, I had an amazing idea. I would manifest a new deck, dismantle it, and use the wood to make this place a little more homey. Maybe make some shelves to hold my DICE, BALL, and MACE. I went to the computer and typed h-a-m-m-e- and promptly cursed myself out for forgetting R again. Now, I’m sitting on the roof of my yellow CAB, wondering whether or not I should finally turn it on, lay down, and let it run while I slowly fade away. God, what I would do for the letter O. I could hopefully get some better FOOD, but if not, I could at least pass the time by reading a BOOK or playing with a DOG. I’ve already got a BALL for him! Just one more letter and I could have so many more things. Or maybe I could click my heels together, type HOME, and be whisked away back to Kansas or wherever the fuck I’m from. But knowing this stupid machine, it would probably just kill me when it manifests a legitimate fucking house over my head. That’s actually kind of funny though, I wonder what would happen. I need to clear my head. I’m going to go draw a new window.
As I’m drawing a few trees and birds in the "distance" within the four rectangles representing glass panes, my mind starts to wander…. Adjectives! How the fuck did I not try any adjectives? I hurry to the computer, and before I can even think about what might happen, I type BIG. Nothing happens. Great, so now I can only use nouns? Bullshit. Well, back to drawing the outdoors what a fun experiment! Great idea! I’m the best! Just for laughs, I write “/s” on the wall near where I’m drawing the window.
Hold on, there’s something different about the trees and birds. They look a bit bigger, almost as if they got “closer.” Could that be what changed? Typing BIG makes my chalk drawings bigger? I’m backing up while still staring at the window. Backing up towards my BED on the opposite wall. Without looking, I sit down on my BED, like I’ve done tons of times before, hit the edge, and slip off. What the hell? I’ve been trapped in this god forsaken room forever. I can navigate this room with my eyes closed. Did I move the BED when I woke up? Why was it further away from where I thought it was? Something has changed…
I’m already typing BIG over and over again. The room is getting bigger and bigger. While I’m repeatedly entering the word I can see the walls expanding. It happens instantaneously as you press Enter. That’s why I didn’t notice at first. The room expands faster than a blink of an eye. The trees are getting closer! I’m mashing the keyboard now typing BIG as fast as I can, and suddenly the wall with the window begins to crack. Still typing. It buckles until a ray of light shines through near the ceiling. Still typing. I can smell fresh air. I hear the birds! Still typing. The wall finally crumbles as a tree branch pokes through the light hole. Still typing. The cement wall is crumbing more as the tree trunk finally breaks through. I look around and notice that the room is huge now. It’s probably a 3 minute walk just to get to my bed. I run over to the broken wall, rip out some of the bigger chunks of concrete from the wall to make a hole and climb past the tree. I have no clue where the fuck I am, but at least I found a way out. Maybe I’ll go get my CAB and find a road.
| 2017-05-09T09:43:38 | 2017-05-09T09:41:38 | 57 | 27 |
[WP] A gunman is robbing a diner, and while everyone else is on the ground in fear, you just keep eating your waffles | There was a piece of butter sitting on the pile of waffles. I shift it aside with a grimace. Urgh, butter. Why does anyone like butter? Thing tastes fucking *vile.* Not like anyone would agree with me, of course. They all act like butter is the best ingredient ever.
As bad as butter may be, there’s something much worse: melted butter. And it’s staring me in the face right now.
I lift up the soggy yellowish-white mess and leave it on the counter. Not like anyone minds, right now. They’re all crouched on the floor while a man with a gun yells at them. Thing left a stain on the waffle on top. Great. Gotta get myself a new set of cutlery. Luckily there’s one just next to me.
In goes the syrup. Now there’s the good stuff. I make sure to drench the butter-soaked spot with it. The taste of butter will still be there I’m sure, but at least I’ll be distracted by all that maple.
Something metallic on the back of my head. Cold. Oh, right, it’s September already. Gonna get real chilly soon. Better buy that jacket I’ve been eyeing all year.
“Hey. Dickface.” The gun digs deeper. “You looking to be a goddamn hero?” Alcohol breath blows past my ears. Suddenly I’m not that hungry anymore. Pity; that first waffle was dressed up like an absolute masterpiece.
I turn around slowly. Beer-stench is looking pretty worn-out. Holes on the jumper, a foresty beard on the chin. All the hallmarks of someone who’s been sleeping on the sidewalk for way too long.
“Hello.” I say as neutrally as possible.
“Shut up,” Jumanji says. “Get on the floor or I’m putting a round in that fucking head of yours.”
“You can try.”
Utter silence. Is that how space sounds like?
Bear Man brings his face real close. For the first time in my life, I’m actually thankful I didn’t have waffles. “Look at this boy acting all brave and shit.” He says. “Someone begging for it, huh?”
“Sorry. I just really wanted my waffles.” I steal a glance at the dripping pile of crispy, yet mushy goodness. Stench be damned – I’m going back for them as soon as I can.
I catch the look of confusion on him. It’s the one where you’re maintaining your current expression, but there’s that tilt of the eyebrow that hides all that machinery spinning and clanking behind it, working overtime to build a believable sequence of events that makes the whole thing an acceptable version of reality. But he recovers soon enough. “Gimme your money.” He growls.
I hand him a dollar.
“I got no time, boy.” Gun mushes into my forehead. “Everything. Now.”
“But I need to pay the diner after this,” I whine, playing up the drama. Sometimes it works. You miss all the shots you don’t take, right?
Wrong move. Guy-from-Lost begins yelling and shaking his gun angrily. “I don’t have to take shit from you!” He roars, causing everyone’s already-contorted bodies to shrink even smaller than previously thought possible. “I’m in control here! So fuck you!”
Gunshot. Everyone screams.
A splash of water on my face. I lick it despite myself. Kinda salty. I begin to feel weirdly violated by this. Note to self, delete those bookmarks before the brother comes to my place this weekend.
The man looks at his gun in disbelief. More water squirts out of the barrel as he pumps the trigger (just stop with the innuendo already, Jesus). He begins to weep, sinking onto the floor as he does so.
I hop off the stool and pick him up. Obviously-homeless-guy is in shambles, now wailing uncontrollably, tears and snot all over his face. I try not to stare.
He takes my seat. This sends an invisible signal for everyone to get up from the floor. What once was a herd of terrified mice is now slowly becoming a gang of vengeful cats.
“Fucking robbing pussy!” Yells a man in a suit.
“I want my money back!” Shouts another lady.
“I was supposed to meet my wife but now I’m late,” someone mumbles.
I shush them all. “This man,” I point to the sobbing bearded mess, “is going through a hard time. How many of you have lashed out at the world when nothing was going your way?”
“I didn’t try to kill anyone, buddy,” someone from the crowd replies.
I nod. “I know. But hey, we’ve all wanted to. He just has the balls to do it.”
Silence. Then a chorus of *get the fuck out*s began to play.
Time to leave. I drag the man out of the diner, grabbing a plate along the way.
The noise goes away as we walk down the street, replaced by the peaceful calm of the morning. Well, not entirely. The man beside me is still sniffling, empty-handed. I decide not to ask about his gun.
We stop at a secluded alleyway. “I’m just going to leave you here, man,” I say, preparing to leave.
“Wait.” He was on his knees, pleading. “I’m… sorry for what I did.” He says.
“I know.” Nobody robs a diner for the thrill of it, after all. “Take care of yourself.”
“But that gun. H-how?” The man asks. Gears are working super-fast in that head of his, now.
I look down at the plate I stole. Pristine slabs of waffles lay on it, ready for a deserving mouth.
“No fucking idea. Anyway, take this.” I hand the plate to him and walk off without a word.
“THANK YOU, WAFFLE MAN!” I hear behind me.
I play around with the name. “I’m the Waffle Man, bitch.” I say to myself. A gust of wind blows, as if in approval.
A cool soundtrack begins to play in my mind. *Waffle Man.* Not bad. I like it.
| “You’re not going to pull that trigger, Charlie. Sit down and enjoy some of this coffee with me.” I said. I didn’t think Charlie would sit just yet. But give it time, these things always require time.
Charlie stopped for a second when I said his name. I’m sure he’s confused as shit right now. Good. I work well in confusion. Then he found where he left his balls and charged at me. He put the gun right to my temple, to that soft indentation. I took another bite of my waffle. Damn these were good.
“I’m going to blow the meat right out your eyeballs man!” Charlie said. He tried to sound tough, scary. A movie mobster up against a hired extra.
“Charlie, cut the shit. You aren’t going to ‘blow the meat’ out of anything. You and I both know why too. Because now you’re thinking. If you were going to do it, it would have been on impulse. And we are well beyond impulse now, Charlie. Now we are thinking. And that’s good. I need you thinking.”
Charlie wavered. Trying to decide who I was. I smiled as I added the bacon to my next bite of waffle. Seriously, these are good fucking waffles. But enough about the waffles, time’s a wasting.
“How’s your daughter, Charlie?” I said.
Ha! That got him. He actually stumbled a bit right there. Whatever spine he had just got ripped out. Holy shit, I’m good at this.
“Sit.” I said and pointed with my fork. Charlie did although he kept the gun pointed at me, his little security blanket.
“How do you know her? Who’s watching? Is this a big brother thing?” Such stupid questions. But we work with what we are given.
“Big brother? Charlie, you’ve been watching way too much T.V. I thank you for that, makes this easier, I suppose.” Charlie’s breathing hitches, pauses, starts back up. Now he’s listening and that’s just about as perfect as these waffles.
“TV has rotted your brain. Which is why you probably find yourself in the middle of the night at a run down diner like this. Take a look at yourself, man. 25 and already you are a big piece of shit. Oh, makes you feel good that these other people are on the ground. Maybe they are scared just like you. But in ten minutes, no matter what happens, you go back to being a piece of shit. “
Charlie gets red when he sees the truth of what I told him. See, I never have to lie. I just point out the obvious. That’s the trick, that's the rub. I don’t lie, despite what old books may tell you. I tell the truth, painfully so. To the bone truth, undeniable. The truth that makes you realize that in the end, all of you are just small pieces of shit. But useful.
Charlie finally finds his voice. “She’s sick man. Heather’s sick bad. I’ve tried every where. I’ve filled out all the paper those people in the big buildings told me to. They don’t do nothing. They say that I make to much money. Man, what money I got? The doctors take everything. Insurance don’t pay. They say it’s preexisting. Jesus Christ, she’s only 4! What am I supposed to do!”
“Now we are talking, Charlie. Jesus Christ is right. That’s where we want to go. Here, have some of these waffles. They are divine.” I pass over my plate. Charlie doesn’t move to take it.
“A life for a life, Charlie. That’s the deal. Straight up, no strings attached. Heather for someone else. I pick the someone else.” See, nothing but the truth. No fancy words, no contracts written in blood. Just the plain truth.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t matter. I’m just a guy eating waffles telling you that the white blood cells in Heather are about to make an amazing comeback. If you think. If you listen. If you don’t? Well, this place has really good waffles. Maybe they will give you a job.”
“I don’t understand,” Charlie said. Of course he doesn’t. He never could. If he could then we wouldn’t be right here. I’m asking him to end the world, the whole she-bang. All of it in one go. If he could understand that then I wouldn’t be eating these waffles. I would have gone and found someone else.
“Don’t worry about understanding, Charlie. I don’t need you to understand. I need you to do. That’s it. And I’ll tell you why. Because you are expendable. You are a nothing. A 25 year old mechanic whose only ambition in this world is to fix a broken piston. And take care of Heather. Make sure she’s ok. Make it so she has a better shot at life than you do. That’s the only reason we are talking, Charlie. Because you are a throwaway. But maybe you can mean something to someone else. That’s your choice.”
He doesn’t answer right now and I don’t expect him to. He still doesn’t get it. They never do. He’s confused and I told you, that’s where I work best. Time to show him my bonafides.
Time stops. The people on the floor go still. The whimpering chorus hushes. The waitress that was inching her way to the phone freezes. Now it’s just me and Charlie. This universe is mine. My wings come out. Black, scorched, scarred. Micheal took a chunk out of the right one and it still stings. And although they aren’t as pretty as they used to be, they make for some damn fine theatrics.
Charlie wants to scream. I let him. He tries to move. I keep him still.
“Listen, Charlie and listen close. There is a 12 year old boy. Part of a group of migrant farmers out in California. A nobody, like you. He’s got no future, just like you. But get rid of him and then maybe Heather does have a future. That’s it. Not to bad. Maybe a farming accident. That’s the deal.”
Charlie is whimpering. Tears are coming down his cheeks and I think I want to smack him around a little bit. “Have some self-respect man. Jesus Christ!” I laugh at my own joke. Charlie doesn’t.
I take a set of car keys out of my pocket. I slide them over to the table to him. I throw him my wallet. Enough plastic and money in there to get him where he needs to be. I give him an address and a name. It’s a 13 hour drive to where he needs to be. I put my wings away.
“Take them, Charlie. A life for a life. Heather for him. After all, what has he ever done for you? Heather still gonna die, Charlie. If you do nothing, she’s a goner. Four years old. She won’t even be remembered. Take the keys and leave. No one here will remember you if you do. Hell, keep the gun. Maybe you can use it but I think you are going to have to get more creative.”
I take a sip of the coffee which turns out is no where as good as the waffles. I walk away, open the door and into the blackness of the night. Before I go I yell back at Charlie.
“Your choice, Charlie. Make it. I’m not going to wait for another 2000 years.”
Charlie takes the keys. | 2017-09-04T21:34:30 | 2017-09-04T20:57:18 | 108 | 31 |
[WP] Genie: aah, that's... an unusual wish, are you sure?... I mean, it's doable but... you sure you don't want something else? Like richness, or eternal life? Cos this is going to... and all the paperwork. But ok, if that's your wish, well, your wish has been granted | The Genie sighed, clearly disappointed that I'd turned down his alternative offer. "You may now proceed."
I nodded.
I quickly drew my own blade and disemboweled myself. As the light faded from my eyes, I whispered one last prayer for a better life.
"..Wish granted, I guess." The genie muttered, pulling out the first of many stacks of paperwork. Reincarnation deals were always such work, but how was he going to explain reincarnating somebody as their own son? This was going to take forever... | 'Hey Genie, how long is this gonna take man.'
'Listen fool, by the time you leave this cave your wish would come into effect and even I will not be able to reverse the change so I beg you to change it.'
'This is the greatest wish Genie and I will go down in history. MUHAHAHAHHAHAHA.'
'Alright sir your wish has been granted, reluctantly of course. So you may now leave.'
I stayed back for a hot second to ensure I hadn't been tricked and moments later the Robin Williams in his voice started to fade away during his excaimation of resentment towards me and ever so slightly had begun to be replaced by an entracing dominant shrill. Simultaneously, his body twisted and contorted mangling upon itself before unraveling to show beautiful blue curves. 'YES!' I thought to myself and stormed out of the weathered depth. Once outside, I swam through the waterfall which hid this cave which was now filled with the wailing and curses of the Genie. I hadn't completely believed that he was Genie until the moment he transformed but I guess it didn't hurt to play it safe. Like a torpedo, I swam towards the boat and rushed to find my way out of this twisted forest towards Atlanta. I had to see this happen to a big city myself. 'Turn all humans to smoking hot females but let me remain as a dude.' I said to 'him'. The sun was creeping out over the horizon now and gentle orange gleamed on the shore. 'No time to gaze at sights.' I rushed to my Jeep and drove the rest of the way to Atlanta. If Genie hadn't taken up hipster clothing I would have believed him, it's his fault that he got dragged into this. By noon I reached a 7-11 and no one was there. 'Strange.' I whispered to myself. Guess no one would want to go outside now. As I toured the souless city, I could see the lights shining bright out of houses all over yet no one responded to my calls. I reached my hotel and stumbled inside feeling defeated as I hadn't been greeted by a receptionist. In the restaurant sipping a bottle of water, 'A HOT CHICK!' She turned to face me and I walked upto her ear and whispered 'You're looking at the last man on Earth babe.'
She laughed. The arrogance baffled me. She pulled me in and whispered back 'I'm lesbian.' Grossed I escape towards my room. Entering the elevator I see two girls making out. Must be my lucky day. I enter my room and peel back the curtains to peer at other houses with my binoculars. 'Cowabunga...' I murmured. ALL OF THEM WERE MAKING OUT WITH EACH OTHER. | 2018-08-05T03:48:10 | 2018-08-05T03:37:23 | 43 | 28 |
[WP] As you die, your soul doesn’t ascend to heaven like you thought it would. Instead you feel yourself moving downwards, until you find yourself in Hell. The Devil looks surprised. You’re the only person who has ever been sent to him. | “What have you even done!? Any huge crime or terrible acts throughout life? Not even I am sure what would qualify for this anymore!” He says. I look around at the empty pits of fire, not only must I endure such burning, but it was also my fate to suffer *alone?* “I-I didn’t do anything!” I say weakly. “Haven’t harmed anyone, I don’t commit crimes, I worked hard at my job in EA-“ “Ah! That explains it!” The devil proclaims, cutting me off and throwing me into the deepest pit of the underworld. | I was a great person, well, relatively speaking that is. I did most everything you would expect of a great person at least. I volunteered at local shelters as a kid. As I grew older I became the head of a research team tasked with curing the incurable. We treated cancer patients and formulated the cure for it too. Our patented machines could undo years of alzhiemers without any surgery. My team made great strides in the medical field, but we also bypassed the rules once...
That incident wasn't my fault. Thus it shouldn't have landed me here, but here I am, alone with satan himself. His manner was off putting somehow. His worn leather jacket and ripped jeans made me feel as though I was dropped into some wierd "Grease" fanfic. In which Danny had somehow became the king of the underworld.
"What in God's good name did you do to get down here!" Satan started.
I responded with the typical, " I don't belong here, I'm a good person I swear."
His face went from horrified to relaxed suprisingly quickly. "So why are you here."
I honestly have no idea, but satan wanted something more than that, his inquisitive look said it all. "Maybe this is were all the good people go, and God has just gotten soft on everyone." I said jokingly.
This broke the ice just enough for satan to give a little giggle. He raised from his chair and stode across the stone floors. He stopped almost dead in front of me and stuck out his hand. "I'm lucifer, but you probably already knew that. Call me satan, what is your name?"
His friendlyness was a bit of a shock. You would expect the king of hell to be brutal and horrifying, but he was just the opposite." I'm Dr. Jonathan Wiltford, pleasure to meet you satan."
He grabbed my hand and gave a firm business handshake. I had to cut the shake short however since his hand were sizzling hot.
"I think you'll like it here, that is if you appreciate having one hell of an afterlife!" Satan shouted. His words echoed throughout the cavern. As the last echoes fell into the distance and the ground began to shake. Soon I was propelled into an empty set of "Footloose". Satan appeared along with all the main characters and the trademark footloose song to play. We all danced till the song ended.
"So did you have fun." Satan began
"Of course I did, always enjoy a classic." I said, somewhat out of breath. A Cheshire grin appeared on his face.
"Great then, here in hell I have power to control whatever I want. Now that your here, I finally have someone to enjoy that with." | 2018-10-25T20:21:50 | 2018-10-25T20:15:08 | 44 | 21 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that?" Jaya turned and looked in the direction his friend had been glancing, but saw nothing but the flat armor of his ship, the *Sunrise.*
Elvoss looked sheepish for a moment. "It's nothing. Just... your ship makes me nervous, okay? I want to keep an eye on that thing. What if someone walked off with it?"
"Walked off with a spaceship." Jaya gave his friend a flat look. "Just stroll into the busiest port in the system and steal a freighter."
"Or a part of it. A fuel rod or something." Elvoss continued, when his friend still failed to react. The crystals around his neck flickered unsteadily, a common reaction when a magic-user was startled or nervous.
"Look, I know it's not reasonable, but it gives me the willies to see that sort of power just *sitting* there. You humans grew up with that sort of thing, but anyone else in the galaxy..."
"Other people didn't grow up with the concept of parking lots?"
"Other people didn't grow up with the idea of *masterless power.* Look, let me give you a Magic 101 lesson."
Elvoss reached into his tunic and pulled out an amulet, giving it a pulse of energy as he did so. A ghostly image appeared in front of him, resembling a bird spreading its wings.
"That's your skiff, right? *Skydancer?*
"Yes. And believe it or not, this is the only part it needs to work. With enough mana I could take off and fly from a standing start."
Jaya tilted his head curiously. "So, what's that big brass number in your hangar, then?"
"Material components. I *could* conjure the entire skiff from thin air, but the power cost would be off the charts."
Elvoss held the amulet and concentrated, the crystals studded across his body blazing with light. A pointed triangle of light, resembling the nose cone of his craft, appeared in front of him. Then it faded away, and the elf sighed with relief.
"The *Skydancer* is entirely my own power. It's a spell I created in my mind, and all the amulets and crystals and brass wings are just a scaffolding for that spell. Nobody else can fly her, unless they copy my spell exactly, and that doesn't happen. Every mage has their own style."
Elvoss pointed at the sunburst symbol on the ship parked behind them. "*That*, on the other hand, is a masterless machine. Anybody can walk in, turn it on, and fly away. A toddler could do it, if they managed to pull the right levers."
The alien clapped his hands together. "That's Magic 101. Magic is personal. Science is something that anyone can use."
Jaya smiled. "Makes me proud of what my species can do."
"Yeah, well, it *terrifies* anyone else. If a magician has a dangerous spell, you just have to keep an eye on one person. But if a scientist is causing trouble, *anyone* can do what they do. What are you supposed to do against that? Your species has put a quantum reactor in every port, just waiting for someone who's clever enough to steal it."
"Well, we humans know about security too. My ship is locked up tighter than a drum. So don't worry about..."
As they watched, the *Sunrise* shuddered as its engine rumbled to life. Running lights lit up along its length.
"... you've gotta be kidding me."
They rose from their seats and started running. "Stop that ship!" | INTERCEPT OF QUANTUM FLUCTUATION COMMUNICATION PATTERNS
TRANSLATION SERVICES PROVIDED BY UNITED EARTH SIGINT SERVICES
​
TRANSLATOR NOTES:
USG refers the Universal Substrate Gaia.
Disconnects is their slang term for non-magic users.
Czyraks are a type of pet on most planets.
Soltrap is some sort of magical Dyson Sphere they use for sanctions.
​
— BEGIN TRANSLATION —
​
TRANSCRIPT OF VOTE DISCUSSION 2435.B-4
AT THE 32ND SESSION OF THE GALACTIC GENERAL ASSEMBLY
​
<AMBASSADOR GHYZX> Representatives of the assembly, I come before you a humble servant of the USG. We have lived in harmony for eons, but now that harmony is threatened. Threatened by a race of lowers. A vulgar people who refuse to become in-tune with the universe, and instead use machines to warp it, bend it, hurt it, and make a mockery of all we hold dear. This vote is a vote to preserve the very peace that binds us all together. When their ships approached, we all felt the universal fabric.
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: anger from multiple sources>
&#x200B;
<UNKNOWN> They’re forrest animals that don’t know their place!
<AMBASSADOR TYRQ> That’s enough of that! We will have order in these proceedings!
<GHYZX> Thank you prime overseer, but the sentiment is correct. There is a natural order to the universe. A hierarchy of beings based on their ability. If disconnects were allowed to change things to their will, chaos would ensue. Our entire civilization would crumble. Voting yes is the only moral and just option.
<TYRQ> Ambassador Comstak asked to speak and so will be allowed.
<COMSTAK> Should we not allow the humans to participate in these proceedings?
<TYRQ> Comstak, you are on a very short leash. I will not have disconnects participate in official meetings. We wouldn’t teach a Czyrak to communicate and ask it to defend messing on the floor.
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: laughter>
&#x200B;
<COMSTAK> We do not know what they are capable of. If they have mastered FTL without magic, who knows what weapons they have. Would it be not best to speak with them and avoid conflict?
<TYRQ> Their spirt cleaves as easy as any other. They should have stayed in that pit they call a solar system. I will not debate with servants who do not serve. And I do not debate with servants, so they have NO STANDING HERE!
<COMTAK> I have sources that say they are developing machines that can communicate via the substrate and that means…
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: shock and horror.>
&#x200B;
… listening to this very gathering. This proposal is blasphemous. Who knows what effects it will have with our connection to the USG! Peace lead the way!
<MANY VOICES> Peace lead the way.
<GHYZX> Peace will always lead the way, but they do not lead with peace. They lead with machines. Machines! A toilet has a deeper connection to the universe.
<COMTAK> Would not a Soltrap be a better solution? Allow them the time to grow and learn.
<GHYZX> You do not quarantine a virus. You eradicate it.
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: general agreement>
<COMTAK> My system will not be party to war!
<GHYZX> War assumes that one side can fight! We act quickly! We act now! Then we can be assured of the outcome!
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: 50% agree / 50% dissent>
&#x200B;
<TYRQ> We’ll take an official vote and see where we stand. All in favor mass cleave of the human race, say YEAH.
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: 55% YEAH>
&#x200B;
<TYRQ> Let the record show the majority of the assembly…
&#x200B;
***<SUBSTRATE SQUELCH>***
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: confusion>
<GHYZX> By the universe! Was that them?
<TYRQ> Is that what a disconnect feels?
<COMTAK> It was only the gathering communications, but yes…
&#x200B;
***<SUBSTRATE SQUELCH>***
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: fear>
<EARTH REPRESENTATIVE SINGH> Dear members of the galactic assembly. We have been able to review some of your history. When it comes to war, you seem to be out of practice. We have developed the ability to inhibit all communications. Earth would like to offer negotiations to prevent further escalation of hostilities.
&#x200B;
<QUANTUM NOISE: 100% YEAH>
&#x200B;
<SINGH> Accepted.
&#x200B;
\-- END TRANSLATION —
&#x200B; | 2019-01-18T12:33:07 | 2019-01-18T11:08:22 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] Every morning since the dawn of time, a deity has had to redraw the world’s coastlines. Luckily, he’s very consistent. Today you’re filling in for him. Hopefully your 6th grade geography class pays off | How did I get roped into this again? Oh yeah. Dad.
“Take your child to work day” was not working out the way I had hoped. Sure I was getting to skip algebra and world history but someone stuck me in an office and walked away.
A map laying on the desk and I walked over too it looking down. Something was a bit off, but I wasn’t sure what. A box of colored pencils lay next to it, and the artist inside me welled up. I’m sure whoevers map it was, they could just print another. It was blank anyways.
I rifle through the colors, picking out a nice dark shade of blue. I start to shade in the deepest part of the ocean. I added a few swirls in, just to spice things up. I picked a lighter shade for the water near the coasts. As I start to shade around the continents I realize what’s been off with the map since I first saw it. The borders are off. Much larger than they are in real life.
I decide to just go off memory. No way am I going to make Florida look like a balloon hanging off the states like the map has.
Satisfied with my oceans, I move onto the land. I got more than a little creative with that. Jungles in Kansas, a desert in Alaska. I just did whatever looked good.
Finally, once the map was complete, I started adding in creatures. I put a kraken near New Zealand. A herd of Centaurs in China, a Dragon in the mountains of Colorado.
Satisfied with my creation, I packed the colored pencils back in their little box. I picked up the map, rolling it carefully and headed for the door.
I couldn’t wait to show dad!
Getting into the hallway, red lights and a siren were going off. I was more than a little surprised, as until a moment ago, I hadn’t heard anything.
People were rushing up and down the hallway, and a little scared, I joined the rush. I knew where dad’s office was, I just needed to get there.
It seemed like everyone was on their way to dad’s office. I heard people screaming about a tsunami about to hit england, and something about a tornado in Brazil.
Getting into his office was another issue. There was a line that went down several hallways. I cut in front of people, and when one person tried to shoo me off, I crocodile tears them into pitying me. That got me really moving to dad’s office.
“Dad! Look at this picture I colored!” I shouted as I entered the room.
“Thea I don’t have -” he paused looking up.
His face paled. Uh oh. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to touch that after all.
“Is something wrong dad?” I ask, unsure. I hate getting in trouble with dad.
“Where did you get that?” he asked weakly.
“In the office you stuck me in this morning.”
“Oh.” He frowned, then stood, “Someone get Mastuvis in here! He has something to fix!”
I noticed a TV with the news on behind my dad. It was showing … A dragon? In Colorado. Oh no.
That was the day I found out my dad was a god. And that I was a halfling. Oops.
r/LandOfMisfits | Look, I get that people are still mad, but it's not my fault. How well would *you* have done? If anything, we should take this as a sort of pantheon-wide object lesson on the dangers of nepotism. Oh, sure, call it hereditary monarchy all you like. It's still a stupid bullshit idea that puts random people into positions of power they're not ready for.
Oh, you want a statement? Gonna scapegoat me now, after all these years? What, you get tired of blaming the poor god of the Underworld? I know people don't like death so he's an easy target, but it really is pretty dickish the way you clouds-and-mountain-top types treat the guy. Guess the mortal diviners figured out he's not actually responsible for the whole thing, so now you need to explain yourselves. Fine. I'll tell them. But I'll tell them live, no twisting of the message to make yourselves look good. Especially from Dad.
What's this? Oh, of course. The Shackles of Truth. Gonna make sure they're visible on me? Okay, okay. That's fine, that's just fine. Cute that you think the truth is likely to make you look good. I'm honestly kind of surprised that he went along with— Oh, hey Dad. Sure, I've been fine in the, what, seven years since you last saw me? Yeah, thanks for the birthday cards that all got inexplicably lost, how are you enjoying the Chainbinder's company? Maybe don't bother with all the struggling, it doesn't look like it's costing him much effort to keep you like that.
Okay, good. Since Dad's not in any position to protest, let's start with him. Hey, mortal peoples of the world. My name's Korvin. My Dad's not one of the nice gods. I mean, he's not really one of the evil gods either, he doesn't really go around cursing people or forcing himself on mortal women. But, uh, he does *really really* like mortal women. Loves them, he'd probably say, but I'm not sure "love" is a concept he really understands. He's not really hateful either, not quite evil, like *I'd* probably say. Like I'm absolutely saying right now. Quit thrashing, Dad, you're only making things worse for yourself.
Anyway, usually he takes precautions in his little dalliances. I'll give him that, he's not quite in the habit of leaving divine bastards all over the globe like some of these assholes standing behind me. No need for the murmuring, I know they're pissed, I don't need to turn around. They shouldn't have put the Shackles of Truth on me if they wanted to get all bent out of shape. The legends are true, no retaliation can be made for anything said while wearing them, and deities are extra-bound to obey that kind of rule. I'll be fine, just not invited to any of their shitty parties. Whatever.
So obviously Dad's precautions failed him at least once, because, you know, *me.* I think he probably got really drunk and just forgot, or...no, I'm not going to speculate any further. Mom's a nice lady who just happened to fall for a divine douchebag when she was younger, she deserves some privacy. She didn't tell me about Dad because she didn't really know. She said he was wealthy and insanely handsome and that he ran and left us once it became clear she was in a family way. Tale as old as time, especially in the run-down part of town I grew up in, where she struggled to make ends meet.
Thanks for that too, Dad! I'm sure there's nothing you could have done, it's not like there was anything within your, you know, power. Kudos to Mom, though, there was always food on the table and clothes on my back, even if they were a little frayed and second-hand. I knew I was loved. That's more than a lot of kids get. When I was about seven she met a nice man who I still call Dad for real. Hi, Real Dad! Things got a bit easier.
Then I turned twelve, and the Messenger showed up for me.
I guess Not-Real-Dad went on a Very-Much-Real bender around that time, and all these fine, totally functional and mature personalities standing behind me were getting panicky because they couldn't find him and the world was going to have to be re-formed with the Long Dawn. Dad had been missing for like seventeen Moon-Days and the Sun was getting close to setting. I was kind of excited for the whole ceremony and spectacle, I could only remember one previous sunset and dawn. Seeing the world renewed, that's always something else, isn't it?
Only now the God of Shores wasn't around to do his part. There was just me. His heir. Apparently I'd inherited his powers and no one had ever told me until then. So, you know, I did my best. I wish they'd come for me earlier so I had more time to study the maps. I wish I'd taken my Geography classes more seriously. I really am sorry about that. I, uh, know you all are too. Hey, at least the God of Cities made sure no one ended up underwater. No one actually got hurt.
And seriously, be honest, even if you're not wearing these damn Shackles yourself. How well could you have done, at that age?
&#x200B;
r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. | 2019-04-04T06:17:04 | 2019-04-04T06:08:15 | 310 | 40 |
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow. | The singing was nice. It calmed the cows and showed a bit of compassion to them before they died. If I didn't know any better I'd say the singer was one of mine. The owner of the singing was nice too. She knew just where to cut so the death was quick and painless. Very dignified for a cow if you ask me.
I watched the butcher with interest. She didn't know I was there but how could she? Downside to being an all powerful being is that unless I present myself, I am to remain unseen and generally unheard. A nudge here and there is fine. A bright sunbeam on a depressing day, a surgeon fixing that super tricky artery, a singer finally hitting that high note that they had been trying months to master. All of those are me doing what I do.
In this case, once this final cow slides into oblivion, I will finally be able to show myself to the woman who has been gifting me cows for gods know how long. It's a reward for being loyal and generous and yada yada. Zeus was being very egotistical when he created that rule. Back in the day, people were constantly giving us things. Now, not so much. Thunderbutt actually hates me because I'm getting all the offerings. All thanks to this butcher.
There, the final cow is gone. The words whispered "For Apollo." It is time for me to reward the human now. I check my outfit and tone the godly glow down to its dimmest. No need to blind the lady with my awesome god powers. Deep breath. Okay here we go.
I appear behind the woman. "Hello, due to your generous offerings, you now have the pleasure of meeting the one who you have been offering to. Name's Apollo."
The woman turned and gave me a beautiful smile. Her eyes were a midnight blue and a tattoo of a bow and arrow aiming towards the moon could be seen peeking from her shirt sleeve.
"Well, it's about time brother. I wasn't sure if you were ever going to show." | "For Apollo," I whispered as I slide the blade into the soft beating heart of a docile cow.
I have never been a fan of the killing, but I would do anything for the meat. Years of incredible business and a steady income make anything worthwhile enough, but I can't imagine losing the free leftovers I get to take home for doing the dirty work.
I'm not sure when I started "offering" these animals to an eternal being. I was never any good with mythology, but I remembered the name Apollo so he seemed as fitting as anyone to offer the life of these creatures. It was a nice distraction as I watched the life and blood drain from the wound I left behind. For some reason, though, today felt ... Different. Like something was watching me as my face twisted to say those two strange words. I wasn't alone in an otherwise empty barn. Eyes dug into the back of my neck forcing small beads of sweat to run down my back.
I saw nothing but felt something.
I continued my work, cleaned the mess, and delivered the severred sections of cow to my coworkers to prepare for the oncoming crowd excited for a special Sunday dinner.
I continued the process for a few more unfortunate animals before my shift ended and I started the slow walk home. I finally shook the eerie feeling from the barn so the warm rising sun felt nice on my tired body.
My day went along as usual, so I started to whistle a little tune on my walk back to help prepare the butcher shop for another busy morning. To my surprise, no sweet sound escaped my lips. I could speak, but could not sing. I could grunt and make all throat noises, but could not hum. As hard as I tried it seemed no music could escape my lips.
I brushed it off as being too tired and continued along the path. A second cup of coffee on the way out the door would have been smart before a long evening of work.
When I arrived at the shop, my coworker mentioned some odd noises around the barn.
Strange.
I started to walk out the door when a putrid smell met my nose.
"10,000" was written in blood across the front of the barn with swarms of flies surrounding it.
I panicked and ran to find what had died for this horrible display but found no bodies and all animals were safely in their homes. Who would do such a thing? And who would be capable?
I hung my head in confusion and walked back towards the shop prepared to call the police.
"Mooo!"
A cow must have gotten out. Another problem to deal with. I rubbed the sweat from the back of my neck and slowly turned to suddenly by blinded by the bright sun. How had I not noticed it hadn't set yet? Why was it so bright in the sky so late?
When my eyes adjusted I was shocked to see a massive herd of cows standing silently and still staring at me. There had to be at least a couple thousand. One stepped forward, raising it's head in defiance at me. I would recognize those markings anywhere. The soft brown ring around the right eye, and the strange mark along it's back. This was the cow I slaughtered this morning. But how?
A booming voice echoed through the air. "Why have you mocked me so? You take the creatures I held dear and slaughter them in my name."
I fell to the ground as sharp pains shot through my body.
"With the help of Helios, who protected my dear ones for countless years, we shall make you suffer for your wrong doings."
I went to wipe the tears from my eyes but was struck with a hard, sharp boney protrusion in place of my hand. My entire body bent and twisted in the most painful ways.
"You will be the final offering. The 10,000th sacrifice in my name. You will drop the final drop of blood ending this grand offence to my name. Music, joy, night ... Anything you held dear. They will never greet you again."
I had no concept of time once the pain settled and my eyes began to clear. I just helplessly watched as my coworker slid the blade into my chest and my life slipped from the open wound.
(First post here... Sorry for formatting issues or typos!) | 2019-07-09T08:22:55 | 2019-07-09T07:47:44 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings. | "So I'm not allowed to remember anything after this is over?"
"My answer is never going to change. Be grateful your memories come back everytime you see me."
I shrugged and got him a bottle from the fridge. He wedged his boney finger underneath the cap and popped it open. He reached for mine but I had already unscrewed it.
"Twist-top my dude."
He paused and stared at the bottle in my hand. He then took a gulp from his beer. "So how was your week?"
"So...you know that girl at the pet shop?"
"No but you've mentioned her before."
"I asked her out on Tuesday"
"Heyyy thats what im talking about!" His grin was genuine and cheerful.
I took a sip and drummed my fingers against the bottle. "So i went out with her on Wednesday, i took her to the steakhouse."
"That's a nice place, they actually know how to cook their food."
I took a longer sip of beer. "Their steak is delicious. I asked for rare."
"Rare? Thats too much blood."
I laughed. "Oh is that too much for you, Mr. Death?"
"Yea i bet you think that's pretty humerus."
"There's nothing wrong with a grim joke."
"Please, now you're killing *me*." He kept chucking and downed the his beer.
"Aha...we're not funny."
"No we are not."
The distant sound of lawn mowing could be heard through the open window. The neighborhood outside was painted a faint orange as late afternoon set in. It was a beautiful day.
"Well apparently she's vegetarian."
Death nearly choked. "Noooooo. No way. She is not!"
I nodded and took another sip. "She is."
He howled with laughter "Man i am so sorry. You shouldve known that was a risk, she does love animals."
I chuckled and downed the last of my beer. "The look on her face. It was like I had just licked the table."
"Ouch. So no more pet store?"
"Of course. Im going out again with her Monday."
"My boy."
"I'm also getting a cat."
"Well that's better than goldfish." He got up from the recliner and walked into kitchen; I could hear the sound of the fridge being pryed open. "Beer run?"
"Dude *I'm dead*."
"Oh yea sometimes i forget. We'll do a Weekend at Bernie's kind of thing."
"Now THAT was funny."
I wasn't really sure if he was serious, but it sounded fun either way. Death was pretty a pretty chill guy, and it was always fun having him around. You'd think I'd hate the actual dying often part
but in reality I look forward to this all week | I blink, and instead of the traffic crossroads I was approaching I was back home. Not my house, but home: I was seated upon a chair in the dining room of the house I grew up in. Everything was familiar enough: the centre piece of the dining table were my mother's prized orchids, gracefully dangling from a lavender pot, the yellow lights dim and the familiar scent of joss sticks filled the room.
And right there infront of me sat Violet Lam, straight out of secondary school. Immaculate, with perfectly braided hair and her fiercely stark white blouse, in place yet out of place in the house she had never visited in the four years of our friendship.
"Hey there." Her voice was an odd cadence, but yet particularly familiar.
"Hey yourself." What could I even say in a situation such as this? This deep feeling of nostalgia and deja vu, yet feeling like nothing was familiar about the situation I was in. "Where am I?"
"Nowhere." A small smile from her, a shy smile I have never associated with the Violet Lam of my memories. "Nowhere important enough for you to know."
"Anyhoo, I just wanted to have a small chat with you. May I?"
"Sure, I guess. Erm, Violet? Can I call you that?"
"Call me whatever you want."
"But you're not Violet? You can't be."
The look she gave me was one you would give to an adored pet, a great deal of tenderness with a pinch of condescension. "Not quite."
"Alright then, Violet. What's up?"
I hear the striking whistling of a kettle, loud and sharp pitched, and while I flinched she continued speaking.
"Okay I know I complain about this every week, but honestly? Getting kind of tired of the repetition."
I have no impression of Violet - the being before me, let alone knowing the contents of her conversations any of the weeks she has spoken.
The whistling stopped. Somehow she was now sipping from a cup of what appeared to be a small cup of chrysanthemum tea.
"It's like, come up with some new ways of dying! There's only so many times I can deal with death from drowning. At least your average victim is capable of holding a conversation..."
And so she spoke on, venting about the terrible week she had working as a Reaper of death, apparently. And I listen. I lean forward, responding appropriately, absorbing the stories of the girl I had met for the first time in my life an hour ago.
She was considerate, thankfully. Did not speak for too long, and at some point I found myself with butter cookies in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. By the time she was done, The white porcelain plate inbetween us was empty of cookies. Somehow, my mother's orchids had wilted.
"It could have been better, I guess, but at least it was better than last week's absolute disaster with the chihuahuas. And ah-"
Behind her, the hands of the clock hung up on the wall begun to spun rapidly, clockwise, as though only just registering the passage of time that had happened.
"Hm, three hours. Did I take too long this time?"
"Well, I have no idea how long you took the previous time."
"True, true."
"I think I'll give you a lift home. You were on your way back anyway." She mutters, closing her eyes as though focusing hard.
I studied her features: what a perculiar person. I have to remember them, don't I? How could I have ever forgotten someone like her?
She opened them briefly, and pouted.
"You know, its rude to stare."
"Sorry..."
"Its okay," she laughs. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me for all the complaining."
"Well.." I hesitate, but decide to speak my mind. "I really didn't mind it?"
"Really?" Her eyes widened, her genuine shock exaggerated, like that of a child's.
"Really." I say, and I mean it.
She smiles, a genuine smile, and the orchids seemed to regain a bit of their colour. "This is why you're my favourite."
"Your favourite...?"
"Doesn't matter. Our time is up. Its time to wake up." She approaches me, and tipping her toes a little, she whispers, "I'll see you again next week."
She presses a gentle kiss against my right cheek, and when I blink I was in my house, with its white lights and purple walls and the scent of clean laundry.
And so I wake up, awake but dreaming, my head filled with nothing but yellow lights and the faint scent of tea and orchids. Thinking of nothing in particular. How odd. To be thinking of that girl I was good friends with back in school- What was her name again?
And so I continue about my daily business, the existence of the reaper tucked away. Forgotten. At least for now. | 2020-01-31T08:23:34 | 2020-01-31T08:05:16 | 63 | 23 |
[WP] There's a door with a single key hole - it will open regardless of what key is used. All keys open this door, but what's on the other side, however, entirely depends on the key. | The man who had sold me the house was the son of the man who had built the house, and in the last days, he handed me a key and said, "My father told me to give this to you. And he told me to tell you that even though all keys open the door, only one key - this key - will truly work."
But I didn't use the key right away. I wanted to see if the door would open to any key, and it did. Everytime I opened the door, I saw another room. I loved seeing the different rooms and loved not knowing what room I would see next. In time, I forgot about the key that the homeowner had given to me.
Years passed, and I got tired of looking at different rooms, but for some reason I continued to do it, lost in the repetitive monotony of habit.
More years passed and habit turned to addiction. I began stealing keys from family and friends.
Though it was a different room each time, it was still just that - a room - each time. Just a new variation. I was doing and seeing the same thing, but expecting a different result. Something besides a room.
Many more years passed, and I was feeling empty. I lost my job, spending hours in the street looking for keys rather than going to work. I finally decided to use the key I was given, but I had lost it. Shortly after that, I got arrested for breaking into a key shop. And shortly after that, I was notified by the bank that there was a real possibility I could lose my house at the end of the month.
I started selling items in the house in order to stall the bank and to pay for lawyer fees and court fees. I had sold everything I could sell, and there was nothing else I could do.
Then the front door rang, and a woman I had seen at plenty of yard sales handed me a key, and said, "Sorry to stop by uninvited, but my son found this in one of the jackets I bought from you and I thought you might need it."
It was the key that the homeowner's son had given me.
I used it to open the door, and on the other side was a room, but this time there was also a man in there.
He looked over and smiled. "You finally used the key, huh? About time. What took you so long?"
I couldn't speak.
"I've been hearing you've been some trouble lately. You don't how badly I've been wanting to help, and how long I've been waiting for you to come to me. Here." He handed me a suitcase. "That should get rid of the bank, and I'll call the judge tomorrow and have your case dismissed. He's a good friend of mine."
I still couldn't speak.
He smiled and patted my shoulder. "Don't worry, son, I get this reaction a lot. I have tons of houses all over the world and I go through the exact same thing. I give people the key to get to me, but they want to do it their own way."
"I'm sorry." I don't know why, but it felt like the right thing to say.
"Listen, go handle your business," he said. "Anytime you want to talk, just use the key right there and I'll be waiting right here." | [Part 1 of 2]
A door that will lead you to an unknown destination. Many scholars spoke about its magic, but I never believed the tales. I was a man of science and science rarely mixes well with farfetched tales, yet the shimmering glow of its golden doorframe was unmistakable, a keyhole awaiting a key, beckoning me to unlock it.
I hesitated, constantly looking over my shoulder, grimacing as the hot pain swirled through my stomach, the markings of a deep knife wound cut into my shirt. What option did I have? I needed to run or get slaughtered. My pursuers would be after me soon. Whatever remained on the other side had to be more friendly than the angry soldiers. Still, I couldn’t believe it. The legends were true.
My hand rested on the frame, feeling the intense power running throughout, showing itself in small vibrations that teased my hand. “The door finds those who can use its services.” That never made sense to me. Surely anyone has a key. What other requirement is there to use the door? My awe of the door vanished as heavy footsteps descended into my basement.
“What the bloody hell is that? A magic door? Told you he was working with the witches.” The soldier readied his blade, the men at his side pausing, experiencing that same awe I had felt recently.
“I am a man of science; I don’t believe in magic.” It felt stupid to say such a thing. Magic was the only word I could use to describe the door. I was just so used to screaming that phrase in my defense as they chased me down the streets. Saying anything different felt wrong.
As I spoke, my fingers searched for a key, finding my house key in my pocket. Inserting it into the keyhole, twisting it. When the door opened, the heavy footsteps thumped down the remaining stairs, nearly catching me, missing me by a moment as I pushed through the golden abyss. As my body passed through the door, the area behind me shut, leaving me in darkness for a moment before a room flashed into existence.
“Ah, dearest nephew, you look terrible, how goes your studies? Your mother did mention you were becoming famous, clearly famous enough that someone tried to take a piece of you with them.” He gestured to the cut, flashing me a smile.
The room appeared to be a study, rather clean, with only a few odd books disturbing its sterile look. Its wooden furniture far from dated, looking as modern as one could find. The bookshelves towered over me, looming in the study's background. As much as I would have loved to take in the sights, I already felt faint, pulling myself onto one of the nearby chairs, slouching into it.
“Nephew? I don’t think we have met. How would I know someone that lives in a magical door?” My hands pushed against the wound, applying pressure as best I could, watching the man snap a book shut, standing from his chair.
He had a skip in his step, looking happy to have some company, wandering over to my side, dressed like a peasant trying to disguise themselves as nobility. Their clothing matching the extravagant red and blues without having that same defining quality.
“Lives in a magical door? No one lives in the door; it simply sends you to a location based on several variants. I don’t fully understand it, but my current theory is that it works based on memories and bloodlines. You must have some memory of being safe here, that would explain why the door chose this in your time of need.”
“Impossible. I don’t even know who you are. My parents would have mentioned a strange uncle if I had one. You are telling me I have been here before? I remember none of it.”
He held his chest, faking a wound of his own. “You wound me, dear nephew. I understand I was distant, but we had some good times together. Do you want some help with that nasty wound of yours? I believe I have a bandage lying around somewhere.”
“A bandage won’t do anything. How can a man with so many books not know something so simple? Help me to a doctor or someone that can help me.”
“You appear in my house and insult me. You are just like your father; It was a joke. A jest to lighten the mood. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Forgive me for being excited.”
Before I could speak, he leaned in close, gripping the area around my wound, his fingers turning blue as he pulled the skin closed, the pain excruciating, causing me to kick at him, but no matter how many times my boot hit his chin, he refused to budge until finally releasing it as the wound shut, leaving me to fall off the chair, onto the floor.
“I would have caught you if you didn’t kick me. I might be the one that needs a doctor now.” He rubbed his fingers over his stubbled chin, wiping away the various dirt marks.
“C-could have warned me.” It was hard to speak. I felt winded, like I had lost all the air in my lungs only to then be repeatedly stomped after it.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nwk8t4/wp_theres_a_door_with_a_single_key_hole_it_will/h19smbq/) | 2021-06-10T05:37:08 | 2021-06-10T05:21:09 | 167 | 33 |
[WP] In a world where reincarnation with a full knowledge of your past life is real, authorities struggle to protect society by keeping the worst criminals and serial killers in prison alive for as long as possible to delay their eventual escape back into society via the reincarnation process. | "Cellblock Alpha Tango Charlie, requesting status on prisoner Three Dash Nine Dash Two. Over."
Vincent checked over his shoulder to the unmoving man in the cell behind him. Richard Myers hadn't moved in the past two days aside from taking shallow assisted breaths, which wasn't a good sign for one of the most prolific serial killers on the Eastern Seaboard.
"Control this is Alpha Tango Charlie. Prisoner status is consistent with last check, over." Vincent clicked his tongue twice without taking his finger off the 'speak' button of the radio. "Alpha Tango Charlie requesting confirmation of the rescheduled extension surgery for Three Nine Two."
Vincent let go of the radio and slotted it back onto its holster on his chest. He'd been the man in charge of Richard since the man had turned one hundred and fifteen. Vincent had a mother die and reach out as a child since he'd taken on the job. Vincent had kids grow up and head off to university since he'd taken the job. Eight friends had gotten married, three had divorced and Vincent had gone from overwhelmed kid to a slightly greying man...
and yet, Richard Myers was still alive and kicking. Granted, he was only kicking because he was tied to so many machines they looked like marionette strings. It almost felt unfair that someone got their life extended by being a heinous man, but it was better than the alternative.
"Cellblock Alpha Tango Charlie repeating request for extension surgery update for Three Dash Nine Dash Two," Vincent said into the radio. It wasn't uncommon for the radios to be busy out here in the grey sea, but Richard Myers certainly had priority.
Silence made Vincent sweat, and Richard laugh.
Well, Richard couldn't laugh, those haunting vocal cords had been pulled out years ago to remove a tumour, and the vacuum oxygen seal around his face was too perfect to let sound reach Vincent, but reality hardly mattered. Vincent felt something wrong, and he could hear Richard laughing behind him.
Myers was one of the most prolific killers of all time because he'd been reincarnated three times in a row. Getting a single chance at reincarnation was astounding. Two was a miracle, and three was a trend. Everyone in the Grey Sea, and certainly Vincent, understood that when Myers died, he was coming back, and catching him was going to be near imp-
Three buzzes on the wrist stole Vincent from his thoughts and the phantom laughter. Vitals were dropping again and the intervention machine, which added adrenaline to Myers system to compensate for the looming reaper was flashing an error message.
Myers was dying.
Vincent swapped to the loudspeaker instead of proper channels, "Alpha Tango Charlie calling for an immediate consult, Dr. Felding to Alpha Tango Charlie NOW." Vincent stopped for a second only to catch three more short buzzes on his wrist. Just as he was about to clarify into the radio another voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Dr. Felding to cellblock Bravo Whiskey Del-"
"Dr. Felding to Kilo Li-
"-November requesting immediate assistance."
Over and over again the loudspeaker blared as systems across the Grey Sea began to fail. The subtle buzz on Vincent's wrist twisted into a manic scream was a warning turned into an alarm.
Vincent threw open the doors to the containment system. Dr. Felding wasn't coming. Nobody was coming, but he had training. He just needed to ensure that the main system stayed online long enough to keep the bastard breathing and help would be on the way at some point.
"Four Two Five Two," Vincent hummed to himself as he typed in the code to grab the emergency epinephrine syringe. He snatched it from the still opening container and typed in a second code to expose some of Myers' skin.
The ancient killed looked up at Vincent with empty but sparkling eyes. He understood what was happening. He knew he was escaping, but Vincent was sure he was wrong. This needle was..
Empty.
The epinephrine had been expended days ago by someone meant to refill the machines and it hadn't been caught by the failsafe, and the same discovery was being made around the Grey Sea. Vincent uselessly jabbed the exposed needle into Richard Myers's leg, just as the killer's sparkling eyes went grey.
Richard Myers's corpse smiled.
/r/Jacksonwrites | “Are you insane? Do you know who you just stabbed? Quick, someone get a doctor to cellblock A, Steve Hankers been stabbed.” I felt the guard wrap his arm around my neck, putting me in a chokehold as he dragged me away from the body of the notorious serial killer, my shiv still firmly stuffed in his sternum.
“I know damn well who I stabbed. That prick tried to kill me. What was I supposed to do?” My words came out with pained wheezes, trying to breathe through the stranglehold. What the hell was I supposed to do? Take one for the team? Wasn’t my fault the guards let him out for a ten-minute walk. They should have known better than to trust the serial killer when he told them he was having breathing issues and needed fresh air.
“The blood of his future victims is on your hands; if he dies, we have another killer on the loose. I hope for your sake he lives; things get nasty for the prisoners that kill one of our top priority inmates.” He said, making his threat known as he dragged me to my cell. Once inside, he spun my body, slamming me face first into the floor.
I was groggy after the hit, struggling to crawl to my bed. Whenever I pulled myself to my knees, they buckled, dropping me back onto the floor before I finally gave in, resting my head until the room stopped spinning. After some time had passed, I gripped the concrete frame of the bed, pulling myself up so I was seated on its edge.
The guard stared at me from the door, saying something that I missed, only catching the movement of his lips before he left, leaving me to nurse my injury. “You selfish prick Hankers.” I grumbled, wishing hell existed so I wouldn’t have to hear about that sick man any longer.
He had the same pattern; he would live a normal life until the age of around twenty. Once he reached that age, he would murder whatever poor set of parents birthed him and go on some type of murder spree. I didn’t know that much about the man, only really about the parent thing. That was the headline after all, and I wasn’t one for reading past the headline. The rest of my information either came from passing conversations or from the various guards stationed here.
You think he would grow bored with it. Was it still even fun for him? Maybe the fact that he couldn’t die made it fun for him? It was like a game that could be played indefinitely. A game of cat and mouse at the cost of surrounding lives. I still didn’t get it, though. I didn’t get any of the top priority people here. Then again, I guess I could have changed my life and didn’t. Only difference is I’m not a serial killer.
In all my past lives, I kept to the same tradition, always falling on the same art of robbery. Sometimes it was carts, other times it was handbags, but mostly it was banks. Banks were where the big boys played, after all. No one ever made a small fortune stealing from a passerby on the street. Banks were also a lot easier on the conscience, sure you were traumatizing some poor worker and that was never good, but at least it wasn’t the teller’s money.
I guess it’s hard to move on from your past lives. It’s kind of like that comfort zone, the only thing that stays the same while the world changes around you. You have one bad day and you’re falling back on a bad habit, falling back on the one thing you know you’re good at. Although how good can I be if I keep getting caught?
That made me laugh, chuckling to myself about the stupidity of it all. At least I wasn’t like them. That was something I could always find comfort in. Maybe in my next life things would be different? You can only have so many bad rolls of the dice, right? So many negligent parents or unstable places? One day I would get to have that ideal rich, spoiled kid life and it would be great.
Maybe that was just a pipe dream, though. Rich people were sly, many putting their money aside for their reborn self, which did sometimes mess with inheritances. Suddenly, those rich spoilt brats are fighting against their reborn father in court over his money. What a world we live in.
It felt like I was so close this time. That’s what made it so frustrating. I had money hidden away. When I got released, I would live comfortably. Hell, I probably would have gone away to Cuba or somewhere and spent my fortune drinking rum and smoking the finest cigars. Now, I was doomed, forced to sit back in a cell and patiently wait for my death while that bastard may have got his freedom.
I hated them. They really made me sick. There was nothing worse than seeing their cold dead face with a wide grin, knowing they would be back soon. That was the thing. They never looked upset when they died. They were always happy; it was like cutting the head off a hydra. You cut them down and they just grow back like mold. All you have done is secure them a faster way to their next spree, while you get punished.
I’m sure in the future they will find a way to force them into eternal life. But for now, the best they can do is keep them as isolated as possible and hope for the best. But some can be cunning, and it only takes one slip up from an officer to grant them their wish.
They floated around the idea of freezing them at one stage, but it must have been considered too risky given it’s not commonly used. I think it had something to do with the person being medically considered dead when frozen. Something they were worried would lead to more unaccounted for serial killers in the future.
Still, I was hoping he survived the ordeal. If he lived, I might get lucky and only get a few added years in my sentence. But if he died, it would be life in prison or an ‘accidental’ death. Seems I would find out soon, hearing the guard’s heavy footsteps approaching my cell door, ready to deliver the news.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-10-08T07:33:56 | 2021-10-08T07:24:19 | 163 | 84 |
[WP] Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth. | “What do you mean ‘happy’?”
Satan gave me an incredulous look.
“The conditions here just don’t get to them like they used to. The five hour days don’t seem to tire them and I overheard one of the sulphur scoopers say that his shack was ‘roomy,” I confessed, slightly afraid of the response.
“I don’t understand! We work them to the bone! The cafeteria sandwiches don’t even have butter! I mean, how do they survive?”
“I don’t understand it either, O’ great lord and master of Hell and all things evil, who -“
“I told you to stop doing that, ‘Satan’ works! Now continue.”
“Sorry sir, I mean, uhh, Satan. I was just thinking, maybe we should bring back the whips?”
“The whips! We’re Hell, not savages! No no, we’ll have to improve the conditions up there,” he gestured timidly upwards, “in order to make here seem worse. I can’t believe it really mind you, I mean the houses don’t even have spare bedrooms!”
“I’ve been told, sir, that none of them even get houses up there! Just apartments and renting!”
His face dropped in a wild disbelief.
“What? The hell have the angels been doing! No no, you must head up there, and sort things out. Fetch Beelzebub and head out.”
“You want me, a demon, to head up to Earth, and improve things?”
“In order to make the comparison to hear worse yes, you’ve got it,” the irony was entirely lost on him, “Talk to a few of the big ones, like Bezos. Get ‘em to raise the wages and such.”
A knot of fear curled in my stomach.
“Bezos! No surely not, I can’t bear him!”
Satan glared at me.
“And who are you taking to?”
“Satan, O’ great lord and master of hell and all things evil, who- oh yes I see it. Fine. I’ll do it, but only for the souls sake.”
“Because we hate them.”
“Because we hate them, yes.”
And with that, me and Beelzebub teleported away to Earth, to make the world a better place. | Me: E-excuse me, Your Malevolence?
Satan: *WHAT!?*
M: I have somewhat of a concern about the way the souls we’re taking in are…
S: Are *what?* Speak, little imp; don’t you dare try my patience.
M: S-sorry, Your Cruelness! New souls entering Hell are not scared or worried anymore!
S: Hah, really? That was your concern? Of course they aren’t as worried. Some people mistakenly *romanticize* us, don’t you know? They believe that since they presently disagree with the way the Bastard on High runs things, that we would treat them well. Of course, those are lies *we* help them believe just to *trap* them down here in the first place. Once they realize the grim reality of their eternal torture, they usually shut right up~.
M: You misunderstand, Your Fearsomeness! They don’t care about any of those things anymore! They even seem happy with our average methods.
S: …go on…?
M: Five hours of menial tasks, enforced by whipping should they ever slack for too long, every single day for all of foreseeable eternity… sound acceptable to them. Relieving even!
S: …*oh*.
M: Just what sort of conditions exist on earth that they may feel this way? Your Vileness, I think we may need to—MMPH!
S: Silence!… So… *that* is what has you concerned…?
M: …
S: …
M: …
S: …heh. HheehehehahahAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Your naïveté knows no bounds, does it not, little imp?
M: Mmmph? Mphmmm—!
S: Up on Earth, particularly amongst the middling economic classes and upwards in society, there is a sort of pandemic of… extreme work conditions. Some centuries back, some people were working whenever they weren’t sleeping! It’s not nearly so extreme now, not in most places anyway, but eight hours as a standard is still much. One would easily assume that less than that, plus seemingly endless free time elsewise, would be merciful… and one would be *shortsighted!*
M: MMPH— *cough*— *sputter*— gah! In what way!?
S: Simple! Despite the hours, living souls have all sorts of entertainment they can share with each other, all sorts of physical items and amenities. Many of which seem to be increasingly complicated methods of storytelling. Now, you see, little imp, here in Hell we provide our enchambered souls with none of these things. Sure, they can potentially wander around, perhaps converse, but besides that, we don’t allow much else. Meaning it’s the work… and nothing. Eventually, a given soul is forced to confront the sheer ennui of their new eternity, regardless of just how *appealing* it sounded at first… and eventually, that soul will crack. It will slip up in its given work, make a mistake, not show up on time, leave when not allowed! And then we get to punish them more directly, bringing out our old fashioned methods as a mockery of discipline, before setting them back to work…
M: …p-pardon my continued intrusion, Your Sinisterness, but is this not rather… arbitrary?
S: Oh, but of course~… but you see, there is some beauty in the horror of being forced into an arbitrary system, one that you might try but always fail to “game” to your advantage. And this also means whenever someone suffers under our more *extreme* methods, they have the added sorrow of it being their own fault. Such is the deeper psychological manipulation of Hell’s labor…
M: …I see! But even then…
S: …even then, what?
M: Even then, most souls I see seem contented. Driven, even. Sure, there is some level of submission to this cycle you describe, outside of the direct torture, people seem largely unaffected!
S: …unaffected!?
M: Yes, Your Terribleness! That happiness I described… it isn’t exclusive to new ones just coming in! Their positive feelings don’t vanish for good! That happiness seems to stay in one form or another throughout everything! The souls still persist!
S: …
M: …
S: …………….*WHAT!?* | 2022-12-28T15:27:25 | 2022-12-28T11:49:30 | 1,252 | 39 |
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible. | Ralph shuffled his cards nervously, again and again until he could convince himself the odds were in his favor, or at least not against him.
A lump appeared in his throat as his opponent cut the deck. He just knew his fate was sealed.
Sweating through his shirt, he took a deep breath and counted to seven.
"Shit. all lands. *Again*". | Again, he shot his finger toward the fridge door. It bolted open and a beer floated gently across the living room into his hands. It had opened itself along the way. He made sure of that. He tapped the beer and doubled the alcohol content once he thought of the effort that would go into getting the next one.
Outside on the street a loud *bang* made itself known through the neighborhood.
*Those kids need something better to do.*
They must have gotten their hands on their mothers' cookbooks again. A few words here and there could be manipulated from an innocent chocolate ganache recipe into a deep, brooding *boom* that filled the streets and made it's way into neighbors' homes.
That is nothing though, compared to what crooks and criminals are using nowadays. Unlocking safes with the pinch of a finger, creating invisible barriers around buildings with the wave of a hand. The only thing he took solace in was the fact that the authorities had the superior abilities. They knew how to crack through the spells of the crooks and shut them down, and they kept it a secret pretty well. A few outliers here and there. A few crooked cops sold a few handy spells to a few hungry criminals, but nothing truly groundbreaking. Even the crooked cops knew the importance of secrecy when it came to government spells.
Overseas the people had hold of some profoundly frightening magic. The kind of magic that only trained professionals should wield. Yet on the television images were shown of lightning bolts coming from kids' fingers and fireballs shot from old mens' mouths. Rebellion was happening and the countries taking part needed it, he supposed. It must have been a part of every country. He was no history major, but to get to be a developed nation you had to have a few wars here and there, he thought as he sucked down the rest of his beer casually snapped his fingers toward the fridge.
Another beer floated toward him but glided by him and hit the television when another *BANG* from the sidewalk distracted him.
He jolted uptight and palmed the bottom of his beer can that was frozen almost magnetically to the television screen and made his way to the front door.
*I'm really gonna let them have it this time.* He thought as he flicked open the front door.
"YOU LITTLE SHITS BETTER FIND SOMETHING QUIETER TO DO OUT HERE SOON, OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE."
The kids scurried away mischievously down the street, and sparks flew from the back of one of the kids' pants.
He smiled and mumbled to himself.
"Smart-ass." | 2014-05-20T17:29:45 | 2014-05-20T14:26:10 | 64 | 29 |
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook. | **Bug ID #5608**
**Name:** Teleporting object arrives at speed
**Severity:** High
**Product:** Teleport
**Reported by:** AP
**Assigned to:** TJ
**Status:** Closed
**Description:** When teleporting over medium to long distances, I arrive with a significant lateral or vertical speed. In some cases, the speed would be enough to be fatal. I have experimentally verified that it becomes perceptible when teleporting distances greater than 5km, and dangerous over distances greater than 100km, with some variation due to direction.
**Steps to reproduce:** Use Teleport with all default settings, source coordinates (51.6753524,-1.2340868) and destination coordinates (52.3590673,13.4065686). Stand at the source coordinates.
**Notes:**
* Closed. Not a bug. -TJ
* What do you mean, not a bug? The documentation says you arrive with the same velocity that you set off with. I certainly wasn't flying through the air when I cast the spell, but I was when I landed. If I didn't have Feather Fall ready, I would have died. How can that possibly be intended behaviour? Reopen this please. -AP
* Were you in a moving vehicle at the time of casting? Teleport does not adjust your speed to account for your surroundings. Teleporting while moving at speed would cause the effect you described. -TJ
* Of course not. I started standing still. I ended up moving at extremely dangerous speeds. Teleport is supposed to conserve your speed. It didn't. This concept is not difficult. Your spell has a bug. Reopen this ticket. -AP
* The Earth rotates. You were moving at the same speed as ever, but the ground wasn't. Naturally you arrived at speed relative to your surroundings. Teleport is not recommended for long distance travel, for this reason among others. In this case, you should use Greater Teleport instead, as it allows you to specify a change in momentum. -TJ
* You couldn't have told me that before? Nobody said anything about that. The book just says that it's "not accurate" over long distances. It doesn't say anything about being splatted across the walls. What if I'd arrived indoors? What if I'd been sent flying down or sideways instead of up? I could literally have died. You need to issue a statement about this. This is not okay. -AP
* Hello? I haven't had a reply to my last message. Please reopen this ticket immediately. -AP | The Council of Casters was in an uproar.
The Head Caster, seated at the head of the star-shaped desk had his brows furrowed, three wisps to his left and right holding up the records of the student, neatly arranged in a folder, and an iPhone, showing a video of the caster's prowess.
The student, an 18-year old, geeky looking teen, was seen standing in front of an old telephone on a teachers desk. He raised his index finger, as if about to ask a question. He wagged and waved his fingers, as if he was writing.
"After viewing the video countless times, i am sure he wrote Public... Static... Void... Teleport," said Caster Oakley, the professor of the student, pausing between the words that seemed to be random and nonsensical.
On screen, the telephone disappeared from the desk and the classroom burst into applause.
"His spell was able to teleport the telephone from the classroom desk to the flagpole in the quadrangle, pretty much seven rooms away," narrated Caster Oakley." Such feats normally would take at least 13 years!"
The Council murmed in agreement.
"But that's not the most amazing of his feats," said Oakley.
The Head Caster raised an eyebrow and nodded, imploring him to continue.
"See the next video, sire," Oakley said.
The Head Caster stared at the iPhone for a moment, brows furrowing once again. The iPhone started to shake a bit because of the wisps, as if fingers were fumbling with the iPhone, trying to look for buttons.
The Council giggled in amusement, save for the Head Caster, who let out a huff of frustration.
Oakley barely stifled his laughter, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Allow me, sir," he beckoned. He held his fingers as it about to snap, but instead tapped once in the air with his index, and once with his middle finger, as if tapping on the corresponding video.
"Dare i ask: how had you teleported the telephone that far, that quickly?" asked Oakley on the recording.
"I had a chat with him after class," Oakley said. "He does not have an idea as to how much promise he has shown."
The student shrugged. "It's... Kinda hard to explain, sir."
"Try me," replied Oakley.
The student hesitated, eyes looking down, head topped sideways, as if juggling the decision of whether or not he is to tell."
"Um... Programming, sir."
The Council murmed in surprise. Oakley noted how quickly the Head Caster's brows shot up.
"The goal of the spell was to transport the telephone from point A, the table, to point B, the flagpole. In my mind's eye, i saw the Path of magic - like neon lines running from one point to infinitely other points... The cabinet, the next classroom's desk... Even your head, sir."
"So i thought of this thing in programming called Breadth First Search. In my mind's eye i evaluated the pathlines before casting the spell than simply directing the object to move. Actually it wasn't even me... Magic found it, sir. I only had to be given the appropriate commands and instructions."
The Council burst into clamor once again.
Oakley cleared his throat to silence the council. "This is only of his feats. He demonstrated and explained even more of his feats."
He opened the Photos app of the iPhone with more flicks, taps, and wags of his finger.
"He perfectly charged this ball of aura by - in his words - iteratively incrementing the magical variable that contained the magic."
He wagged his finger, as if going to the next image on an iPhone.
"He drew this beautifully symmetric firework using - again, in his words - iteratively getting sines of the center and random radii. He said he used something called a for loop."
Another wag of the finger.
"In the class, he was able to maintain this ball of fire. He said he used something called a while loop."
Another wag of his finger.
"He managed to control this life-sized mannequin using only magic. He only said he did Object-oriented than procedural, making each part of the mannequin an object. I consulted google and Object Oriented was a programming paradigm."
He pushed down an imaginary lever with his middle finger and ring finger, turning off the iPhone.
"He programmed, my fellow Councilmembers. Modernity has knocked at magic's door, in the most unexpected way. We may have a child more advanced than most of us here!"
The Council, afraid of losing their Council positions, burst into uproar once again.
"I never liked technology," grumbled the Head Caster, looking sadly at his Council Pin, which soon might have to be passed on. | 2014-08-04T05:45:00 | 2014-08-04T05:03:48 | 133 | 36 |
[WP] A nerdy kid discovers that magic spells work exactly like a computer programming language.
There are some amazing stories here. Thank you all for responding. Also thanks to u/pandizlle who informed me that there is a book dealing with this very concept. It's called "Wizard's Bane" by Rick Cook. | **Bug ID #5608**
**Name:** Teleporting object arrives at speed
**Severity:** High
**Product:** Teleport
**Reported by:** AP
**Assigned to:** TJ
**Status:** Closed
**Description:** When teleporting over medium to long distances, I arrive with a significant lateral or vertical speed. In some cases, the speed would be enough to be fatal. I have experimentally verified that it becomes perceptible when teleporting distances greater than 5km, and dangerous over distances greater than 100km, with some variation due to direction.
**Steps to reproduce:** Use Teleport with all default settings, source coordinates (51.6753524,-1.2340868) and destination coordinates (52.3590673,13.4065686). Stand at the source coordinates.
**Notes:**
* Closed. Not a bug. -TJ
* What do you mean, not a bug? The documentation says you arrive with the same velocity that you set off with. I certainly wasn't flying through the air when I cast the spell, but I was when I landed. If I didn't have Feather Fall ready, I would have died. How can that possibly be intended behaviour? Reopen this please. -AP
* Were you in a moving vehicle at the time of casting? Teleport does not adjust your speed to account for your surroundings. Teleporting while moving at speed would cause the effect you described. -TJ
* Of course not. I started standing still. I ended up moving at extremely dangerous speeds. Teleport is supposed to conserve your speed. It didn't. This concept is not difficult. Your spell has a bug. Reopen this ticket. -AP
* The Earth rotates. You were moving at the same speed as ever, but the ground wasn't. Naturally you arrived at speed relative to your surroundings. Teleport is not recommended for long distance travel, for this reason among others. In this case, you should use Greater Teleport instead, as it allows you to specify a change in momentum. -TJ
* You couldn't have told me that before? Nobody said anything about that. The book just says that it's "not accurate" over long distances. It doesn't say anything about being splatted across the walls. What if I'd arrived indoors? What if I'd been sent flying down or sideways instead of up? I could literally have died. You need to issue a statement about this. This is not okay. -AP
* Hello? I haven't had a reply to my last message. Please reopen this ticket immediately. -AP | "Jinkies!" I cried aloud, though it was just me in the room. "That's it!"
The glow of the supernatural program cast a dim light across the dark and dingy office in the old house. I was ready to ship, finally. My app would be out in the wild shortly having the unique title of "Universal Magic Compiler".
You see I'd finally put all the crazy pieces together, solved the mystery. Spells and magic aren't made up of whimsical ingredients they're just programs. Instructions that the universe can natively interpret. Me and the gang had seen some weird things through our adventures but now I could show them that magic was *real*.
"Ruh-roh" groaned Scooby as he and Shaggy entered my den.
"Like, Velma" Shaggy began, a foreboding shadow cast across his face "What are ya doing up here all alone? The gang's all downstairs man and like Fred just went to get cheeseburgers."
"Sounds great Shaggy." I lied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be right down, just publishing my latest invention into the wild!"
Just a few more clicks and it was done. UMC 1.0 available for download. I raced downstairs to show the gang, I couldn't wait for them to see what this thing could do!
"Hey guys... Where's Fred?" I asked, he wasn't anywhere to be seen.
*knock knock knock*
"That must be him now, not sure why he's knocking." Daphne leaped from her seat to get the door. "He went to get cheeseburgers for Scoob and Shaggy."
"That's okay." I said "I can wait. I mean it's not like I'm about to reveal an app that lets you turn water into wine or anything."
Scooby looked at me disapprovingly and covered his eyes.
"Ummm... Gang?" Daphne returned from the door escorting a middle aged man wearing a long sleeved, black, mock neck shirt, some terrible jeans and hilarious sneakers. He wore thin, wire framed glasses and had just a touch of gray hair retreating from his forehead. "This is Mr. Jobs. He says he wants to meet all of us, specifically Velma."
The man moved forward, I was still stuck in "the zone" but I could've sworn he levitated forward, glided ever so sweetly across the old floor. He smiled and his hands perched in front of his chest formed a tent with his fingers.
"Gang." He spoke, taking a moment to make eye contact with each of us. "I'm here today to make you all an offer. I know it's been tough going at Mystery Inc., but I believe in what you do here. I believe in it so much..."
I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes as he spewed the rest of his pitch. So typical.
"... 1. Billion. Dollars."
The gang all gasped. I chewed at my nails and the anger welled inside me.
"... So I think we'd really synergize! What do you think?" Finally he was done.
"Thanks Jobs but we're not interested." I snapped.
"Ummmm Velma?" Shaggy sounded hesitant "A little private confab if you don't mind?"
I huddled with the rest of the gang in the corner, shielding ourselves from Jobs' steely gaze.
"So um, like, about how many sandwiches and cheeseburgers can we buy with like a jillion dollars?" He asked.
I'm normally the cool and collected one of the bunch but I'd had enough. I turned around to find Jobs, staring at a painting, a finger on his chin as though he were some sort of artisan. Gross.
"Jobs!" I bellowed. "Thanks for the offer but we're done here."
"2 Billion." He eagerly spouted as he turned to face us. His face looked uncaring, his finger vertically shushing his own lips.
"Hey gang!" Fred burst into the room. "I've got the ch.... Am I interrupting?"
"No." I said. "Mr. Jobs was just leaving."
"Suit yourselves!" He warned as he floated to the door. "But we'll meet again, oh, we'll meet again. Muahahahaha."
By the time the door closed behind him Shaggy and Scoob were already elbow deep in cheeseburgers. Through a mouthful of chow, Shaggy asked me "So Velma, I guess Mystery Inc. must have a much higher multiplier on its valuation than I would have thought?"
"No Shaggy. I'm not sure what he wants, yet. But something tells me we're going to find out." | 2014-08-04T05:45:00 | 2014-08-04T04:59:12 | 133 | 12 |
[WP]A wealthy business man believes in reincarnation. He leaves his massive wealth... to himself. Anyone born after his death that figures out his riddles will inherit his fortune. | "Are you telling me, that he left his family nothing?"
The lawyer adjusted his seat, "Well, yes Mrs Johnson. Now I understand how angry you are-"
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA! That man neglected us while he was still alive, and now he left us with nothing?!?!?"
"He was very clear in his will. He believes in reincarnation, and the one that can recite the correct passage from his favorite book will get his inheritance."
"MY FAMILY WILL STARVE CAUSE HE WAS AN ASS IN LIFE AND AN ASS IN DEATH! Can't we arrange something...anything?"
The lawyer frowned, with a hint of pity and pride "I'm sorry. I understand you are a grieving widow, but I must follow with his wishes."
She stormed out in tears. The lawyer sat in an empty room, and walked over to the bookcase where the book she wanted rested on an old shelf. A roach was sitting in front of it, rubbing its antennae all over the cover, as if it was trying to say something.
He squashed it, washed his hands, and thought nothing more of it. | To beat a god, you first have to be one.
Ok, perhaps that's a little melodramatic. He was certainly no god, but he did have a wealth of charisma that I did not. What I lacked in smiles and firm handshakes however, I made up for in business acumen and raw intelligence. He could be something that my weak arms and crippled legs seemed to stop me being, he could be successful.
I'd always enjoyed chess, thinking a few moves ahead of the competition, using their moves against them to ensure your inevitable victory. If you play the long game when others are playing the short one you can basically move their pieces for them. So it is with business. I moved the pieces of our competitors, let him shake the hands and smile at the right people, and we, or should I say he, became filthy rich.
He kept me around of course. He wasn't stupid enough to cut off the hand that fed him, but I wasn't going to allow him to grow fat and old on my hard work.
I lead him into his pursuits. I actually lost money as I lead him to invest in those that might turn his feeble mind in other ways; sometimes you lose a pawn to risk their queen. He always was a one for blundering into decisions he couldn't comprehend, and religion was to be no different. A few trips to India, a chance investment in a Hindu temple, and the stage was set. He was a believer.
He was as public as always, letting everyone know about his fantastic new philosophy in life, falling deeper into his own undoing. I suggested his Will, how he might be able to carry on into the next, keep his legacy beyond his grave. He asked me to draw up the terms of course, and I was only happy to do so. He made up some riddles, laughably easy, and I drew up the rest. All above board, all within the eyes of the law. I wouldn't be able to claim the money of course, nobody alive at the same time as him would, that's not how reincarnation works.
And so we lived, his fortune safe for him in case of death. We lived our lives, I married whilst he played the field, whilst he lived the life of those with money and power.
Of course not every business venture is safe, not every trip to Iraq or Iran to smile at oil barons can be trouble free. He died with a gun against his head in the blistering heat of the sun. It was a dangerous mistake for a Caucasian man to claim Hindu as the one true religion in the middle east at the moment.
The world waited then, held it's breath to see who might come forward to claim his wealth. My business partner had never sired any children, after all, what would be the point when he could just be reborn and claim his empire back himself?
I had a son not long after, one who will just so happen to find experience offers him a knowledge that will lend itself to the riddles.
I cannot claim the wealth, but anybody who wasn't born at his death can. I dare say the police will find me out, will try to take the belongings of my heir, but they cannot, the will is quite clear. It's all above board and legal.
I was unable to find wealth for myself, but I played the long game where he played the short; it basically let me move his pieces for him. | 2014-12-13T14:07:21 | 2014-12-13T13:56:21 | 858 | 454 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit. | "Mr. President? Mr. President!" Not a word from the White House when we called, just that ubiquitous ringtone on every number. "Jesus Christ, Bradley, what the fuck are we going to do?" I said putting the phone down.
"Bradley?" I turned behind me to find the loaded barrel of a gun in my manager's mouth, and before I could even try to stop him, blood splattered against my suit as his lifeless body fell to the boarded floor.
It had been two months since Krishnakov discovered the afterlife, and just about 7 billion people have put an end to their pointless existences since. Rioting, looting, murder, it was sheer chaos here on Earth. They say religion's the cause of more death than anything else. Frightening how science makes things exponentially more efficient.
I decided to call it an early day, nobody was around to catch me leaving. Then again nobody was around to pay me either. The wheels of the armored hummer I stole from the garage a couple weeks ago bounced against the severed limbs of men, women, and children as I cruised down the street back home. Smoke filled the sky like death filled the Earth. Already sprouts and vines began reclaiming the city from us, we most selfish of creatures.
But all that was over now... for today atleast, "Honey! Kids! Daddy's home!" Rex came rushing to the door, barking like always. Unlocking the door, I found Rex curled in a ball, whimpering. I looked up and there was my wife, dangling from the ceiling. I was shouting frantically for my kids but when I went upstairs, I found Sasha in the tub with her wrists slit and James... Oh God, why James? Of all the ways to die... I fell to my knees and pulled my magnum from its holster.
It was true, heaven. I never believed in God, but here I was. The angels were singing a song so sweet, the view so innocent. St. Peter called me next, but before I even got the chance to ask anything he pulled a lever and I fell into the darkness. It was a furious flame that fanned the air, my skin was burning just from being here when a demon suddenly skewered me on a pike. He lifted me high over his head, and that's when I saw Obama being cut up into tiny pieces as his severed head screamed in agony. There was Bradley beside him. Then my heart sank, as the demons forced my sweet Sarah with strings like a puppet, duressing her to stab our children with a trident of molten gold. My daughter was begging for mercy as my son just screamed a garbled scream incomprehensibly.
Why God, why? But I knew the answer. | 2015-02-02T06:43:00 | 2015-02-02T06:37:02 | 126 | 20 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | As the slide came up the board of government officials sat there in awe at the advertising suggestion.
"It's amazing." "It's exactly what we need". "That's perfect." "You can't argue with such infalliable logic."
"I take it that means we can start running through the campaign th-"
"Immediately."
Within 10 hours the posters had been printed out at every major publishing firm still operational and the message was soon plastered across every street corner, billboard and newspaper stand.
"If you commit suicide, you can't play video games and eat food!" | "Mr. President? Mr. President!" Not a word from the White House when we called, just that ubiquitous ringtone on every number. "Jesus Christ, Bradley, what the fuck are we going to do?" I said putting the phone down.
"Bradley?" I turned behind me to find the loaded barrel of a gun in my manager's mouth, and before I could even try to stop him, blood splattered against my suit as his lifeless body fell to the boarded floor.
It had been two months since Krishnakov discovered the afterlife, and just about 7 billion people have put an end to their pointless existences since. Rioting, looting, murder, it was sheer chaos here on Earth. They say religion's the cause of more death than anything else. Frightening how science makes things exponentially more efficient.
I decided to call it an early day, nobody was around to catch me leaving. Then again nobody was around to pay me either. The wheels of the armored hummer I stole from the garage a couple weeks ago bounced against the severed limbs of men, women, and children as I cruised down the street back home. Smoke filled the sky like death filled the Earth. Already sprouts and vines began reclaiming the city from us, we most selfish of creatures.
But all that was over now... for today atleast, "Honey! Kids! Daddy's home!" Rex came rushing to the door, barking like always. Unlocking the door, I found Rex curled in a ball, whimpering. I looked up and there was my wife, dangling from the ceiling. I was shouting frantically for my kids but when I went upstairs, I found Sasha in the tub with her wrists slit and James... Oh God, why James? Of all the ways to die... I fell to my knees and pulled my magnum from its holster.
It was true, heaven. I never believed in God, but here I was. The angels were singing a song so sweet, the view so innocent. St. Peter called me next, but before I even got the chance to ask anything he pulled a lever and I fell into the darkness. It was a furious flame that fanned the air, my skin was burning just from being here when a demon suddenly skewered me on a pike. He lifted me high over his head, and that's when I saw Obama being cut up into tiny pieces as his severed head screamed in agony. There was Bradley beside him. Then my heart sank, as the demons forced my sweet Sarah with strings like a puppet, duressing her to stab our children with a trident of molten gold. My daughter was begging for mercy as my son just screamed a garbled scream incomprehensibly.
Why God, why? But I knew the answer. | 2015-02-02T06:40:57 | 2015-02-02T06:37:02 | 71 | 20 |
[WP] [NSFW] All your sex toys come alive and confront you about your treatment of them. | "Melissa"
I was suddenly awoken by the sound of a deep manly voice calling my name. _Am I dreaming?_ I though before pinching my cheek. It hurt. "Guess it's not a dream, huh" I muttered before sitting up in my bed. I groggily looked around the room and stopped at the foot of my bed. My two dildos were...standing there? I don't remember leaving them out.
"We need to have a talk." I heard the same voice as before. It appeared to be coming from the one on the left. "You take Richard out almost every night but you rarely play with me. We both just want to make you happy. That is our job after all."
"Yeah, Johnson here has been feeling down in the dumps lately." The other one spoke. "I just wanna ask you to to play with my friend a bit more often."
Once I had gotten over the shock of the scene in front of me, I though for a bit before replying. "I'm sorry guys, I never meant anything mean...." I trailed off as an idea popped into my head. "Hey guys, how about I play with both of you at once?" | "You're not a real egg!"
"Then why are we shaped like one?!"
--------
I've never been much of a customer for coitus toys. I found them to be a bit silly, to be quite honest. When you're someone like me, you don't have time to masturbate because you're too busy having actual sex. My life's awesome.
One day, a friend of mine told me about the Tenga Egg. They looked ridiculous, it was hysterical. We both laughs for a good couple of minutes before my friend told me he seriously used them. I told him that if he could get laid once, he'd never want the egg again. Why use a silicone egg when you can get a woman's egg fertile? It feels awesome.
A couple days pass and I wake up to a package arriving on my doorstep. It's seemingly from Japan, based off of the writing. I find my box cutter and slowly make sure to slide down the middle, as to not damage the merchandise. For all I know I could be a top of the line figure. That would be pretty awesome.
It's not a figure.
"Just try them, it may not be like the real thing but they're amazing.
-Friend"
I was sent a 6 pack of Tenga Eggs. The same ones I laughed at and ridiculed. I specifically told my friend I had no use for them. I can get laid, my life's awesome.
A day passes before I decide to try out the eggs. I figure I might as well try them out if I have them, and hey, they were a gift, why not? I looked up my favorite busty milf video and proceeded to get aroused. I open up one of the eggs, named silky. It has a nice, smooth texture on the inside, felt nice. Inside the egg came a pack of lube I use to oil up the egg. Free lube? Even if I didn't like the egg I'd at least have some lube to use, awesome.
After lubing up the egg, I wrap it around my nice, hot, large member. Upon insertion, I feel out of this world. I feel like my eyes are rolling back, my body's going numb. When I started stroking, both these things *did* happen. Oddly enough, after all the sex I've ever had, none of my climaxes felt as awesome as this one did. I fell in complete love.
The eggs say they're one time use, but fuck that. They're easy to wash and you can just use your own lube after you use the single use pack that comes with each egg. So weeks pass before I'm done with all my eggs, which is nice.
I start to beat myself with just my hand on a Saturday evening. It doesn't feel the same. I need the eggs. I was pretty sure I still had one lying around, so I went to look for it.
The same egg I look for trips me. I fell right onto my erect South Pole and started cursing under my breath. Now wasn't the time to masturbate, I needed to tenderly care for my cock.
That is, until the egg started speaking.
---------
"It feels bad, doesn't it?!"
----------
I'll maybe finish this when I'm at a computer depending on feedback, I can't continue this on a phone. This would be my first time ever contributing to a prompt. | 2015-08-02T07:08:09 | 2015-08-02T06:51:04 | 147 | 24 |
[WP] You are an NPC in a failed online game. Tell about the final days before server shut down.
Edit 1: Holy shit! Thanks for all of the great replies!
Edit 2: ¡Jesus Cristo! Front page! Thanks all! | "I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew potions from rare ingredients!"
"I'm an apothecary, I brew po-" | Its been quiet lately. I used to see the odd ones around a lot - those wearing bearly anything or mismatched badly fitted items, asking silly and basic questions of everything and running into every wall or proding every item they can over and over as if its all a trick. I never understand why they think such actions will produce such a thing. They usually struggle to talk to me too - stopping, starting, barely able to speak the language...
Nowdays its the old pro's with their flashy goods, matching sets and oversized weapons and large amounts of enchantments around them. And even those are disappearing.
The last few days every customer has been selling everything they own, not buying... and everyone in the town is running out of money fast.
My last customer did buy but it was only an enchantment for his boots to match the rest of his gear and then I saw a flash and a light run across the shop east to west. He beamed across the whole of his face and then sold me everything he had on him and walked out of the shop naked with a "Achievement: Have 1 million gold" and then "Achievement: Full complete" just before he disappeared.
I blinked and decided I needed to stop drinking so much. It hasn't helped that they've been drowning me in Ale recently and insisting I paid them something - anything - for it. I had more Ale on hand than clean water or food.
As I turn to go to lock up and go to my bed the door opens. A man comes in and I remember suddenly how odd these people used to look - I'd forgotten in the time I'd barely seen any of them.
He stutters out "Hello, what can I do here? Can you give me good stuff? I have no money, I'm dying because I couldn't hit that damn spider in the woods and I ran all the way here! I don't have much time"
I go to answer him as the noise starts... static thunder from everywhere at once. The floor starts to waiver out of view and the roof is just gone... Then He's gone too - all that remains is a pile of random useless rubble that is massive and I have no idea how he had it hidden on him. Strangely there are about two dozen lit torches too ... how on earth did he carry those in his bag and not have it burn? They'd be burning the floor too if not for it being missing!
As I blacked out I heard the mans voice... "Damn, I thought it was Next week that they were killing the realm? And I took a days holiday to play it just once to try it after I bought it all those years ago on Steam and never installed it!"
| 2015-09-01T11:39:46 | 2015-09-01T08:54:06 | 171 | 49 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Valhalla!? What do you mean Valhalla!?" The monk asked angrily.
"Look pal, when the vikings attacked your monastery you fought back. Hell, you even killed one of them. That's not what monks do." Exclaimed the Valkyrie
"But I'm a god loving christian! I can't be in Valhalla!"
"Like it or not, you died in battle. That's literally all it takes to get into this place. Now go take a seat beside the other new guy." The Valkyrie said with an exhausted tone to her voice.
The monk looked around to find his seat. The only empty seat he could find was next to a large gruff looking man. The Monk, curious, asked the man "So what did you do to get in here?"
The viking looked into his eyes and said "You killed me, asshole." | When Bill came to, he was staring at a mauve-colored fabric back of an economy-class seat. *Life vest under seat cushion*, a little label read. A dull roar pervaded his senses.
*That's strange*, he thought, *I could have sworn I was still at work, when—*
He shook his head. He must have been dreaming. But where the hell was he? Had he celebrated that hard? The company had just had its best quarter yet, and Bill could take at least some of the credit. They'd been diversifying their product offerings. Though their bread and butter was still "Get Rich from Home," the new "Pennies on the Dollar" tax settlement offering was picking up steam, and management was *tripling* the number of call hours allocated to it. And Bill had basically designed that one from the ground up, down to the tagline—"We do the negotiation."
They'd already grossed over a million this month, and it was barely past the first week. He absent-mindedly fingered the Audemars Piguet his boss had presented him at the last all-hands. "Eat your heart out, Donny," he murmured under his breath. It looked good on his wrist. Real good.
But what was this? Why was he in this shithole of a plane, in *economy* class no less, rubbing shoulders with some miserable fucker who *wasn't* here by mistake? This thing looked like it was from right out of the seventies, no joke. His neighbor did too, what with the sunglasses and terry-cloth-shouldered polo shirt. He gave the guy a little nudge. “Buddy, you know where we’re headed?”
The neighbor replies with a thick African accent. “We are in Nigeria, my friend,” he replied, “and when we are landed, you may inquire forthwith to my good friend the honorable Judge Bello ,who all know to be carefull and very much of the most honest and forthright and will provide help and assistance with your advancement of merely a small portion of his—”
The African dude is interrupted as the intercom comes to life with a burst of static. “\*psssh\*-uhhh-Citizens of the Confederacy-uhhh-we are entering ourrr... final descent into Teegee-\*psh\*-uhhh-arrival time is-uhh-several minutes-\*pshhh\*-of schedule."
The intercom remains on but silent for several moments before the pilot continues impassively. “\*pshh\* We at the Confederacy would like to-uhhh-thank you for choosing to ride with us today-uh-and your sacrifice is-uhhhh-greatly appreciated. Uhhh-All hail lord Xenu. Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”
Bill’s brain has barely any time to process any of this before he’s chained to a volcano and he and the volcano are both exploded with a nuclear bomb. His disembodied soul haunts the people of Teegeeack for all eternity, except Tom Cruise. | 2016-03-07T20:07:55 | 2016-03-07T19:28:33 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | They never told us when the test date would be. We had no idea what to expect; written, athletic, intelligence, artistic, creative, looks, money...? What did they want from us?
The ways they could measure us were endless. The things the wanted to see were impossible to discern, and how to pass it was simply unknowable.
In the end, we continued to live each day, and when we didn't hear any more about the test we settled into a semblance of the same routine we had before. Except now it was tinged with a bit of irony, a bit of hesitancy, a bit of fear. We would make jokes about it, attempting to alleviate the heaviness, but never quite being able to bring levity to the situation.
It wasn't until they came that we realized they'd been testing us all along...
People were dragged out of their homes, thrown into unmarked vehicles on the street, still screaming and confused. "No! I didn't do anything! I didn't know! What was the test? Give me another chance! Please! I can do better!"
These raids always took place in complete silence. That was the most unnerving part about it. And as the numbers continued to dwindle, we didn't make jokes anymore, we didn't laugh anymore, we didn't look one another in the eye anymore.
Now I'm alone in my house. And I still don't know, did I pass? Or did I fail, and I just don't know yet... | As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.** | 2016-06-11T11:14:01 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Every morning you wake up with a new talent. The catch is, you aren't told what it is. IF you discover what talent you have, you get to keep it. The talents NEVER repeat | "...and in other news, Hilary Clinton has been captured in Russia after-" *Click*
James looked at his alarm clock, often the bringer of bad news, and rolled out of bed. He immediately grabbed a knife from his night stand and made a slit on his hand. Bright red blood began dripping from the wound and onto the floor.
"Nope" he said. His hopes crushed once again that invincibility or self-healing would be that day's talent.
Ever since he realized he had developed the talent of photographic memory, unicycle riding, and the understanding of Egyptian hieroglyphics on separate days, he has been attempting to decipher each day's hidden talent. Hoping with each passing day that an awesome talent would be next, maybe even a superpower.
After wrapping the wound with a bandage, he moved into the bathroom, and turned the bath tub water on. Sticking his hand into the water, he ruled out being able to freeze water by touch. Once the tub was full, he stepped in and relaxed. He allowed the water to reach his shoulders, neck, and then over his head.
Minutes later he emerged, gasping for air. He made the mental note that he could not breathe underwater either.
After finishing his bath, he got dressed and walked to his kitchen. His wife had already prepared his breakfast, biscuits and gravy and eggs over easy. His appetite did not fail him, and he ate the meal quickly.
"Any crazy ideas today?" She asked him, knowing it was a sensitive subject.
"Yeah, I think I'm gonna go jump off a bridge to see if I can fly" he joked, also acknowledging he couldn't read her mind.
"That's nice honey" she replied, uninterested.
He was only half kidding, knowing that he wanted to rule out flying somehow. He gave his wife the usual kiss goodbye, and walked out the door.
As he reached his car, he opened the door and climbed inside. He noticed a half-full water bottle sitting in the cup holder. Deciding he would throw it away when he got home, he tossed it out his window and onto the driveway.
To his amazement, the bottle landed perfectly upright. He slapped his hand to his forehead and thought, "what a waste of a day of talent!"
He then went about his day as usual. Little did he know, that luck kept him from flying that day. | John woke up at 6 am, just like every other morning, stretched twice and yawned, smashed his alarm clock with a hammer, stumbled into the bathroom for a brush and a piss, stumbled back into his bedroom and sniffed around for some clean clothes. Then he went through his morning checklist.
The three chainsaws in his closet he threw into the air, wondered sleepily if he'd catch them this time. He didn't. One landed on his foot, one fell harmlessly beside it, the other bounced off the bed and onto his desk and spilled week-old beer on his laptop.
He limped over to his guitar and clutched the neck and slapped the strings. It sounded like muted cat death. Moreover the skinny string snapped and whipped his retina.
He winced as he limped over two his pen-and-quill where he inked a poem. Once again it was about his window and the stuff outside, and reading brought up bile and vomit and then puke. And then more vomit. Some embarrassment followed, after which he destroyed the poem and puked again.
Holding his nose under the wince he limped over to his playstation. He logged in, geared up, entered the game, and was shot in the head three times, knifed in the back, blown off the map, and teabagged relentlessly.
No rabbit came out of his top hat, his reddit comment received no karma, and his pogo stick tossed him right through the sheet rock of his bedroom wall.
Covered in puke and plaster, walking on one good foot and seeing out of one good eye, demoralized by death and karma, he made himself some coffee and drove to work.
He worked in a cubicle, where they paid him to work in a cubicle. That was the job description as far as he knew. And he wasn't even good at it.
The afternoon brought with it its own checklist and Jon failed and failed at hundred things, just like every other afternoon. The pencil didn't stick to the ceiling, instead puncturing his other retina. His crumpled up paper missed the bin, his origami duck was a nightmare worm from hell that sliced the webbing between his fingers, and Martha caught him masturbating. Again.
"You know," Martha said, "I can't not catch you if you masturbate at the same time every day. And I still don't see how that's even a talent."
Jon shrugged. "I just go by the checklist."
"How's that working out for you?"
"The checklist?"
"The checklist."
Jon took a moment to honestly consider this. His dick, now merely half-hard, was still in his hand. His foot hurt like hell, both of his eyes were crying, and he smelled of vomit and plaster.
"It isn't going great."
"Have you even discovered a single talent? In like, however long you've been doing this?"
"Not really."
"Then why do you do it?"
"Statistically, out of the current pool of available talents, my checklist will on average capture seven point eight of them. Before I die."
"Seven point eight."
"Assuming average life expectancy."
"So if you live to ninety, and if you get lucky, you'll be able to jerk off in the office."
"And no one will know."
Martha shook her head. Most days she just poked her head over the cubicle wall and told Jon to knock it off, but today she seemed flustered by something. She pursed her lips as she looked him up and down.
"You know, you're a smart guy," she said. "And you're not even unattractive." She paused, hunting for the elusive words. "What I mean is, why don't you just get good at something?"
This intrigued Jon. He put his dick away and leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
"Why don't you just get good at something? Like, you know, by working at it."
"Work is actually a talent in the current pool. I haven't acquired it yet."
"How do you know?"
"Well I never get anything done."
Martha sighed. There weren't any arguments against it. "Same time tomorrow then?"
"Unless the talent strikes."
When Martha retreated back to her own cubicle, Jon cracked his knuckles and took out a Rubik's cube . . .
***
and there's always https://drowningdream.wordpress.com/jim/ if you missed out on the Jim madness. (film is very NSFW) | 2016-07-19T12:42:59 | 2016-07-19T12:42:35 | 365 | 94 |
[WP] Every morning you wake up with a new talent. The catch is, you aren't told what it is. IF you discover what talent you have, you get to keep it. The talents NEVER repeat | When I was a kid, they used to tell us that things like painting and writing and gymnastics were skills. "Work hard enough and you can be just as good as anyone else," they'd say. But they don't say that to kids anymore. After the flurry of studies--of articles in TIMES--they swept that wrongness right out the door. It's not "work hard" anymore. It's "be ready." Be ready to test that talent you want, because it's not coming twice. I wish I'd known that before I wasted 30 years.
See, I always wanted to be a ceramicist. Stupid, right? But it makes me happy. So I studied hard, the way people used to, and I put in the hours shaping clay, pouring slip. I have the mechanical skills down so I could do it in my sleep. I make a decent living. Have my own shop. But I can't help but wonder if I truly have Talent. Did I earn it without knowing? Did I miss it entirely? What if Talent never visits me at all?
There's no way to know, really. Talent isn't something they can test for, outside of looking at what someone's done and saying "yes" or "no" or "maybe." They say they're working on a test. A way to detect Talent for sure. But I don't know. I don't know if I could take it. One negative test and I'd be out of business. No test, and I'd wonder forever.
It eats at me. I have nightmares.
I really hope they fail. | I can juggle with the best of ‘em, write a gorgeous poem with lightning speed, play anything on a piano, and hit a baseball dead-on every time.
People tell me I should open a restaurant, run a small business, and run for president, in any given combination on any given day.
I’ve got a job that I love, and could probably quit at any moment to pick up another.
But I’m not exactly what you would call “smooth.”
I don’t think I come across as arrogant. I tried to narrow down my eHarmony profile to just the core of my personality, but it’s hard when I’m so damn good at everything.
Today I got a match. First time in three months. For a while I was trying the whole one-time hookup thing and that failed catastrophically, so we’re going to have a nice dinner at Geppetto’s, 8 PM.
All the way to the restaurant, I couldn’t stop thinking. *Just today, just this once. Not table tennis aptitude, not programming wizardry. All I ask for is a bit of charisma.*
I made a perfect parallel park outside the restaurant and stepped inside. I saw her sitting at a table just a few paces from the entrance.
“Hey there, Bridget.” I grabbed the chair, spun it around a few times, then picked it up and balanced it in the palm of my hand, letting it rotate all the while. Bridget raised an eyebrow and chuckled nervously while the patrons around me pointed in awe. I slid the chair back to its spot and sat down.
“So, fancy meeting you here.”
“Uh…yeah. How are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good. Want to see a card trick?” I whipped a deck of cards out of my jacket pocket and showed them to her. She grimaced and gently slid them away from her face.
“Why don’t we…talk about us?”
“OK.” I gulped and put the cards away.
Throughout the remainder of the evening, I struggled to talk about anything aside from my strange, disparate array of abilities. It went fine, I suppose. I tried my best to listen, but the whole time I was trying to figure out my talent for the day, and desperately wondering if it was affecting my conversational prowess.
“You seem distracted, Leonard.”
“I’m distracted by you.” *Hot damn, I’m good.*
“It’s getting pretty late. But I did enjoy this.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah. You know, I think there’s a pretty interesting, genuine guy buried under all that barista expertise and plumbing genius.”
She got up, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. I caught a glimpse of the clock above the kitchen counter and saw that it was 11:45.
I ran after her and tapped her shoulder.
“Do you want to do this again sometime?” *Oh my God. Maybe I wished on the right frickin’ star.*
She grinned. “Ehh, why not. We’re not getting any younger. But next time, tell me about what you want. Not just what you can do.”
She patted me on the shoulder and raised her arm for a cab.
That night, I walked home slowly, kicking litter away and repeating the words over and over: *The talent to make a connection. The talent to really get to know someone. The talent to get out of my own head.*
I collapsed in my bed just as the clock hit midnight. I didn’t feel anything – no pulse throughout my body alerting me that the talent was mine.
I took off my glasses, turned off the lamp, and disappeared under the covers.
Maybe I’m never going to get this one. Maybe it’s too complex to be handed to me, or maybe I’m just fated to miss out on these feelings that everyone else seems so crazy about.
But I’m going to try.
| 2016-07-19T13:02:14 | 2016-07-19T12:51:40 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel? | I stepped around the feeble, emaciated corpse of the emperor. His blood had begun to pool, simply ruining the lush carpet in front of his throne.
“You killed him,” I said, my long held mask of subservience fading into incredulity.
“It was a long journey,” the hero responded, “But no longer will our people suffer under his tyranny.” he leaned over to wipe the blade of his sword on the emperor’s robe. Unceremoniously, he slipped the sword back into its scabbard and turned to leave.
“This isn’t a solution,” I said, mouth agape, “I mean, I could have done that!”
“But you didn’t,” the hero said, looking over his shoulder.
“That’s not the point,” I nudged the dead emperor with my foot. “Do you understand how an empire works?”
The hero turned back around fully, placing his armored fists firmly against his hips.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” He said.
“That’s precisely the problem,” I lectured, shoving the emperor’s corpse over onto its back. The already skeletal face stared serenly at the ceiling, forever free of responsibility. “The man was 82, a strong breeze could have killed him.”
“But it didn’t,” the hero said firmly.
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘Power Vacuum’?” I asked, prying the crown from the emperor’s head. “It would be one thing if you intended to seize the empire for yourself, but as it stands, you seem all too keen to leave.”
“My job here is done,” the hero stated, his mouth slowly curling into a lazy smile. “I wouldn’t have worked nearly so hard if I thought there was more to do after killing him. I plan to retire to a life of luxury back on the farm. Maybe buy a a few cows...”
“Who will collect the taxes? Who will dispatch troops to quell bandit raids?” I was growing heated, but there seemed little reason to stop myself. “You think the government just runs itself, do you?”
“Perhaps you should take over,” the hero offered.
“It’s not that simple!” I said, and then threw my hands up in exasperation. “He was supposed to officially declare me to be his heir tomorrow morning. Then I would have killed him, first thing Monday afternoon.”
“I’m sure,” the hero rolled his eyes.
“These things are important. Without paperwork, what’s to stop anyone from making a claim on the throne?” I asked, before pointing to the Grand Councillor, who was attempting to look nonchalant in the corner of the throne room. “He had the emperor’s ear as much as I did, what’s to keep him from taking over?”
“It’s true,” the Grand Councillor said sheepishly, “I planned on killing him Tuesday.”
“See? Tuesday.” I parroted.
“The impression that I am getting, is that no work is accomplished on the weekend,” the hero said.
“Look, we work hard during the week...” I said, before the Grand Councillor interrupted to affirm;
“Very hard,”
“Right, yes, very hard. Are we not entitled to a day off? I didn’t realize I had a deadline.” I finished.
“Quite literally!” the hero quipped, all too proud of himself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to do.” He didn’t pause this time, leaving the throne room at a quick pace.
“Do you still want this?” I held the crown out to the Grand Councillor. He shook his head vehemently.
“Oh no, you take it,” he said, and then considered. “Do you have any plans for Tuesday?” | A taciturn air filled the room. The Emperor, Kretz and Fenton were discussing matter of state. 2 out of the 3 men at the long table were thinking intently, brainstorming plans to deal with some usurper. The fifth man was too excited, and had to make a conscious effort to not be jittery. Years of secrets and lies, despicable acts carried out with a greater plan in mind, were about to pay off. This usurper was just the distraction that the man needed to put his end-game, his final plan, in place.
"Is this man really a threat? We've seen thousands of these would-be liberators." Egnorak, the rightful ruler of Arkartha and all around scum of a human being was saying.
"He has taken over the Balterlands. Nobody has gone that far in the past. With their forces..." Kretz trailed off. Nobody at the table had to be reminded of the force of the Balterlands. The biweekly tennis games had been a manslaughter.
"But still, there is no way he could take over the city. Our walls are too strong." Fenton interjected. It was no use to him for the Emperor to be so on guard the day before his final comeuppance. Egnorak sat at the head of the table and pondered. These matters of administration were never his favorite part of the job. Striking fear into the hearts of his loyal cannon fodder was by far the best part of the job, in his professional opinion. He mostly went with the opinion of his advisers whenever possible, and defaulted to Fenton's opinion, his longest lasting and most loyal adviser, whenever there was a disagreement among them. This was different, however. This usurper had annoyed him. All his talk of "freedom" and "basic human rights". He needed to be taught a lesson.
"Something needs to be done. This man has offended me to my very core, taking over land that is mine by rights! We send the troops out tomorrow!" Kretz's eyes gleamed, all he really wanted to accomplish in his life was to be respected by Egnorak. Fenton showed a flash of unhappiness, but that was interpreted by the other men as frustration at his opinion being ignored. In reality, Fenton was already imagining the administrative headaches of recalling the armed forces after they had just been dispatched.
"Good meet, gents. I trust I'll see you at the banquet this weekend. It isn't everyday that your dog turns 4."
Amidst promises that they wouldn't miss it for the world, a terrible shaking overtook the room. The men all rocketed out of their chairs, and ran to the balcony facing the city proper. They arrived just in time to see part of the city walls come down, and what looked to be the main force of the Balterlands come rushing through.
_________________________________________________________________
The three men waited now in the throne room, surrounded by weary guards as the unready main force of the city were unceremoniously slaughtered by fierce Balterlandians. The roaring sound of battle crept ever closer, until the giant door of the throne room itself was being beaten upon. The guards in there suits of armor marched to the door and stood in formation. They were not warriors, more comfortable intimidating peasants than in battle, and it showed.
The door came buckling down, as everyone knew it would. The cheap doors of the castle had been a point of contention between the advisers to the emperor, Fenton saying that it was more of a show of strength and confidence, really to have poor infrastructure. Plus who wouldn't want to save a buck or too? Kretz looked sideways at Fenton with a look that seemed to say *I told you so*, but was afraid to say anything out loud with Egnorak in his current mood. The room had been void of all conversation since they had arrived. Egnorak sat on his throne, the look on his face not conveying anything, not conveying that he really felt nothing at all. Not conveying that he knew in his heart of hearts that it was over, but that he was still in denial.
The guards were rushed by the force outside, and were quickly dispatched. The Balterlandians pushed past the corpses of the guards, and then parted. A lone man walked through. He was wearing ornate golden armor, and he was a head taller than the rest of the forces.
"Egnorak! Let's settle this like men. I, Kevin, will have one final battle with you, and I will conquer this evil empire once and for all!"
Egnorak was no warrior, either. He looked at his two advisers, and before anyone could say anything, Kretz had leap at the man, with a fire in his eyes that temporarily shocked him. A fire in the eyes could not deal with a suit of armor and years of experience warring, however. Kretz was quickly dispatched, and his body fell to the floor with a loyal thump. Kevin looked back at the throne. Egnorak hadn't moved. He took one last look at Fenton, at the sword on his hip. Fenton flashed back to all the things he had done, to all the brutal killings he had overseen in Egnorak's name. This isn't how this was supposed to go, but it had to go somehow. With a look of disgust that couldn't be interpreted by anyone in the room, Fenton took his sword out of its scabbard, and dropped it on the ground.
Fenton had made it to the balcony again before he heard the screaming. The stoic non feeling act had apparently been dropped as the fighting began. Fenton didn't care. He could not stop thinking about the atrocities. Images flashed in his mind as he kept walking, and followed him all the way down.
______________________________________
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-03-12T14:39:19 | 2017-03-12T10:41:50 | 222 | 20 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | You grew up with bruises on your knees and scabs aplenty, just like any other kid. What your parents never knew was that not all of them were your own.
You're ten; baby Sarah from next door is bawling because she's just fallen and skinned her knee. You take the pain away from her. As the wound fades from her knee your own skin starts to sting. It's ok. It'll heal soon.
You're sixteen; the first boy you've ever kissed is in agony because he might never play football again, might never get that scholarship, will never be able to escape from this vile, poisonous town. You take the wound away from him. You wince; this hurts more than anything you've ever done before. His eyes are wide; shocked. Nobody thought you had any powers. You can't tell anybody, you say, not anyone, and he agrees. He's so grateful he seizes you and spins you around the locker room, kisses you hard on the lips. It's the last real moment you'll ever share until he, too, leaves.
You're eighteen, and for the past four months your college roommate has been screaming in her sleep. At first you're annoyed; now you're just scared. You slip under her sheets. Her hands are icy cold, and her eyes fly open in the darkness. I can't deal with this anymore, she says, tears falling, please. You don't want to see. You do. Show me, you say, and then you take the memory in.
For the next fifteen minutes all you can do is curl up in a ball and moan, harsh gasps the only sounds you can make. This one, this one you might never recover from.
It's been fifteen years since you've seen your parents. Being summoned to the penthouse in the middle of the night is something of a surprise.
Until you see him. You can see into people now. His cancer is terminal.
Your mother is there. Of course she is. She would think nothing of sacrificing one useless girl for the life of one of the most powerful men in the world.
"My dear...," your father lurches forward, while you take an involuntary step back. "It's been too long."
You don't know when he managed to get so close. His grip on your arm is tight, almost feverish. "Help me," he says, and this time it comes out as a plea.
You lean close, close enough that your foreheads touch. Physical wounds heal, but the mental ones don't always go away, and sometimes they leave scars. You exhale, and it feels as if a shutter in your head has clicked open, releasing all the darkness you've collected from others, all the darkness you've collected your entire life.
He stumbles away from you, hands to his head. Your mother is screaming.
You turn on your heel and leave. You always did abhor screaming. | From an early age people had laughed at me. Called me useless. "The power to control paper? What a disappointment." I guess it made sense, my mother was Mind Control Mindy, with a single glance she could control any person's mind and force them to do anything. My dad on the other hand was The Atomic Adam, he thought it was clever because it sounds like atomic atom, he could rearrange objects down to the atomic level so long as he touched them. My older sister was able to control and create fire, my older brother was able to heal any wound. A team of seemingly perfect heroes. Except for me, the boy who could control paper.
My parents thought it was a joke. They always used to say "You can't save anyone with paper". Maybe they were right. I never had saved anyone with paper, but I sure had killed a lot of people with it. Ah yes I bet you were wondering why I was using the past tense to describe my family, using "was" and "could". Well quite simply, I killed them. My father was first. He had always said that I was a failure, a disappointment, and that I would amount to nothing, simply because of my superpower, something I had no control over mind you. He had always praised and hugged my sibling when they pulled off huge miracles. When my sister had light her first fire he was sooooo fucking proud of her. When my brother healed his first cut he was sooooo goddamn proud of him. Not a single kind word of praise to me. Well it doesn't matter as he won't be able to talk ever again. Turns out that when you harden and spin a circular piece of paper at a 1,000,000,000 rpm it can cut through just about anything. Including my asshole of a dads head clean off of his body.
Next was my mother. She had never been nice to me either. Always a passive aggressive little bitch. At least father was direct and to the point with his insults. "Oh maybe he's just retarded". "Don't worry, I'm sure that SOMEONE will want you, regardless of how useless you are". "You have a face only a mother could love, except that I don't. Not at all". I hated her. Ah well no more insults spewing out of her mouth, it would be difficult to talk with a hole in your head. You see when you shoot a hardened, sharp, piece of paper at 1,000,000,000 mph through someone's forehead, they die. Quite quickly as well.
Now onto my little bitch of an older sister. Always laughing at my paper creations. I made beautiful spanning cities out of paper, beautiful bouquets of paper roses and flowers, creations of creatures majestically flying, fighting, living, why I even made awe inspiring clothing out of paper. I softened the paper to feel like cloth and simply manipulated it to the designs in my head. I even had ideas for paper prosthetics, cheap, easy, and effective. I figured that maybe I couldn't be a hero through amazing heroics, but I could be a hero to kids who needed prosthetics. A hero to kids with "useless powers" and show them that you could be amazing in your own way. To create worlds and creatures, beautiful designs to shock millions. I wanted to be an artist. But everything I made was burned by her hands. Every spawning city burned to death by a flood of fire. Every beautiful rose wilted by her fire and mocking laugh. I tried to ignore it, brace through it, and try to make peace with her. So I made her a beautiful dress, made to accentuate each of her curves and to show her beauty in a class way. I was almost grateful for her actions as she showed me that my powers could be used for fashion. And yet every dress I made, burned as she laughed. A truly mocking laugh, cutting me to the core. Calling me a retard.
She was impudent and arrogant to the end. Bet you didn't know that huh? As she was chained up to the wall she snorted and said, "Do your worst little retard. A fire could never be cut down by a piece of paper." Ah but she screamed as a thousand tiny pieces of paper consuming and cutting her flesh, in the same fashion of the fire that consumed my creations. Such a satisfying death.
And you brother. Supposedly the "nice one" of the family. And yet you never stopped them. Let them do whatever they pleased with me. When I cried at night, you never once came and comforted me. I know you heard my cries, the walls were oh so thin. Look at me brother. The once "retarted, useless, weak, ugly brother" of yours is dominating the world. Oh yes I did hear you. Look at me now. I am the supreme dictator of Europe, none dares appose me. You managed to escape me in the past... now I wonder what I shall do to you... Perhaps you will serve as a reminder to my people of what happens when you oppose me.... | 2017-06-12T07:49:37 | 2017-06-12T02:38:39 | 1,670 | 257 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Generally when somebody talks about "powers" they usually refer to those in the big leagues. Pyrokenesis, mind reading, invisibility, through fate's hand these powers were what my peers received. Then, there was me.
Usually those with gifts tend to look down on those without. Those without gifts harbour jealousy and disdain for those who have them. But both groups found it easy to target those with powers that were weak. The gifted laughed at the weak as though they were powerless. The powerless found it easy to push around those who lacked the power to fight back.
My gift was a weak one, the ability to "mirror" something, to swap the opposing sides of a target along an axis. It allowed me to switch the right side of my body with my left.
They laughed at me. The only thing my power was good for was to make myself left or right handed at will. I might as well be a powerless human. I could not fight by throwing fireballs, I could not mind control people to do my bidding. It was easy to brag about beating up this "gifted kid", I found myself often on the receiving end of a beating.
That was until the day I learnt that the axis I always swapped along was imaginary. I could in fact choose any axis I wanted. I could turn people upside down just by touching them.
Then after, I learnt my ability could target so much more than just humans and small objects. I turned my neighbour's mailbox upside down. I turned his street lamp upside down. I turned his car upside down.
Finally, as a coup de grace, I turned his house upside down. The heavy foundations found itself on top and the flimsy roof, 5 feet underground. His house got crushed by its own foundations, with him in it.
Now, I stand in front of the Empire State Building. Hand on a wall, waiting patiently for a ransom fee. Lest I decide to turn their world, upside down.
| From a utilitarian point of view I was fairly impressive if I may say so myself. Our country, our closed country, under a threat from the entire world, protected only by the great revered leader, was filled with people with rather useful yet banal superpowers. Flight, extreme strength or endurance, usually just one at a time, even just two of them together was a rare occasion. Which brings me to myself, the laughingstock of the class who unfortunately was born with the capability of doing anything, so long as it is included in a Dethklok song. Odd and grotesque, and with the education system only teaching the very basics of the most simple powers, you don't exactly find your place.
I'm not going to tell you how life was a nightmare. It wasn't. I was a bit of a laughing stock, but I wasn't abused or even close to that. If anything it was the rather routine and boring life here that had me suffering. There weren't too many options here if you actually wanted to do something with yourself that wasn't being a factory worker, a cop a solider, or a criminal.
And so I decided to do the unthinkable, and leave for another country. where I am now it's called migration. Back home, however, merely visiting another country is frowned upon and migrating is considered defection unless under orders from the government or the military. Evil doesn't begin to describe what I am considered to be by my own family. Everyone who ever cared about me or I cared about sees me as an inconceivably evil demon, to be killed on sight. But as much as that stings, becoming a part of the outside world was one big truckload of food for thought.
It's not just the plethora of opportunities, or the extremely varied collection of abilities spread everywhere. Those are overwhelming at first, but are fairly trivial matters which you get used to. I very quickly started finding those things much more enjoyable than difficult. What really struck me hard, though, was getting a view on my country from the outside. All the things that I didn't know happened behind the scenes were fairly common knowledge here. I learned the reason for the variability of abilities in the outside world. My country, which I can barely consider as mine, was extremely afraid of people with unique powers, extremely afraid of people stepping out of line, being unique. Those who acted odd, or had odd powers or characteristics were systematically vaporized, unless they were extremely quiet, and damn near invisible, in order to maintain an image of solidarity and unity, in order to maintain the sovereignty of an impotent leader who sees himself above the country.
What I did next was risky. Mostly for my old country. Looking back I'd say I was being arrogant, putting my ideals before my the will, and even well being of my country man. I broadcasted myself to every single screen in the country, with, thunderhorse providing the electrical signal, Delivering a message that couldn't be unheared. All I was doing is giving my points of view, providing some input, backed by cold hard evidence, to my country.
The leader was not as revered now as those of the past were and I was hoping for the people's solidarity and very banal and logical thought process to be able to create a change without instigating too much instability. This, of course, was a huge risk. Who knows what could happen if they even believe me. A violent revolution would be a great opportunity for other countries who want to get some influence to jump in and make things even worse, and that's terrible enough without even considering the costs the revolution itself would have.
None of those possibilities were close to what happened in the end. The leader has made use of his ability as soon as the reform started. I now realized why we truly weren't allowed to migrate. Not so that we don't hear the wrong things, but so we don't stay out of the leaders range for too long and disconnect from his ability: the hivemind.
I've turned from demon to Satan himself in thee eyes of my countrymen I made a huge mistake, which's repercussions only time will tell... | 2017-06-12T07:55:08 | 2017-06-12T07:45:36 | 138 | 12 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | "You aren't supposed to kill them."
That was what they all said.
"You can't kill people!"
As if they hadn't done the same thing, over and over again.
"Villains kill people!! You're a Villain."
That was how it started. I didn't care. They were hypocrites, the lot of them. A mass-murderer? Me? What about all the lives of the "civilians" killed by the villains? What about the government, who accidentally created All the supers? Mass Murderer my ass. All I can do, my "super power" is make you blink. Oh, and make you a bit tired. That's it. No supersonic flight. I'm not a speedster. I can't control people's minds. No shapeshifting.
"So, little Hero. You're going to sit here with me and Staring Contest's husk of a body. I watched you kill those kids yesterday. I watched you rush into the building, blowing a hole in the side, feeding it fresh oxygen. I watched you pull kids out so fast it broke their necks. And I'd recommend that you Don't Blink." | I smiled. I couldn´t stop it. The view was too fantastic.
"Eric, please stop this.". Oh the whimpering i heard in her voice. " Stop it? WHY should i stop it? You always said you wanted a son who could achieve something great, and now look. Look at this. Isn´t this something truly great?". Ah, she can´t look. Can´t look at her own mistake. Can´t look at this burning city so far below our feet. "Eric why did you do this? Why all this victims, all those innocent people?". She is begging me. Ha. Begging to ME. "You don´t know why i did this? You? You of all the people should know the best why i did this. You and father never once showed pride fro me. Never showed that you care for me or that you love me. OH NO. The only emotions you ever gave me was hate, despise and on some lucky days you took pity, but never love. You only ever showed me that i was dirt for you. Something you despise. That i was below you and that you were ashamed that i was your son. And what for? Only because i didn´t have such great powers like you two. Because i wasn´t the prodigy i hoped i would be.
But now this time is over. You know i did find a way to use my powers. ON MY OWN. I look to what i am capable. Look what i can achieve.". I look back at her. I am calm. For the first time in years i am free of all bounds. I look at the meat pile what was once father. Haaa the memory of the victory over him is so sweet. But he is still moving. I am surprised. I truly am. But he is not one greatest heroes for no reason. Well maybe it´s better so. "Look who joins us in our little family conversation. Hey, Dad, still alive i see.". He grunted. "Do you think you can stop us, or others? You truly are a failure of a son like a always thought.". "Failure? You still say this. After all what if done? After all what you´ve done? Can i remind you of the countless times you punished me just because i was existing? And what punishment i recieved. Oh when the world would know what a person is great hero truly is. At home. To his own child. But enough monologuing. I don´t want to give you a chance to get some stupid ideas. This here." I raise my arms. "This here is all your fault and yours alone. You made my life a misery now it´s my turn". Mother is crying, she seems not to be able to comprehend it, and father... Father is almost gone. Only clinging to a small freckle of life left in him.
I raise my arms again.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Emergency News
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dear Citizens,
today i come here with a sad message for you. Today in the morning hours our capital got completely destroyed. Rescue Teams are searching the ruins for any survivors but the hope to find any is slim. The only thing that didn´t get destroyed was the television tower. On Top the Teams found the corpse of our beloved hero Menace. Next to him they found a notice. It says: Dear people of this planet. I AM MISERY and i will come to all of you. | 2017-06-12T06:36:00 | 2017-06-12T05:44:01 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I had originally thought my superpower was a bit of a joke. I suppose it still is pretty lame. I can't cause any real destruction with it, but nobody jokes around me anymore. I started exacting vengeance a couple weeks ago on those who had previously bullied me for "not having a power". In truth, I did but it's a very subtle power.
I can feel my power beginning to slowly take a toll on my enemies. For example, I can visibly see the results of using my powers on my coworker, Carol. Her crime? She always takes my stapler from my desk without asking. She used to be snarky around me but now whenever I see her, she just looks depressed. The best part is that she doesn't even know what's causing it.
Me, a laughing stock? I'd like to see my enemies try to laugh at me. That is, if they can. Because no one's laughing anymore.
Literally. | At first, they thought I was worthless. No measurable potential, plus likely schizophrenia. In school, I would have been a great target for bullies, but they never found me, despite my complete lack of stealth or mobility enhancements.
I tried insisting that the voice was a legitimate power, but even mentioning it meant an increase in dosages and another trite storyline about getting new replacements. I was invincible and helpless at the same time, as long as my mind want coffee up with shrink-pills. Even with the pills, I could still read, but it's a lot weirder to stare at the left of the sky than to listen to a mood appropriate voice.
The little shits caught me once. I don't even know who clocked me with the bookbag, but I went down hard, kissing concrete and waking up weeks later in a haze of painkillers. I couldn't focus to read with the drip, but I was in too much pain to think without it. When I finally recovered enough to hear again, the voice had changed. Barney wasn't warning me about danger any more. Now Russell Crowe was waxing poetic about revenge. In the absence of anything better to do, I listened.
I discovered that I could stand the pain. I discovered that I didn't have to listen to Maximus. There were plenty of others to listen to, each appropriate to their own plots. I found one that sounded like Robert Eglund, and began to plan my revenge.
Fortunately, the Aqualads we're almost as much of a laughingstock as me, so mother dearest didn't blink when I asked for some high end scuba gear. Rated for superhuman crush depth, it was more than I needed to swim, but perfect for keeping all my skin cells and follicles to myself. Maisie told me about catching the cat, Steven told me where it should be found, and Clive told me what I did to it once I got there. Mr. Quarterback just might get out of the mental ward by the time I feel clean again, but the place will probably just drive him mad.
In a world full of supers, highschool takes forever. In a schoolyear that never ends, there's plenty of time to learn Japanese. Every time I thought of giving up, Mandy would do something new and cruel to bring my motivation right back. The day I got detention for looking at her, the fury building in me boiled over and something finally clicked in my brain. I listened to Sokoshi all night, and spent weeks setting my trap. Now she kneels all day in her room, bare to the world and softly chanting "I'm sorry".
There are others, of course, but someone has tipped off the police, and I'd like to not be here when they break down the door and find the pile of meat in the fridge that used to be your sister. One look at you, covered in her grime, with her blood in your stomach (the tea), and her body so close, and even the local police will put two and two together. Ciao.
| 2017-06-12T07:39:18 | 2017-06-12T06:39:02 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] The Sphinx has reawakened and will grant the wishes of anyone who can guess the answer to her riddles. The only problem is, she hasn’t accounted for the fact that all the answers are readily available to anyone with a WiFi connection. | "Oh no! Not you again."
The Sphinx. Greatest and most magical creature in all of history rolled its eyes and slumped. The dune under which it had been previously hiding rolled away in a wave as its enormous lions body thundered down, almost completely burying the limited edition 'Desert-Roamer' Sports car Deluxe which shot backwards as the desert shifted against the star strewn night.
"Tttthhhe paintwoooooork!" A small voice shrieked as the car's tracks bit into the dust and spun around. A smartly dressed man jumped out of the hideously expensive car and ran around it in a circle checking every inch. Stopping to polish dusty chromework and untouched paintwork.
"Can't you just leave me alone?" The defeat was clear in the Sphinx's once mighty voice.
The man straightened, brushed his perfect suit clean of imaginary dust and turned to face The Sphinx. He pursed his lips and lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the unholy creature. He thought this look gave him power, but really he just looked like a toad caught mid ribbit.
"You must be happy with what you've got by now!" The Sphinx moaned, whipping its despondent tail across the desert sand. "Money and women. Political influence and global fame. What more do you want?"
He had the creature right where he wanted it. The first time he found it he thought he was dead, but his smartphone had saved him and then his wish made him rich and powerful.
His second catching of the creature been more for sport and now he couldn't keep count. Each time he caught it he had grown through the wishes he made.
It had become his servent and from time to time, he would remind it of this.
"Aren't you going to ask me a question?" The man pulled back his ratty lips exposing a perfect Hollywood smile.
The Sphinx rose up onto its feet and stretched out its wings pawing the ground with its razor sharp talons. It faced the smug little man, threw its head back and laughed.
It lifted its giant paw and squashed the man flat.
"I already did" the Sphinx rumbled.
Edit: thank you so much for the love guys :-) | To see a new name on the world's billionaire list is rare, but it happens, to see a new name in the top ten, that is unheard of. Now, a new name appearing in the number one spot, impossible. Every day, for the last four days, there has been a new face on Forbe's number one spot.
Special Agent Knox, sat in economy class on his flight from Washington to Cairo, a total journey of seventeen hours, with a layover in Dubai. An FBI badge glued to his head would be less obvious than his suit, clean-shaven face and his crew cut. He slept, he tried to work, he watched a couple of movies, but nothing seemed to distract from the interview he had conducted two days prior. He read the unclassified transcript of his interview with Steve Burman, a forty-one-year-old, who had been the first new multi-billionaire. Steve had been courteous; he was not the sharpest tool in the box, but he lawyered up faster than Knox could make coffee.
Knox interview two other new faces, a thirty-year-old woman, Lisa Hudson, followed Steve's lawyer approach and before the FBI knew it the two of them were walking out arms wrapped around the best lawyers money could buy. The last new face had been an eighteen-year-old, Brent Alderwood, he was sunburnt beyond belief, his face still wore badges of adolescence, and he was scared. Brent, at the time, was currently the wealthiest person in the world, with a net worth of over one-hundred and fifty billion dollars. He caved before Knox even sat down. He erupted into a fit of verbal diarrhoea, which led to Knox's trip to Egypt.
Knox met Special Agent Phillips at the Cairo arrivals gate, Phillips had been sent out two days before Knox, having found that the first two new billionaires had both returned from Egypt.
'How was your flight?'
Phillips extended a paw-like hand towards Knox, who shook it.
'Long.'
'Do you have it?' Phillips' eyes were glittering.
They left the airconditioned airport to humidity that stuck in Knox's throat.
'Yes, I have it.' Knox said while he swallowed, what felt like, molten air.
The hotel was modest, above average for an overseas expedition. Knox crashed within five minutes of reaching his room, a combination of the ten hours time difference and recycled aeroplane air made for the perfect nightcap.
The sun woke Knox; he rolled out of bed and nearly accused the clock of lying. Ten. With tender fingers, he checked his phone for notifications. Fifteen missed calls. Shit. Adding to his problems, the brown envelope he had carefully transported from Washington to Cairo was missing from his jacket pocket. The envelope held the classified transcript of the Brent Alderwood interview, which details the location of the Sphinx.
Knox rapped on Phillip's door, greeted by cold silence. Knox then tried to call him, answer phone. Knox caught a cab to the Sphinx, located between two of the significant tourist pyramids; it was a gigantic cordoned off sand coloured statue. Up-close, it appeared to be moving, ever so slightly, like it was breathing. There was no sign of Phillips, but Knox drew level with the Sphinx's human head, its mouth lumbered open and forced Knox to recoil.
'Answer my riddle, and you will be granted one wish.' It spoke in an archaic language that somehow, Knox still understood.
He had read the classified interview hundreds of times, Brent had spoken on a wish giving Sphinx, he had wished to be the wealthiest person alive. It was understood as a codename, not an actual Sphinx. The FBI believed it to be an Egyptian hacker who, under the name of Sphinx.
'I uh, I can't' Knox said.
The Sphinx tilted its head; its eyes seemed to look straight through him.
'What's the matter? Your friend was keen to answer.'
'He was?' Knox didn't want to mention that Phillips was in no way his friend.
'One simple riddle. Anything can be yours.'
The low paying job, the promise of riches and the allure of this ancient Sphinx was sending Knox into a trance.
'What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, three legs in the evening, and no legs at night?'
Knox used his phone as many others had, but he had not wished for wealth. That was stupid, he wished for something far greater.
| 2018-02-26T06:43:38 | 2018-02-26T03:06:22 | 161 | 32 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her. | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/813gcd/wp_youre_a_powerful_dragon_that_lived_next_to_a/dv0g9gh/) l [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheRobertFall/comments/815k0n/the_tales_of_a_moon_rider_part_3/)
Those awful screams of woe and misery, of death and distress admixing with the stench of smoke and blood, had tormented my slumber for far too long. They'd bounded me to witness the wreckage of Velosin, a little kingdom down the mountains where my lair lays.
Four days it took the clamour of their little ruthless war to turn into a deep, unpleasant silence. I'd grown used to Velosin's little music: the laughter of the drunkards, the clattering of the adventurer's hooves, the clanks of the smithy and the melodies of the royal trumpets. It was subtle like the whisper of the winds yet it was a warm, little seasoning to my days.
That's the reason why when that who called himself Terar came limping a trail of blood with a child of true-fire locks cradled in his arms, I heard him instead of burning him to ashes.
"Draelaar, I've reached your lair with a request," Terar said with wandering eyes, voice fading. "I beg you to hear me, for it is the last one I will speak."
"Utter them, you are the mercy of Jeriaz now," I said. "I'm not who to forbid your last words, but I'm to forget them."
He grinned a bloodied smile. "This child," Terar said and gently placed the whimpering little human on the floor, as if offering it. "This child is the infant princess of Velosin." He coughed crimson. "Take care of her! For she will avenge us all."
I laughed, "Why should I go through such trouble? I'm a dragon, a beast of might, gods to your kind," I said.
Terar collapsed to the floor, blood pooling beneath his legs. With a last breath and stretched arms he spoke his final words, "She's a moon rider."
I felt a coldness exploding inside like splintering stalactites burying deep within my flesh. A moon rider? They were myths made for the children with delusions of powerful magic. They weren't real, weren't they? Magic was long since extinct.
I grabbed the infant princess with my talon, two purple scars, like half-crescent moons traversed through the corners of her eyes, down to the bottom of her lips.
It was like in the myths.
-----------------------------------------------------
Part 2 coming in a bit!
/r/therobertfall
| "To my dearest Yvain
I was a dragon, strong and old stuck in a cave for a crime you should never know. How long has it been I wonder since I was out? For the last time I walked these grounds there was no town or city but forest ever so green.
This was where the magical beings stayed until the mortals arrived or so I'm told . As the magical beings left they soon forget of the little old me stuck in the cave, it's funny to how one lost is another gain, for the mortals or what you call humans found me. They started fight me not that they should try. I was never their enemy or even a foe but this all fell as did they all. They call me a monster as each hero failed to return thinking I had ate them when all I did was to freeze them is all I did. Is it really wrong to defend your home? When people come at you with axes and swords?
Anyhow as the kingdom grew so did their might, I was avoided as the forest around my cave grew thick and I didn't mind that or that's what I said for I wished for a friend or maybe someone that would stay in this cold cave of mine. Should have been more careful with my wish if not trouble would come, not that I'm saying your trouble more of a headache than murderous intent. For one day that man came with bruises and wounds that would have been deadly but he was determined to come and see me, a little nobody.
He came with you, the treasure he cared he begged me and asked me to take you in for that's where your destiny lie. "Please great dragon take this child" he started as he told me of what happened outside. He told me of how his kingdom had fallen and to how their enslaved. He spoke of your father and how he died protecting the country he once called home.
As he tried to preach to me to take you in I could see it in his face he was dying. Thus I stopped him half way telling him I was no great dragon but merely a mischievous one stuck in a cave. He stared at me with eyes I could never forget and said "but the stars tell me another story it's said that you two are bound by fate so please...." He never finish his sentence and I was left with you.
The first few years I wonder how it would go caring for a baby no older than a week old. Lucky I never killed for those people that came to attack me now are your caretaker,your teachers and friends to this little village we call home. Yet as time pass I never realize how your now old enough to take on your destiny and for me to take on mine.
If your wondering why I'm writing rather than telling you all these, it's because I've given up my life to make you stronger, maybe then your pain won't be as bad.
Take on my scales as I've asked them to make it armor so that the enemy can't push you down with their numbers for I worry their swords and arrows will Pierce your skin.
Take on the sword made from my scales for I know that's the only thing you can wield. You always refuse to fight not because your weak but because you know it's not right so take on this sword for it will protect you and those you wish. It's a sword fit you a queen
Take on my wings and let it be your mantle, let it warm you on those cold nights at war so you remember your not alone.
Take on my wisdom for I worry you'll be fool for the world there's many people that wish to take advantage of you my princess.
Take on my strength and let it be your own so you can succeed for that road to your success is filled with hardship and heartache however I'm sure you'll succeed with or without my help
Not that I'm complaining. I was happy to see you grow I never realize that these people could be so kind. I was lonely for so long forgotten by so many people, that I forgot warmth. Yet seeing you smile melted this cold heart of mine.
Do you remember your first words? I do it was tia.. that's what you called me. Me whom was nameless only being seen as a scary dragon people avoid. Yet you gave me a name with a smile on your face never once running away. That made me happy in this short life of mine..
I wished the stars let us met sooner than maybe this cold prison won't be as bad, however why am I to question fate for I have met you the sun in my life...
My destiny was to be released by you and was I ever, for you've released me from my pain and torture. From my solitude and silence, by bringing discord and happiness.
So please find your happiness... For I have already found mine in your smile....
Yours truly
The nameless dragon you call gon"
"But gon ....how can I be happy without you..."
Edit: comments are welcome please tell me if it's ok | 2018-03-01T02:46:34 | 2018-03-01T01:48:12 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her. | "Noooooope. No chance. No way. I'm not falling for this one again," the dragon bellowed, "I mean, seriously Dominic, how dumb do you think I am?"
"Well, first of all it's *Sir* Dominic the Bold"
"More like Sir Dominic the Dumbass for thinking that I would take care of a princess after what happened last time."
Dominic paused. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from this conversation, but he was pretty sure it wasn't this. "Sir Dragon," he stammered, before being cut off.
"How many times do I have to tell you people?! My name is Phil! Not Sir Dragon, not Lord Dragon, not even Trogdor the Burninator... **Just. Phil.**"
Dominic began quaking in his boots as Phil's ire continued to rise, but he knew he had to complete his mission, for the good of the Kingdom.
"I've been here for millennia, minding my own business," Phil continued, "and every couple hundred years, you imbeciles manage to get yourselves in a war you can't win and come crying to me for help."
"Sir--" Dominic began, before catching himself, "I mean, Phil... What happened 'last time'? You may have lived for thousands of years, but I'm only twenty two, so forgive me for my ignorance."
Phil growled. This human seemed different than the ones in centuries past. But time had taught him to always be cautious around these creatures, for they were small and flammable, but clever and deceitful. "Every two hundred years or so," Phil sighed, "you imbeciles manage to piss off a neighboring nation more powerful than you, and when they raid your Kingdom, every time, without fail someone comes to seek my help. Usually for help in the battle, but sometimes they come seeking my help to watch over the heir to the throne. Seven centuries ago, a man not much older than yourself convinced me to watch over the Prince until he could take the throne. Not three years later, knights raided my cave seeking to kill me for kidnapping the Prince."
"Surely, one incident hasn't--"
Phil cut off Dominic swiftly. "What is that human expression... Ah, yes. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. For, you see, three hundred years later I was approached again. The castle had fallen, but this time it was the Queen herself who graced my presence. She had escaped the castle, but had grown separated from the King. She was with child. I helped her give birth to a son. She died shorty after giving birth to the man who would become King Philip the Draco."
"She named him after you, that's quite the honour, Phil!"
"It was an honour, indeed. Until sixteen months later when my fortress was assaulted by the King, Philip's father, for regicide and kidnapping again. You see, he had no idea that I had helped the Queen and had raised his son. He wanted vengeance for the death of his bride. I killed him in self defense, but that night I left Philip with the castle Steward, and explained what happened... That was almost four hundred years ago. It hurt so much to have to give up my son, and to have my name besmirched by your kind, yet again. I swore to never help the Throne again."
Dominic certainly had not been expecting this. When the King entrusted him this task with his dying words, Dominic never would have known that he wasn't the first human to approach the dragon asking for a favour like this. Dominic hesitated, then quietly said, "look, Phil... I understand that humans haven't exactly been kind to you"
Phil scoffed, as a small puff of smoke escaped his nostrils.
"I do," Dominic continued, "but without your help... The princess, lady Phyllis, will die alongside me, in a creek overflowing with blood"
Phil paused. "What did you say her name was?"
Dominic smiled, his plan was working. "Lady Phyllis, of the Draco clan."
Phil began to sniffle. Dominic had never seen a dragon in person before, and from what he had heard, he thought they were incapable of crying.
"Alright." Phil growled, "I'll do it. On one condition."
Dominic was elated! "Yes! Anything!"
"You have to stay here too, to explain this to whomever inevitably comes to kill me in a few years."
Dominic knew he had no choice. "I agree to your terms, Sir Phil the Draco. You are a being of honour."
"And you are a human with a noble heart, something I did not expect to see again."
Dominic looked to the infant princess, and smiled dryly. 'Forgive me,' he thought to himself, 'Princess Abigail.' | The moment I had long foreseen had come to pass.
"I will not."
My daughter's voice bore no trace of doubt. As far as she was concerned there would be no further argument on the matter. I smiled, despite the strain. She truly was my daughter, although we were not truly kin.
"You must."
Of course, if in truth that confidence and self-assurance came from me then I would simply turn it back upon her. My voice was as level, even and factual. I would give quarter no easier than she would.
"Child. Daughter-mine. I have known, since the moment I laid eyes upon you - since the moment the hapless soldier carrying you stepped into my domain - that this day would come. You were but a mewling infant, newly ripped from the arms of your mother. But my kind has sight beyond sight and I saw you for what you truly were. A sword in thy hand and a crown upon thy brow. A warrior. A conqueror. A queen."
"And so you have raised me father. You have shown me the way of the sword and the rod. You have taught me the ways of kings and queen - who better, to be such a tutor than one who has seen so many kingdoms of man and elf and dwarf rise and fall? And now the fruits of your labour will be rewarded. You shall see me gain vengeance upon those who have killed my blood family and enslaved my people. You shall see me ride victorious in to my castle. And my subjects shall one and all know that it was you who saved me. You who made their freedom possible. Your name will be sung until the end of time."
Again I struggled to smile. I had little doubt that she would do all she claimed for I had foreseen it all. And much of the rest too. The love of her life and his betrayal. The loss of her first child, stillborn from her womb. The battles she would win. And lose. The kingdom she would found. And eventually her own death, which hurt me in ways I dared not speak of, even to her.
But I would not be there for them.
"Perhaps my name will be sung, perhaps not. But I know that this must end here and now. For I saw more in you than just who you were meant to be, daughter. I saw what you were meant to do. All those great things you will accomplish. And I learned, the moment I saw you, that you would be my doom."
The was a moment of silence. Then a hesitant question. "Why have you not spoken of this before father?"
"Because you might have tried to avoid it. You are strong-willed daughter. You do not accept what the world has laid before you. But it is one thing to fight ones foes, against those who would oppress them. It is another to struggle against fate itself. That is a losing battle, always. The struggle simply makes the journey more painful. I would not give you the opportunity to suffer in that way."
She glared at me, as if I had done her some harm. Perhaps I had, sheltering her as I had done. But I would make the same choice again, and again.
"Our kinds - we are not compatible." I continued. "Mortal races - their mere presence harms dragon-kind in some unspeakable way. It eats away at their mind, at their will. It leaves them vessels of bare desire and raw emotion. Creatures of rage and fire. It is why we become monsters eventually. It is why I have lived here, well beyond the borders of mortal kingdoms, for all my life. But my time with you - I can feel it now daughter. The darkness within me. It struggles to be free. I am becoming like the mad dog - I must be put down, so that you can be free."
"Then why take me in? Why not kill me, or send me away?"
"As I said - it is folly to struggle against fate. But in raising you I have become something greater than myself. In raising you I have gained so much more than I have lost. Caring for you. Watching you grow. Even though I cannot put it into words, I suspect you will understand one day - when you have children of your own. They will come - yes, I have foreseen that too. And grandchildren beyond them. And you will tell them stories of me. You will share my wisdom and my guidance and in that way I will live forever - even if the bards do not sing songs of me. Know that of all the places I have been, of all the things I have done, I consider raising you to be the greatest."
I stretched and roared, as the sudden burst of emotion weakened me against the darkness within. "There is one more thing. One request I will make of you daughter-mine. You are not my only child and my other children will likely try to avenge me once they learn of my death. Once I am gone you must eat of my heart and bathe in my blood."
"What will that do?"
"It is an old ritual of my kind. It marks you as my heir. Were you dragon-kind you would gain some of my strength and knowledge - that which I choose to gift to you, which would be everything. But you are mortal and I do not know how it will affect you - save that you must do it. My children may come for you, but marked as I have said they will not dare move against you." A white lie. My second child would indeed try to claim revenge, and the power my mortal daughter would wield in my name would make an example of him.
There was a moment. I could nearly see the thoughts within her head as she tried to find an angle of attack. But there was none. Not now. "Very well father. I will do as you ask." She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I fought back the urge to snap at her. "Though I wish it were not so."
I leaned forward, offering my daughter my neck. "Do not wish it were not so. To do so would take the last eighteen years away from me. The greatest of my long life. Instead, wish that we see each other again in another realm and perhaps there we can live in peace." She sniffed loudly, and I felt a wetness upon my face I had never felt before. Tears. My own. "Strike as true as you can daughter..." I said "...you truly are a dragon in spirit!
There was another hesitation, and a second kiss on my cheek.
"Goodbye..." we said in unison.
| 2018-03-01T04:39:40 | 2018-03-01T04:17:24 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Okay, the army's coming toward you. What do you do?"
"I tell everyone to hide, then I open the front gate. Is that good for a bonus?"
"A bonus for what?"
"Bluff."
The DM stared at the Bard. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Rogue spoke for him.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
The fighter chimed in, "How do you expect this to work against an *army?*"
The Bard merely shrugged, and continued his description. "I'll climb to the lip above the gate and begin playing my lute."
"You hear the footsteps of the army approaching," the DM was rolling dice behind a screen, glancing warily at the Bard.
"I keep playing."
The Wizard panicked. "I go to close the -"
"Leave it open," the Bard interrupted.
The DM wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk from the Bard's face. "You see Lu Bu in the distance, leading a host of a hundred thousand."
"I roll perform." The dice clacked against a still wooden table. Not the best roll, but the dulcet tones of the lute still echoed well through the thick forest.
Ahead, the army stopped. Appraising the situation. Discerning the motive of the Bard on the balcony.
"Okay, Bard. Roll bluff." The DM was hunched like a cat behind his screen, ready to pounce.
One roll in front of the screen from the Bard. One roll behind the screen from the DM.
The true testament of will came on part of the DM, who, despite careful maneuvering over the length of his campaign, despite his bonuses, his banners, his buffs, turned his army back through grit teeth instead of flipping the whole damn table. | "Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War" | 2018-05-29T07:11:07 | 2018-05-29T06:46:10 | 1,810 | 74 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess" | "Can I use my mason's tools to help fix the northern wall?" Jim asked desperately.
"Well, considering you still count as Poisoned, you would have disadvantage on the roll, so roll twice and take the lower," Antonio replied.
"A 16 and a... 4... dang it," Jim looked over his character sheet dejected. "William, do you think you can get any of your hirelings to help?"
William looked over all the minis arranged on the walls of the plastic fort. "I don't think so, they are busy dealing with all the low level attackers on the right. I can't because if I get hit, I won't be able to keep up my morale buff. If only Sam could have made it tonight, he could have dealt with those big hitters first."
Antonio looked at his turn order. "Jim, I am going to need a Constitution saving throw from you at the end of your turn."
"I got a 6."
"Ok, you take 1d8 poison damage for... 5 hp. Anything else you would like to do?"
"I guess I will draw my knives to dual wield and hold my action to attack anyone who comes through this door." Jim slunk a little deeper into his chair and took a big gulp of his whiskey.
"Ok, the forces of the Republic are up. They are going to add a few more of the infantry guys to this side of the board," Antonio strained, as he reached over the board and placed a handful of skirmishers on the right hand side. "David and William, you can see in the distance, the enemy general has taken the field. He sits atop a white horse, and he is decked out in gear. I am talking huge hat with the feathered plume, medals, saber, the works. On the northern wall, the forces are going to... be able to climb the wall and begin entering the fort." Antonio moved several of the miniatures over the plastic wall, carefully counting out the spaces moved. "Ok, then, David, you are up sir!"
"You said I could see the General over there and I can see these guys climbing the walls?"
"Yes."
"Ok, then I would like to first use my Inspiring Leader feat to heal all my allies within 6 squares for 4 hp."
"Ok," Antonio said as he made notes of the damage.
"Then I would like to charge in!"
William looked up from his plans, immediately frustrated, "Damn it David, you are going to get us all TPKed!"
Antonio smiled, "Ok David, how do you want to do this?"
David grinned. "I want to lift my rifle up like a club, charge in, and yell, "REMEMBER THE ALAMO!" | 2018-05-29T09:37:40 | 2018-05-29T08:14:51 | 303 | 104 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | “I sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger”
“Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity”
A 5
A 17
D 12
“You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity”
“Imma hide in this here barn” | Napoleon was at the edge of his seat, by the end of this session, he'd wipe that smug look off of Wellesley's face, and his imbalanced barbarian "Iron Duke" would have to be re-rolled. Wellesley had just finished a tirade about Napoleon having killed his General, Cooke.
Athena gazed at the two men from over the top of her DM blind, "Napoleon, you know that it's poor form to target Generals. I'm not saying that I'll punish you, per se. But, if you win this battle- I just may decide to punish you while crossing the channel." The implication was quite clear.
Hands shaking, Napoleon reached for his d20. Bringing the die to his lips, he gave it his signature kiss as he closed his eyes and threw for the success of the linchpin of his plan- *clack clack clack taptaptap*
"VINGT!" Napoleon exclaimed, barely ducking Wellesley's chair, as it came hurdling over the table, only to be smashed to bits upon the cold stone wall.
At this point in time, Wellesley, breathing deeply, color returning to normal- mustered all of his calm and gave Athena his most stately gaze and said, "I'll cast 'summon Blücher." Napoleon, who had been taking a deep and smug drink of a particularly delicious 1750 Bordeaux, choked and sputtered out a raucous laugh. "You are a barbarian, you English twit! You cannot cast spells."
Wellesley swiveled his head to meet Napoleon's mirthful expression. "That is where you are wrong, You ponce", he bagan, "You see, I put my last seven levels into Conjurer." By way of response, Napoleon merely scowled.
Wellesley collected his beaten, and battered brass d20, while counting his +2 wisdom mod to reach a 15 against Napoleon's AC. He rolled the die between his fingers, and simply tossed it toward Napoleon, each skip along the way issuing a report that was nearly deafening.
Just then, the door to the game room opened, and a crisply dressed seventy-something year old man in Prussian uniform entered the room. "Zorry I am late, Arthur. You woult not believe ze traffic I hat to deal vith getting into Beligiu---"
**SLAM**
Muttering to himself, Napoleon hastily slammed his book closed, threw his dice in his bag, and marched from the room having not so much as said goodbye to anyone. | 2018-05-29T09:28:35 | 2018-05-29T08:28:13 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | “So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?”
“Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.”
“...”
“It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?”
“Winston Churchill...”
“There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.”
“Do you really have to do that?”
“Come on man it’ll be fun”
“... fuck it, sure” | Napoleon was at the edge of his seat, by the end of this session, he'd wipe that smug look off of Wellesley's face, and his imbalanced barbarian "Iron Duke" would have to be re-rolled. Wellesley had just finished a tirade about Napoleon having killed his General, Cooke.
Athena gazed at the two men from over the top of her DM blind, "Napoleon, you know that it's poor form to target Generals. I'm not saying that I'll punish you, per se. But, if you win this battle- I just may decide to punish you while crossing the channel." The implication was quite clear.
Hands shaking, Napoleon reached for his d20. Bringing the die to his lips, he gave it his signature kiss as he closed his eyes and threw for the success of the linchpin of his plan- *clack clack clack taptaptap*
"VINGT!" Napoleon exclaimed, barely ducking Wellesley's chair, as it came hurdling over the table, only to be smashed to bits upon the cold stone wall.
At this point in time, Wellesley, breathing deeply, color returning to normal- mustered all of his calm and gave Athena his most stately gaze and said, "I'll cast 'summon Blücher." Napoleon, who had been taking a deep and smug drink of a particularly delicious 1750 Bordeaux, choked and sputtered out a raucous laugh. "You are a barbarian, you English twit! You cannot cast spells."
Wellesley swiveled his head to meet Napoleon's mirthful expression. "That is where you are wrong, You ponce", he bagan, "You see, I put my last seven levels into Conjurer." By way of response, Napoleon merely scowled.
Wellesley collected his beaten, and battered brass d20, while counting his +2 wisdom mod to reach a 15 against Napoleon's AC. He rolled the die between his fingers, and simply tossed it toward Napoleon, each skip along the way issuing a report that was nearly deafening.
Just then, the door to the game room opened, and a crisply dressed seventy-something year old man in Prussian uniform entered the room. "Zorry I am late, Arthur. You woult not believe ze traffic I hat to deal vith getting into Beligiu---"
**SLAM**
Muttering to himself, Napoleon hastily slammed his book closed, threw his dice in his bag, and marched from the room having not so much as said goodbye to anyone. | 2018-05-29T09:44:43 | 2018-05-29T08:28:13 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad. | "Why didn't you kill me? You killed everyone else, all my friends!"
"Why are you asking me?"
"I... I don't have much time left. It's cancer... and I've wanted to know for years."
\*sigh\* "You remember what they called me? Long ago, before you ran into me?"
\*nod\* "The Messenger."
"Exactly. There was always one left at the end of each spree...who always died as the first victim of the next."
"But you were caught! The police caught you, right aft-"
"Right after I drugged you. You see, there's a certain mixture I used to use to incapacitate my victims. A medical cocktail, involving muscle relaxants, sleep medication, and a blood thinner. When I wanted them to panic, I used another mix of adrenaline and caffeine to wake them up. Entirely non-lethal doses, of course; my knives did that specific task."
"The mix you gave me was different..."
"It was. You see, I knew I was in for life sentences. I also knew, astonishingly, I had a genetic disposition towards mental instability, alcoholism, various cancers, and heart disease. Knowing this, I wanted to be locked up...but I wanted one last victim to claim."
"You...you're saying..."
"I'm saying I killed you, but with carcinogens instead of knives. Concentrated in a small dose, a variety of chemicals combined led to a stable, if slightly lengthier, death."
"So I'm..."
"You're my pride and joy." \*laughter echoes as wailing sobs begin.\*
\*Tape stops.\* | “Why didn’t you kill me?”
He sits across from me, and both he and I know he’s in control, complete control. The situation is his, his to manipulate. Fifteen years ago he changed my life. My boyfriend and I were abducted, and he was killed fast. I on the other hand was tortured and terrorized, before he finally let me go, on a roadside. It would be weeks before I could muster up the courage to go out on my own. Until I saw his face on the television, arrested for the murders of at least 6 people.
Now I stared him in the face, my closest encounter with evil. His face is illuminated by the soft-light, his shoulders relaxed. He seems too at ease to be as anything short of unnerving for me. This question had bothered me for all this time, and now that my days were numbered, I wanted to ask him why. Why I was spared, out of all his victims. I thought of all of them, wrapped in ropes, hogtied, tortured and brutalized mercilessly. Then, when they begged for mercy, at last he would bear down upon them, choking the life out of them. For some of them, like my boyfriend fifteen years ago, it was quick, a gunshot to the back of the head, to spend eternity lying in a shallow grave in the middle of the countryside.
As I looked at him, the memories came flooding back, and I blinked back the tears. He, of all people, was not going to see me cry. No, I wouldn’t let him see me weak, see me vulnerable. I remembered his face, wracked with sick pleasure as he watched me struggle against my binds, as he watched me yell and scream for help, for respite from his onslaught. I felt my wrists, raw from the way he hogtied my body, all to keep me from exerting any sort of power. I recalled when we met.
“My name is Aaron. Would you two kids like a ride?”
I wished that time machines were real, so I could go back and answer him, to refuse his sick advances. I didn’t want to get into his dirty car, where he pulled a gun, with no semblance of agitation.
“You two are going to do what I say.”
I felt for the door back then, felt my heart freeze when I realized it was locked. I remember my boyfriend arguing with him, which may have led to his death so after.
My answer should have been clear.
“No, I don’t want to get into your dirty car, and I don’t want to be felt all over by your filthy hands. I don’t want to be hogtied and tortured, and left scarred both physically and mentally. No, I want you to keep driving, and drive right off a cliff.”
That wasn’t my answer back then, it most certainly wasn’t.
In the dim light, I saw him smile. It was lecherous, and I knew he was savoring every moment of this, every single chill of fright I felt. He knew that even now he was torturing me, he was hurting me.
At last, he spoke.
“Heh, you were an experiment for me. I scarred you, and look at you now, you still haven’t healed.”
I smiled slightly, finding a little solace that he was locked up, yet I didn’t find it in me to contest his wicked statement. In many ways, it was true.
I sighed, I knew it was time. It was time to do what he would hate the most.
I smiled a little more.
“You are a sick man, Aaron Vickers. I accept that. And I forgive you for what you did for me.”
His face turned down slightly, his lips pursed ever so little.
“You, forgive me? I doubt it.”
I laughed.
“Nope.”
I walked away, knowing that my suffering would soon come to an end. His would not. | 2018-07-21T09:01:48 | 2018-07-21T08:24:16 | 146 | 23 |
[WP] Soul mate's exist. One day while showering, you're teleported in a cloud of smoke to another world. You appear before a dark queen who declares her spell worked and you, her soulmate, is finally here | It had been, without a doubt, an utterly shitty day, the shittest even, in an entire week of.. well you get the idea. The cherry on top of this unending brown tsunami was a client's dog letting loose it's bowls, to add a very literal ending to the day.
Hence the shower...
I mean, I'd showered at work too...and at the Y' on the way home...after yoga class and before... and now I was about to enjoy my forth, or fifth depending on how you counted it, one of the day. Because gods alone know what that dog had eaten, but Lord it stank!! A delicate aroma of dumpster fire with overtones of week-old dead skunk and just a hint of overflowing cat box.
I sighed in relief as steam billowed up around me... thank you whoever invented instant hot water! and leaned against the tiled walls letting the hot water pummel the stress out of my back...
Which is, of course, when it happened... the steam somehow thickened, become literal clouds of smoke, and there was this fizzing sensation, like I was an alka seltzer in a glass of water.
I sort of slid more than fell, down the wall...curling into a ball, as the wall seemed to turn into mist and vanish... and found myself lying on a cold stone floor. I lifted my head once it had stopped spinning, and looked up through the rats tails of my bangs.
"It worked! Oh my love! At last we meet!"
Blinking suds out of my eyes I could see the owner of the velvet-toned voice. She was tall, incredibly toned and rather well muscled..and *very* female.. and her skin was the exact shade of black that looks as expensive as all hell on a Mercedes Benz.
She was also mostly nude, if you didn't count the strappy sandals, a couple of strategically placed dustings of gold leaf.. and enough silver bangles to serve as an anchor for a battleship maybe. I coughed, still trying to figure out if I was having a stroke or just cracked my head on the way down to my bathroom floor.
"Um.. what just happened?"
Ha! my sense of witty repartee was about the same as usual at least...
"I summoned you my soul mate! My love.. to sit beside me on my obsidian throne, and be my husband so we may continue the ancient line of my ancestors."
I laughed... yeah, she really did talk like that...and slowly stood up.. water dripping down from my breasts.
"Yep... I think maybe the fates are laughing at us, because if it's children you want lady.. you got the wrong girl!"
To give her credit.. Queen Llandra, as I later found out she was called, raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and smiled.
"No...the gods have smiled on us.. You're perfect! And as for children.. well... there's spells for that!" | Case got into the shower and blasted himself with ice cold water, trying to force his brain into waking up for the big day ahead. It was around seven AM, he wasn’t in any particular rush, yet he felt a little bit anxious, as is to be expected.
“Barber at nine, flowers at ten, and ceremony at twelve,” Case recited to himself, he knew the schedule in and out already, but nothing was allowed to go wrong on this day. Nothing.
As he reached for the shampoo from the metallic vacuum-shelf in the shower, a mustard coloured smoke started enveloping his legs, “What’s this?” Case said in half-shock, trying to brush off the assaulting fog, but it was in vain. The smog soon started spinning quickly around him, glowing weakly like a candle behind a sheet of paper. His world was spinning, he started to feel light-headed and rushed out of the shower, in an attempt to get far away from whatever this was.
To Case’s great dismay, he did not enter his bathroom as he expected. Instead, he entered a large hall filled with people in black and golden robes, citing strange passages. There were large windows with light spilling through them, they depicted strange symbols in a wide array of colours and people he did not recognize. It sure looked like the inside of a church, but it wasn’t the one he planned to end up in today. In fact, he did not recognize it at all, it seemed strangely alien.
Case started to passionately share his displeasure with the situation, when a beautiful woman in black and red robes, similar to the servants but clearly more lavishly decorated, announced gleefully, “It worked! I can’t believe it worked, I summoned my soul mate!”
Case’s brain didn’t quite register what was happening, he was just in the shower, had he gone mad? “Where am I? What’s this about a soul-mate?”
The woman turned to one of the nearby robed fellows, a short and plump person, “He’s… naked. Is this part of the spell?” she said, the robed man shook his head.
Remembering his fully exposed situation, Case covered up himself with his hands as best as he could. He wanted to shout at these people who must’ve drugged him and played some sort of prank, but he recalled where he was supposed to be, “What time is it?! No, no, no. You need to take me back!”
The short man took a step towards him, “You are hereby property of Queen Ximenia, first of her name. And unfortunately for you, we cannot return you to your own world.” He cleared his throat, “Seeing as you’re our great Queen’s one and only soulmate, you are to be groomed and prepared for one day wedding her.”
Case glanced around himself, some of the robed individuals snickered audibly at his predicament, he didn’t find it funny, “I already have a soul-mate! I was to wed her this very day, you *have* to return me back to where I was, right now!”
The chubby robed man began to speak but was interrupted by the queen silencing him, “I’m sorry, so very sorry, but we can’t. Our souls are bound, whatever you had with her can’t be compared to what we will share!”
“You’re all crazy,” Case said, starting to shuffle his wet feet towards the large doors at the far end of the hall, “I’ll go grab a cab, don’t follow me! I still might have time to recover from this.”
The queen frowned, “What’s a cab?” she asked her servants, none of them knew.
Case hastily pushed at the massive doors, they opened without much resistance, to his great delight. When he stepped out on the cold stone, he realized something was very wrong. There was nothing but a desert surrounding this strange building he had been transported to, and there seemed to be two suns scorching him simultaneously. He was probably delirious, Case figured. He peeped back inside, “Ahem, where am I?”
The servants looked incredulously at each other, the queen spoke up, “We are in the Mekrath Desert,”
Case didn’t recognize that name, it didn’t sound like anything he’d heard ever in his life, “I don’t know where that is?” he said.
The queen looked like she remembered something, “Ah, of course, my apologies! We don’t know from what system you come from, of course! We’re on New Titania, in the Algeiba System.”
Case narrowed his eyes, “Earth?”
“Yes we have earth here too,” she responded cheerfully, “you’ll feel right at home!”
Ximenia gestured to her servants who quickly dispersed to collect Case, who was presently in shock. Someone covered him with a robe, many hands forcing him to walk off to a nearby room, there was a voice instructing him, but he didn’t understand the words. All he could think about was Sophie, and how she was going to murder him for bailing on their wedding day.
*****
Thank you for reading!
[/r/NordicNarrator](https://www.reddit.com/r/NordicNarrator) | 2019-04-28T13:24:13 | 2019-04-28T07:09:57 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] After a car accident, you wake up with amnesia. Your family tells you your life story and eventually you begin to remember. However, what you’re being told and what you’re remembering are completely different.
Edit: Thanks for the silver! | They tell me they love me. That I love them. That the long months I slept were lonely and torturous for them without me home and safe and sound. They tell me that I love slow jazz and fizzy white grape juice, but the music makes my head spin and the juice is too sweet.
They tell me that the car that hit me was stolen. They tell me the other car was long gone before the first responders cut me out of mine. They tell me my daughter was in the car, too.
They tell me she’s gone.
But I don’t remember a daughter. I don’t remember much, to be honest. I do remember my dog, a pup named Izzy that would wait for me to get home and push into my arms for love. I remember a heavier man waiting behind her. My “husband” is thin and holds our “son” in his arms as they greet me when I get home now. We have a cat, Chalice, who nearly trips me each day as if trying to finish the job the car started.
Each day I drive out to my job; I don’t ever remember having a cushy receptionist job in a sleepy doctor’s office that opens late and closes early. I remember being yelled at almost daily by someone wanting something, but I can never focus enough to see their face.
Each drive out seems to spark something new for me, though. Yesterday I remembered my favorite food. It’s steak. They tell me I prefer white meat, in particular, chicken. But as I detoured and stopped at a small diner I almost remember and ordered the words slipped from my lips easier than the “I love you”s that I repeated each night before bed.
“Just run it through a warm room, ya know?”
The waiter’s laughter was familiar and the taste of the steak was the most delicious thing I can ever remember eating.
They tell me they were worried when I got home. I apologized, the words empty to my ears, but he accepted them and wrapped me in a warm hug before handing me Olver. The boy cooed and smiled, his tiny hands wrapping around my fingers and grabbing at my nose. They tell me that he’s mine.
There’s a scar on my stomach. They tell me it’s from the accident, but I almost remember it being older, from when I was younger and dumber and it's on the edge of my sight and I can almost see how it happened, but it slides away from me like everything else. I’m certain the scar means Olver isn’t mine, though.
Paul tells me of how we met each night, as if it will stop being a bedtime story and become a memory if he tries hard enough. It’s a beautiful tale of a young Paul helping a young Marissa when she was lost in the big city. They ate at a hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant and exchanged numbers. They kept in contact and when he moved out of the city, he moved to her.
I’ve never been to New York. It’s one of the few things in this world that I’m certain of. And my name isn’t Marissa. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t Marissa. Paul’s mother is coming to pickup Olver tomorrow. Once they’ve left, it will be just Paul and I in the home. He’s planning a trip to help jog my memory.
I’m a mess of tangled nerves at the thought of riding with him, though. I have no problem driving, but being a passenger sends me into a nearly crippling panic attack. | I couldn't tell up from down anymore. It was infuriating. It had been a month since the accident, and I honestly wished the drunk driver had just killed me.
My parents had been determined to restore my memory to what it once was, but there was no point. How could they possibly fill in all 26 years of my life that I had forgotten? I kept remembering everything wrong.
I had told them to stop, that I could just make a new me, but they kept pushing and pushing. It was giving me so much anxiety.
They would never leave me alone. I had a place of my own, and a cat, but they refused to let me go there. They took me and my cat Milo to their place, and stuffed me back in my childhood bedroom.
That's where I was. I sat in the small room on the twin sized bed, the light blue wall paper starting to peel at the edges. There were crayon marks in every corner and a box of toys stuffed under the bed. I sat with my head in my hands, tears staining the sheets of my tiny little bed.
Was I really Giselle Angela Torenses anymore? Or was I someone else entirely?
This was the same question I had been asking myself for a month, as I tried to function at work and in front of my friends and family. They all seemed to attached to me, but I was distant from myself. Or, at least the self they were talking about.
I stood and strode to the door, intending on going for a walk, but as I put my hand on the doorknob there was a knock. My breath caught in my throat.
My mother's voice sounded quietly. "Giselle? Honey, are you hungry? You've barely eaten in days, love." She sounded worried and hurt, but also hopeful.
I gritted my teeth, feeling trapped. "No thanks mom, I don't need any food."
I could almost hear her face drop. For a moment my chest tightened, but it was brief. This wasn't my mom. At least, it didn't feel like she was.
Her voice sounded again as I backed away from the door. "Alright honey, that's okay.. Just- just make sure you eat something today..." I could tell she was trying not to cry. I could hear the tightness in her throat and the tears welling in her eyes.
"Alright mom, I will," was my only response. I waited until her footsteps faded down the hall, and then backed away from the door.
I still wanted to get out, so I threw open the window and shoved my phone in my pocket. Milo looked up at me from the bed, a questioning look in his eyes. I put a finger to my lips as I slipped out the window, signaling for him to stay quiet. He seemed to understand, and lowered his head once more.
I closed the window behind me and leapt onto the oak tree next to the window. The thick branches held my weight just fine as I climbed to the ground. It felt so natural, I wondered if I was ever a gymnast or something.
I smiled bitterly as I sprinted away from the house and towards the bridge. The bridge went over a huge river, with thin banks visible on either side. Teenagers and kids in town loved to hang out under the bridge. I had found my name on one of the pillars last tine I had been there. I went there now, and sat on the muddy ground.
I stared out at the water, letting the soft breeze blow my hair over my shoulder. I loved the quiet here. It let me think for once. I glanced over my shoulder at my name. It was faded, and scratched with age. It had been done in blue spray paint, in a neat curling font. I ahted that name, Giselle. I never wanted to hear it again.
I closed my eyes and let the voices and pictures from my head drown me. This was the new me, not what I had been told. I kind of liked the new me, even if others didn't.
I started to ponder how I would ever escape all this confusion. All this hurt, and rage, and fear. Then, it hit me in a wave of inspiration. I grinned as I jumped up and sprinted to the general store in town. First time I had really smiled in a long time.
In the store I picked up the biggest pocket knife I could find, and toom it to thw counter to pay. I was confident in my plan. It would work.
The cashier raised his eyebrows at me. "You alright Giselle? What's this for?"
I bit my lip trying to think of a lie. "Uh, I found some rope. I want to cut it to make something." Mother had told me I was crafty my whole life, so that seemed to be a reasonable excuse to me.
The cashier didn't say another word as he took the ten from my hand and handed me back the change. I hastily thanked him, and ran back to the river. What I was going to do, I wanted it to be in my favorite place.
My mind made up, I opened the blade. I put it to my skin, and I drew. I drew across both of my wrists, and satisfied with my work I threw the blade on the ground next to me. Now I sat with my arms in my lap, watching the red life slowly seep from the wounds I had made.
I felt happy, and light, as I watched the puddles of blood grow bigger and bigger. I felt calm, and safe, as my body started to grow colder and colder. I felt love for myself, as I let my vision and hearing slip away from me. I was finally free. | 2019-07-06T13:37:41 | 2019-07-06T13:22:47 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] You’re a Superhero whose superpower is Deescalation. You fight villains by talking through their issues and helping them to make better choices. | "You sure you understand," stated the Negotiator calmly and the Mad Titan nodded.
"Yes, just eliminating half of all life isn't going to resolve the issue as I'd hoped," stated Thanos, "The issue is more of a logistic one for the most part."
"So you see, this whole crusade of yours isn't going to achieve your goals, but you've given a great number of people purpose, why don't you go to that Garden world of yours and think up some other way to save the universe?"
Thanos nodded, rising and stepping towards an empty space before a glowing purple portal formed, then he removed the infinity gauntlet and tossed it to the Negotiator, "I think you will do more good with this than I ever could."
"Alright, but it will be here if you figure out a new plan," replied the Negotiator tucking the Infinity Gauntlet under his arm.
Thor stared at Thanos, the anger already leaving him for he now realized that the mad titan was mentally ill, and then back to the Negotiator, "You stopped him with just your words?"
"Its like I said Thor, you just have to go for the head." | "Listen, I understand how you feel."
&nbsp;
Both men stood atop a two-hundred-foot tall skyscraper. Above them, a gigantic array of perfectly precise death lasers loomed, ready to annihilate at a moment's notice.
&nbsp;
Vladimus the Dark turned quickly, "How could you? How could anyone? You don't understand what I've been through."
&nbsp;
Our hero was patient. His experience kept him calm even as he recognized true panic in the man across from him. He had seen that sort of desperation in men before. It was caused by the internal struggle that was always present when evil had taken root.
&nbsp;
"I do not, that is correct. But I do understand what you are about to do. You are about to kill because you are insecure, weak without a release valve with which to purge those uncomfortable feelings."
&nbsp;
Vladimus chuckled, "The great hero came all the way here to tell me that I am 'insecure'? I expected more..."
&nbsp;
"You've never had control. Your father beat you and your mother. You acted out in school, were expelled, and lost the ability to control your own destiny through achievement or excellence."
&nbsp;
Vladimus' tone grew solemn, "My father only beat my mother, never me."
&nbsp;
"And you could not save her from that. She is dead, then?"
&nbsp;
Vladimus shifted nervously but shook his head, "No, alive. She lives in an apartment in lower Manhattan."
&nbsp;
The gentle superhero let his heart bleed for the man, "I bet it is hard for you to look her in the eye after everything you've seen."
&nbsp;
"It is harder knowing that there is nothing I could do to stop it, nothing I can do to change what happened."
Vladimus the Dark stepped away from the annihilation console and lowered himself to the ground. Our hero moved slowly to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
&nbsp;
"We all fight against the movement of events. This is a waste, I think. Instead, change the direction of future events. Be the rock in the river that diverts the flow. Do good things and watch as the world changes before your eyes."
&nbsp;
Vladimus looked deep into the hero's eyes. It was obvious that he wanted to change. The dark villain envisioned futures where he was different and capable of more kind pursuits. Kids, dogs, houses, love. All of the normal pieces of life flashed through his mind. He wept, then, and wished things were different.
&nbsp;
In the end, our hero made a brave decision. Instead of allowing Vladimus to kill all those that the laser pointed toward, he did it himself. The hero of heroes moved himself toward the console and pressed the button that triggered it all. The annihilation was swift and complete.
&nbsp;
When it was over, Vladimus the Dark, with tears still glistening underneath his eyes, asked why he did it.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
"So that you wouldn't have to." | 2019-12-07T20:18:49 | 2019-12-07T19:25:31 | 451 | 308 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | As the villainous Bombdropper stood atop the crown of Goldgate Bridge, he reveled in his moment of absolute glory. The heroes stood below, paralyzed and helpless, for Bombdropper would drop his bombs the moment he saw any activity. He was untouchable, unstoppable, and nobody could prevent him from destroying this bridge and all of the sins it represented.
"Your daughter would still be alive if you hadn't called her bluff."
Bombdropper froze in place, his heart momentary freezing. He turned to the voice, and saw at the front of the collective of heroes, a lady wearing runner's sweats and holding a megaphone. "'Go ahead and run away then!' Remember that? Last words you ever said to her, were telling her to leave you alone."
Bombdropper shook, his whole body a running tremor. "S-Shut up! How do you know that?! Who the hell are you! SHUT UP!"
The lady in runner's sweats rolled her eyes. "Remember the morgue? The condition she was in?"
"Shut up!"
"That car never would have hit her, if you had been more supportive. If you had given the smallest of shits about her. YOU put her in the path of that Ford"
**"SHUT UP!!!!"**
Bombdropper roared through the freshly-picked scab of his grief, the detonator falling from his hand. It was all the opening Captain Swift needed to fly up and grab Bombdropper from his perch, while Rocket's Red Glare used his trajectory calculation protocols to intercept the falling remote in his heavy titanium hands.
The lady in the running sweats scoffed, and brushed her unruly blonde hair out of her face. Next to her, Deep-C and Wow-Girl stared in unbelieving shock. "How the hell could you bring all that up like that? So casually? That was way too far, even for a situation like this."
Call-Out shrugged, and hooked her thumbs into her sweat pants. "Don't wanna be called shitty, don't be shitty. Not hard." She gave the rest of the team a casual handwave as she broke of in a jog down the bridge. | We are trapped. Gullimore has caught us and put us in glass cylinder filled with green, bubbly liquid. It was almost impossible to not let the moistness of it send us unconcious, but we had to fight.
It has been a few hours since we were trapped. We thought we had him in the entrance. Opal had it all planned-Ember would burn out the minions, Ellix would turn off the saws, and Sean would just run to gullimore and snap him off.
Well, Ellix started everything too quick. Instead of turning off the traps, he accidently took off the electricity, including the lights. That turned on the alarm and the emergency generator, summening way more minions than we were prepared. Ember couldn't fight alone against the minions, so Elix had to join with his lightning attacks - big mistake if everything from metal. It hit off sean who was just one foot away from gullimore. Sean was sent forword torwords a cylinder, cracking it a bit.
I didn't need to hear Opal's call to know Sean is down. Ellix and Ember startef to fail. Ember saw me and sent me a burning baseball bat. "just hit as much as you can". I knocked off three minions before falling. One of them grabbed my ankle from behind. Until I took him down four more were already holding onto me. Power was truely not my strength. It seemed Opal was in the same situation pretty fast. And after being alone in a never ending hoard of minions, they fell too.
Gullimore finally returned. He was smirking. *just an awful taste in colour, really*. Not the time for that. "I guess you are confused as to how you are here." he looked at Opal. "maybe you are the most confused one here. Well, this green subsitute neutralizes your power using the amendo crystal" "ThIs GrEeN sUbSiTuTe NeUtRaLiZeS yOuR pOwEr UsInG tHe AmEnDo CrYsTaL, look at me, I am so smart with my crystiliezed chymestry shit, I have a PhD in alchemy" I could vaugely hear Opal voice. "-I have a PhD in multi dimensional chymestry. Do you wanna know what I will do with your power? I-" I looked at Opal's cylinder. It was the one that Sean hit and cracked. "Opal, your power works! We can do something!"
Opal looked at me, then at Gullimore, and then at me again. She knew what will happen of she will help me. But it was the last resort. She channeled me and Gullimore together.
*stop talking about your PhD.*
*what?*
*stop talking about it. It isn't special. You are not special because of it.*
*why, but it is-*
*but it is what, ha? You think that just because you could copy answers from Sarrah you are worthy of this adjective? You have done nothing by yourself in higher channel physics.*
*I have! I tried really hard... And I even scored the best-*
*You cheated! You are just lying to yourself, thinking that telling you are not to anyone else doesn't make it true! You didn't work hard then. You didn't work hard at all! You always exploited your giftedness, and when you failed you didn't even try the slightest!* "stop it"
*I am not... I am not...*
*We are not what? A total fraud? Everyone knows you are. This is why you are here. A villan. Hated by everyone. No body likes you. Nobody never will.* "stop it, please"
*I-I can be worthy of love*
*How, exactly? You have done only bad. Not even the most twisted mined can like you. Not even yourself. You have no worth! If you'd die people would be happy!* "stop! Please, stop!"
Gullimore started to sob. *look at them. You **want** to be like them. You want to be helpful. How funny. You can't. You can't be good, you can't be worthy, you can't be helpful. You are just you. A burden. To them, to this state, to humanity.*
Opal cried too. | 2020-02-25T12:34:32 | 2020-02-25T12:16:42 | 1,350 | 118 |
[WP] The dragon's lair is not what you expected. Instead of the mountains of gold and magical artifacts of fantastical power, the lair is instead filled with display cases of historically significant but common items. It's not really a hoard, its more like a museum... they even do tours... | I cautiously approach the cave, my eyes darting for any sign of movement. A dragon had been spotted in the area and, as the highest ranked adventurer around, I was designated to go and "rid of it". The intense heat of the desert around me weighing me down. I took a deep breath and headed toward the entrance.
There was lot of things to expect, but a well dressed kobold sitting behind a desk wasn't the thing I personally expected. My surprise must a have distracted me, as I tripped on a small rock and fell on my face. As I got up, the kobold noticed me and enthusiasticly waved at me
"Good afternoon traveler! Welcome to the magnificent moving museum. Are you here for a tour?"
I stared at the kobold dumbly for what felt like hours, before composing myself. I cleared my throat and...
"Excuse me what?"
"Ah yes, you must have not heard of us! We are vwlery populare in the southern regions, although I do guess you wouldn't adventure that far!"
The kobold looked at me, clearly seeing my confused face, he decided to answer my unspoken question
"The magnificent moving museum is a travelling museum where the great brass dragon Paar displays his collection of historical treasures and interesting trinkets!"
"Really? Sounds neat."
"Of course it is! So, would you like a tour?" The kobold looked at me
"Hmm, I'll have to decline, I was just here to see if you would be causing troubles for the nearby villages. Now that I see that it is not the case. I'll just go back..."
I swear, before, I never thought that kobolds were related to wolves, but that changed when I saw the pup-like-eyes he was giving me
"Are you sure!? Hemmm... Perhaps a special offer might interest you!?! Yes! That's it! As the first customer of the season, you qualifie to a free gift at our gift shop if you enter within 24 hours!" he stumbled with his words
'I mean, visiting a dragon hoard, when are you gonna get another opportunity like that?!' a voice in the back of my mind told me 'plus, you can't leave, you'll make him sad!"
I took another look at the receptionist again, before sighing and turning around.
"Okay fine, I am interested."
"That's GREAT, I can assure you you aren't going to regret this!"
He cleared his throat, taking a more professional tone
"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen! To the magnificent moving museum! I, toss, will be your guide today. I you would follow me inside, you are going to see many relics dating to the Era of the great war..."
As I watched the kobold excitedly beginning his tour, I couldn't help but think:
'This is gonna such a wild story for when I get back to the group' | Getting lost in the mountains of Bhutan was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd lost my tour guide, fallen down a hill and was now stuck somewhere on the East side of one of the mountains. Thankfully, I had prepared for something like this to happen and with my trekking poles, began my hike up towards the general direction in which I had fallen down.
While I'd expected to hear the call of some wild animal, or seen some sort of threat to my safety, there was none. I had no idea where I had fallen, and I could not hear the sounds of footfalls anywhere. Perhaps I had fallen much further than I thought. As I took my next step, a sudden spike of pain shot through my ankle, to which I let out a small grunt of pain.
Seemed like something had happened down there. I was surprised that a hurt ankle was all that I had suffered during my fall - but then a hurt ankle became the least of my problems as a massive silhouette suddenly flew by, eclipsing the sun and plunging the area into temporary darkness. Out of shock, I'd nearly lost my balance and fell down again, but I regained it before any such thing could happen.
This wasn't the greatest situation. If I wasn't able to get back to civilisation soon enough I would be as good as dead. I continued climbing with a bit of acceleration, adamant about making it to someplace hospitable before nightfall - which was closing in very soon.
Once sunset lit the sky with rays of deep yellow and orange, I'd reached some kind of great cave. It looked to be empty, but hospitable. I quickly entered, finding it to be much warmer inside than outside. It felt like it would've been a lair for a dragon, with how grand it was. I ventured deeper into the cave, before realising that light was coming from deep within. Soon enough, I heard the hum of a generator. Speeding up, hoping to find someone, I found myself in a large room with massive pillars, ancient items and objects proudly displayed upon them, encased within glass cases. Was this a museum? I found that the room was also lit up with large lights hanging from the ceiling, connected to a rather large... modified generator in the corner.
I decided to step in, putting my bag down and sitting, leaning against one of the many pillars in the room. It was warm, it was nice. I put down my trekking poles as well and took a deep breath. I then closed my eyes and began thinking of what to do next. Wherever this was, there would surely be some kind of security here. I affirmed to myself that I would get back to civilisation. It was then that I felt a strange gust of hot air on my face. Opening my eyes, I saw the massive snout of some animal, sniffing me. It then craned its head back to reveal itself in its full glory. It had deep jade scales, a long, serpent-like body and... well, it looked like a dragon.
As if my shock wasn't enough, it talked to me. "Are you indeed a human?" It asked in a deep voice, to which I nodded, not completely sure if I'd accidentally ingested some kind of mushroom during the hours prior. "That is good. I have not seen humans up close in decades. How are you?" It- assumedly he asked. I stuttered out a "Good, you?" almost pathetically, to which it bowed its head, "About the same."
"Where am I?" I asked, the dragon looking into my eyes. "My home, my treasury of human relics."
"Ah, alright." I answered as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence for me.
"Would you like to see them?" He asked, leaving me in contemplative silence. What felt like minutes for me, was in reality a few seconds. I gave a nod, and the dragon offered a claw to hold me in. I stood upon it, to which he brought me to view a suit of armour, perfectly preserved. It looked to be made of silk, with some layers of leather atop it. "This is the armour of who your kind would call *Chinggis Khan,* which I snatched from the battlefield."
He then led me to another glass case, "This is the..." the dragon stopped, leaning in for a closer look, "... the crown of the first Roman emperor, and his sword." He said, a hint of pride in his voice. He then began to waddle towards the next display case.
"This is the first clock, at first measuring through the sun. Quite the geniuses, you humans were. Next to that is the first instance of bronze." He said, continuing to ramble on, and on. I felt my ankle flare in pain again, as the dragon kept on moving from case to case. I had to tell him soon, but seeing all these things that other humans had likely never even thought of seeing filled me with a strange warmth. It was then that I realised, feeling it in my soul, that...
This dragon was a total history nerd, wasn't he? | 2022-01-11T11:35:55 | 2022-01-11T10:35:29 | 251 | 88 |
[WP] A Monster Made In A Horror Game Becomes Real, But Still Follows It’s AI. For Example, It Cannot Perceive People When They Hide, Even If They Hid While The Monster Was Starring At Them | The most feared scenario had manifested itself. Zombies were everywhere. Is this the end? Or is it the supply of these disgusting creatures that has no end? It was only one night, but it felt like forever. They just kept coming.
Those who had plans for this exact scenario started to execute their plans, to varying degrees of success. Others were in sheer panic. These guys had some intelligence to them, too. Walls could keep them at bay, but doors... not so much. Thousands of people had fallen victim to the new outbreak as it spread across the entire globe. It happened too quickly for any organized procedures to be carried out.
But then... the sun started rising. And with it, the zombies started... *falling?*
In an almost comical manner, everyone stood in awe as every single zombie in clear sight burned to a crisp.
The dark, nightmare-ish vibe in the atmosphere faded away. By the time it was noon, it looked like nothing had ever happened.
"Ah, Minecraft..." | “Mike, you better shut up if you don’t want us running around the town again!”Mia warns.
“What am I supposed to do! They have sent us this weird paper with all this coding shit! How are we supposed to survive with this?” Mike yells.
“Here. Let me see it.” Mia start to look at the strange paper but is interrupted by a loud, murderous, growl. It sounded close as if the source of the noise is right outside the room.
“It’s here” Mia whispered, as dread fill her mind. Heavy footsteps were heard, making the floor vibrate.
“Out the window. Mia out the window”
The twins moved quickly towards the window with Mia on lead. Only for her to take a sudden stop.
“What!?”
“M-mike we’re on the 3rd floor we won’t make it!”
“Mia, we will land in the pool, alright? We will be alright.” He tries to convince his sister.
“But I don’t know to swim!”
“I also come with you don’t worry”
There was another spine chilling growl.
“Mia JUMP!”
Both of them jumped together. Mia felt her heart stop for a split second. Then she felt her body harshly hit the ice cold water and felt her body sinking in. Panic started to kick in, but she was soon pulled out by mike.
”Mike!”
But then she noticed it. There it was. With its huge, disfigured frame. Pitch black eyes and a large bloody mouth which was torn in both ends. Having its sick smile plastered on its face. Peeking out the same window they jumped from. Mike notices it too.
“Shit”
The monster quickly starts destroying the window frame, making it big enough for it large body.
“Come one lets go”
The twins move out quickly. But not quick enough. As they are half way towards the main gate, the foreign creature is already behind them. Knowing they won’t make it to the gate, mike pulls Mia making them turn right.
But his effort was to no use as they were cornered. The monster, knowing they are helpless, widens its smiles. Mia closes her eyes as she slid down the wall she was leaning against. Let her tears fall to the paper she held in her hands. She notices a particular set of codes and numbers. Her eyes widen realizing the meaning,
“M-mike…”
“Mia listen. Ill distracts this thing while you run alright? Please be quick!”
The creature was dangerously close. It slowly extended it arm toward mike’s head.
“Mike, close your eyes!”
“Wha-“
“Mike, close your god damn eyes!”
Mike shut his eyes in a reflex. But he felt the monster move away. He slowly peeked to see its wide back facing him, moving towards the building. Once it was out of the grounds, he turned to see Mia opening her eyes.
“W-What was that…?”
“It only attacks if it sees your eyes, otherwise it can’t identify us” | 2022-08-22T03:29:18 | 2022-08-22T03:03:09 | 296 | 78 |
[WP] Years ago, an old Villain saved the life of a Young Hero and decided to adopt him before retiring. Now some rookie Villains have decided the best way to get to the Hero is through his dad. What a terrible mistake. | It was kind of a travesty, how lax modern villainy had become. He'd been surreptitiously informed about the coming ambush dozens of times over the past few days. His old minions had gone on to set up a whole host of hench services after all, and no-one took notice of the help.
They'd made it too easy, his generation. Back in the day you'd need to scrounge up your own crew, get your hands real dirty with the local politics just to set up a proper base and not be inconvenienced by the taxman or plumbing issues. These days there was an app for everything. Shadow networks that ran up and down the country servicing the darker side of the cape scene. The lighter side too of course, ghost shops running under a different brand, but working out of the same pristine shops. No reason to leave money on the table after all. The old crowd had fingers in every single pie of course, even if they'd hung up their capes decades ago.
And powers! Nigel shook his head. They'd not had this new-fangled powers in a vial shenanigans back in his day. If you wanted powers, you dragged it out from under cold dead tentacles and made it your own. It was bad enough when the occult factions had started handing out powers like candy, but this new trend of synthetic powers was making supers sloppy. Bah!
The gold death mask slipped back on like a glove. Shifting uncomfortably, the stone throne on the other hand was playing hell on his old bones. He'd cracked open the original licensing agreements this particular group of villains had signed, taking a few moments to refamiliarize himself with the exact wording before he cracked his knuckles to get to work.
You needed to send a message with things like this. He had nothing against villains using family members as hostages. Not in the abstract anyways. But you better be damn sure you planned sufficiently or you'd likely not survive the backlash. There was a habit of the gloves coming off when you made it personal like that. And modern capes had to step lightly. There were old monsters still about after all.
He'd made sure to include that in to the contracts, in a dozen different places that seemingly no-one ever took the time to read properly. They were in Breach of Contract, and as he slowly unfurled his powers, they crept down those broken connections. As he slowly leaned on those contractual links, a dozen unheard locks snapped shut across the ethereal divide, the weight of his ponderous soul slowly leveraging the broken covenants in to burning the very souls they were embedded in.
----
What villains survived on this side of the continent would understand well enough and be thankful. The understanding seared in to their very souls. Someone had fucked up and roused one of the old leviathans. And he'd been merciful enough not to wipe them out root and stem. The heroes would enjoy a short spate of peace. And maybe he'd use that as an excuse for Sarah to come visit her old man for a bit. Maybe a nice picnic he pondered, cracking his neck and humming to himself. | Jeff wasn’t sure what was sadder, the fact that he was tied to his chair in his own home or the fact that he’s been tied to furniture enough times to appreciate the skill of whomever tied the knots. Double constrictor? Maybe. It was hard to tell with the bag over his head and … something running through his system. It was strong, even while receding. Reminded him of how it felt to exist before the operation, everything blurry and muddy and slow.
“He is awake”
One.
A shuffle, wood on wood.
“Finally, you’ve kept us waiting Mr. Akvavit”
Two .. maybe three? Either American or English too, no one else used liquors as designations for supers of interest.
“You must be wondering why we are here”
Three and no it did not take a brain surgeon to tell they were here fo-
“We are here for your daughter”
Exactly… and four.
“Miss Red has proven to be a slippery gal Mr. Akvavit, you’ve raised her well”
Wait why does Suzie get to be referred to by the name she chose while he has to listen to these chumps tal-
“But you were not nearly so hard to pin as Red and her team, Mr. Akvavit. It seems you’ve gotten old.”
Well that was hard to deny. He already felt old when he dug Susie out from the remains of the lab and that was a good 16 years back.
“Unfortunately, even at 61, your reputation precedes you sir. It has been decided that you are too dangerous to be brought back alive.”
Jeff had to fight to not let himself relax. The swish of a particle blade being activated helped a little.
“Maybe if you also had some of that ‘power of friendship’ from your daughter, Mr. Akvavit, you could have avoided this.”
A creak of a chair, air whistled past a slightly ajar window, compression of polyester against porcelain, the fine weave of burlap on his cheek, fine but not quite fine enough. Jeff focused, filtered out the unimportant. There were four agents in his room. He was tied to his chair. Two were sitting about a meter away from him, watching him, wary of him. Another had just gotten off a chair a few meters away, was holding the blade, and was slowly walking closer. One more by the window to the left.
“It’s such a bullship ability Gin, we ought to bring the old man in alive, get some answers outta him.”
It truly was incredible how little Susie managed to convince the world her little band’s intel and careful planning was some sort of cartoon level group superpower.
“Not your call to make Scotch. His body will look alive for long enough for our purposes. And you ought to be thankful he doesn’t have access to the power of friendship.”
Jeff wondered if this conversation was actually happening or was supposed to make him afraid and beg for his life. If it was rehearsed then these kids were pretty good actors.
“Hah, I can’t believe you guys ate that shit, I bet it’s just a trick and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Well that’s just rude.”
Jeff felt a deep sense of satisfaction at seeing the agents in front of him tense at his voice. He wasn’t supposed to be able to speak yet. Enhanced hearing, given how he barely whispered and even the guy at the window flinched. Just regular human sight though, given how none of them caught him working his ropes.
“I mean yeah I am old yeah but “
“Kill him”
The blade was raised just over a meter away.
“I’ll have you know.. even an old dog like me can learn to believe”
The blade fell.
“in the power of friendship…”
Heads fell to the ground, but not Jeff’s. Unwound ropes fell to his sides as Jeff got up from his chair, joints protesting at the sudden movement after god knows how long sitting. He raised his hands but another pair beat his in removing his sack. Lips met his own angrily, crushingly even.
“Ah, is that what we have, Jeffery? ‘Friendship’?”
Jeff blinked away the sting from the sudden influx of light. Doctor Sarah McDonald didn’t look a day over 25, just as she did ages ago when she was in charge of a destitute teen picked off the street for his compatibility with the superman serum. They were the criminal mastermind and sidekick of the century. Until a rival villainous organization killed Sarah’s husband and kidnapped her daughter for experimentation.
“Come on Sari, you gotta admit, that sounded cool right?”
They’ve both changed a lot since those days. Jeff retired to take care of little Susie after they rescued her. Sarah working as a hero now to keep the governments off their backs.
“Cool? More like corny, did you learn that line from Susanah’s friends?”
They walked to the living room together. Sat together.
“Learn from them? I can barely understand them. You know the other day I asked if that Two girl on their show was anything like Picard and do you know what they said?”
Held hands together.
“What did they say?”
Some things changed and yet some things stayed the same Jeff thought.
“Who’s Picard!?!!”
The Dark Doctor still looked good in black. | 2022-09-02T13:43:52 | 2022-09-02T12:22:59 | 53 | 39 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | I was about to single handedly redefine the power scaling system. I could move things with my mind. No faster than the average person could throw something, no larger than a basket ball, and the heaviest thing was a 25 pound plate in a gym but that made my nose bleed.
I focused, I bled, I almost blacked out, but I had my own justice. The bloody bodies with pieces missing of my social outcast comrades who just wanted a safe workplace and some people who treated them like family. Dead. Mangled. I’ve never been serious when I fought someone with real super powers. Low level telekinesis. Like mine was barely considered C level. I will be an S tier threat to anyone who gets in the way of my vengeance.
The unshattered glass fractures. The dust rises and moves in geometric patterns showing the various directions of my powers fluctuating around me. Immediately I had guns drawn on me and uninjured heros taking their special stances.
My nose bled. It was the first time I’d moved more than one thing at a time. Every officers guns were yanked out of their hands, turned around, and the triggers pulled.
My eyes became bloodshot. My skin red. A hero who’s impact resistant charged towards me. They thought because they were bullet proof they were indestructible. They were fast, but I isolated their throat and crushed. Their head bobbled as their body went limp and fell to my feet. I stepped over the brutish body.
I saw the screecher, a woman with super sonic screams, take a deep breath. A scream like that, must’ve been what shattered my remodels windows. My ears bled as the panic set into the screachers eyes. She wanted air, I forced it in. I pushed a basketball sized portion of air down her throat and made her lungs explode inside her body. She threw up blood and chunks as her body bloated with air.
Isolating and rotating their brain inside a hero’s skull. They wouldn’t be controlling my thoughts any time soon.
Plucking your laser eyes out and letting them dangle. Kept you from closing your laser proof eyelids as you tore your own hands and body to shreds trying to cover them. Explained the scorch marks behind the register inside.
Seeing their precious hero’s destroyed in front of them, the crowd that had gathered in front of my simple little late night coffee shop turned tale and ran. The ambulance where the injured hero was being taken care of while my employees were barely being bandaged on the pavement tried to leave. Blood was coming from my ears, eyes, nose, and was starting to push its way through even my skin but I got it. That monsters head. As the ambulance drove away I held his head in place. He was strapped to a Gurnee that was locked in place to the back of the truck. Part of his spine ripped out with his head.
There was no turning back. I done playing around. | \[ParaSEC Target File, Threat Level: Low\]
* C-Class audiokinesis \[Looping and pitch. No evidence of volume control\]
* D-Class speedster abilities. \[Slightly faster run speed. Potential sensory acuity - further evidence required\]
* Target demonstrates propensity to use powers exclusively for show. All 'villainous' activity mundane in nature, possibly a publicity stunt. \[Officially denied by all contacted PR agencies. IntOps priority low - pursue only if convenient during other activities\]
\[End File\]
You know the problem with most villains?
Okay, trick question. There's no *one* problem with them, usually it's the egomania, or psychopathy, or the tunnel-vision. I used to say that they lacked flair, but some of them have a decent sense of drama with those capes. The real problem? They lack *fun.*
Not Jester's knife-wielding jack-in-the-box fun, but something that makes life genuinely enjoyable in itself. Sadism doesn't count. That's why I'm different, I'm not here to crush the world in my iron grasp, or to torture the world. I'm a villain for kicks.
Welcome to the world of DJ Dastardly.
Do you *know* how hard it is to give yourself a silly name as a villain? I had to fight *months* of media calling me things like 'Remix'. It's hard to scaremonger around someone with a silly name, they conveniently left out footage of my preferred moniker spraypainted everywhere for MONTHS. It was only once some kids posted it on social media that they were forced to give in. After that, I was Page 17 material at best.
I'm a heist-villain. Low level stuff- museums, science fairs, that one time I nabbed the mayor's statue at town hall. High visibility, low impact. That's my game, and my 'nemeses'... Well, let's just say the same goes for them too.
I've got a lot of respect for Eclipse Squad's PR team. It takes a creative mind to look at a human strobe light, a gothic fog machine, and a B-class telekinetic ("but DJ, she can fly!". She floats, and can make other things float. I'm shaking in my very fashionable boots) and give them some damn good branding.
So, here's the score (and believe me, I know scores)- You're somewhere public, but with oddly good acoustics. Someone takes a step, and it echoes a little bit too much. Then again. It starts looping- no one's walking anywhere, but now there's a tok-tok-tok of a 4/4 beat. I used to always have to say the name myself, but nowadays if I'm lucky someone else guesses first.
*DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ-DJ D-D-D-Dastardly!* (they only say it the once, the effect is all me).
From there, you're all part of the performance. Every step, noise, gasp, and laugh? It goes in the soundtrack. I'm a one-man-acapella/percussion looping pedal, and the audience? They're starting to like me. Turns out security guards find it really hard to focus when everything they do gets looped into a live performance. I'm there taking a bow at the item-du-jour, and Eclipse Squad roll in. Midnight's black fog blocks my camera angle, Moonlight *tries* to stun me with a flare (come on kid, *I'm in a cloud of black smoke, think about it*.), then Luna tries to knock me over the head with some slow-moving object. I throw them a bone "Damnit Eclipse Squad! You've foiled me again! But I'll be back for an encore!", and slip out the back.
All fun and games, honestly a great way to spend an afternoon, not to mention boost listens on my soundcloud! Until it got serious.
Turns out strobe-boy *moonlights* as a wannabe hacker (I'm not sorry). Tracked my IP to the little music studio I run. The one with the music program to keep delinquent kids off the streets.
They roll up in full-costume, see some kid that they'd knocked around for graffiti before and decide that this is DJ Dastardly's gang lair, and that the kids are my 'henchmen'. Eclipse Squad might be idiots, but as it turns out, when faced with blinding smoke and flashing lights, a lot of teenagers panic. Now imagine an enclosed space with a *bunch* of panicking teenagers who can't see.
3 concussions, one broken leg, 6 cases of PTSD. I'm just thankful Eva had detention, I don't want to know if Moonlight's power could've triggered her epilepsy.
I'm protective of my kids. They've had a bad run, and I was trying to show them a way *out* of the system. The injuries were one thing, but because they found a little weed on him, Jim's going back to juvie. That was the last straw. | 2022-11-29T00:36:26 | 2022-11-28T20:44:52 | 51 | 11 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | C-list was a comfortable position. I hardly ever had to put much work into the villainy aspect, so I got so focus more on my personal business. And, It meant I got to be a little bit goofy, which is always fun. For the most part, the heroes I ended up facing were kind, helpful, and sweet. I even kept in contact with a few of them.
Despite being publicly listed as a villain by most government, the truth is a bit more complicated. For most would be heroes, I'm the first real stumbling block they face, the test that's given to see if they can handle the serious threats posed by others, or if they'd be better of sticking with small-scale threats and crime on a small scale.
I also existed to weed out true villains masquerading themselves as heroes. that is where this story begins.
I was working at my bookstore, a small little place with a cozy atmosphere. I had a few employees, mostly people who had recently gotten out of prison and had tried to turn their lives around. Good people, hard workers.
It was a slow day, and then in walked "The Hammer," The most recent "hero" I'd been tasked with assessing. He didn't lack power, that was for certain. He had the ability to turn any part of his body into any metal, super-strength, super-speed, and flight to boot. What he lacked was morals. He only seemed to care about himself, and he could get quite angry when he didn't get his way.
The store was no stranger to heroes and villains visiting, but most were discrete, using their secret identity. But here was The Hammer, in his full getup, standing in the open doorway after he'd kicked down the door.
"I know you're here Amanda! Come on out!" His voice boomed
I saw Amanda standing frozen. she turned to run, but was hardly able to move before the hammer rushed over to her and grabbed her by the arm. I spoke up.
"Sir! let go of my employee!"
He scoffed "Your employee? did you know that she's a thieving piece of shit?"
"That's not relevant, let go of her and get out of my store now."
"Or else what? You'll report me? Who do you think they're gonna believe, a small bookstore manager and his criminal employee, or the greatest up-and-coming hero?" He squeezed Amanda's arm, she let out a cry of pain.
"There's a lot of people outside, and seeing you drag out a screaming woman is bound to create rumors."
I saw the thought of his reputation being damaged enter his head, and he let go of her hand. "Fine, but I'll be back. And when I come back, you'd better come quietly, or else this little bookstore might be reduced to a pile of rubble by a tragic 'accident.'" He gave Amanda a shove and then stormed out of the building.
Amanda had a fracture in her arm. I reported The Hammer to the organization that assigned heroes and villains their ranks. They told me to deal with it how I saw fit, and they'd keep press coverage to a minimum, letting me keep my C-list ranking.
Next morning, he was going to be given a mission to stop me. I was going to make a volcano erupt or something stupid, I didn't really care about the details, what mattered was that it was remote.
He arrived right on queue, wearing his full costume. I had neglected to wear mine, instead wearing my manager's uniform. The fool didn't even make the connection, and just started making fun of me. He didn't even notice the spike of stone forming until it passed through his chin. If he hadn't been so careless and overconfident, he might've stood a chance against me me, but it was going to get him, or someone else killed eventually.
His body was never found. The news story was that after stopping me, he decided he simply didn't want to be a hero. For his secret identity, he went missing on a hiking trip.
Amanda made a full recovery, and there was a small party welcoming her back. Like continued on, and there was one less villain in the world | "Oh they've done it this time," I clench my fist in anger.
Ever since that night, I've never liked those who act as if they're so self-righteous, but I never really cared for this whole system up until today. It's all over the news, the almighty hero, Grandis, raided a suspected corrupt business.
"There has always been something suspicious about this business, sadly, I didn't get to meet the boss," Grandis said on the news. With that, I left the scene.
I barge into the supervillain headquarters and fill up my gears. Never having trained in the magic sector, I'm well-versed when it comes to physical fights.
"Never thought these nullifiers would come in use," I mumble to myself as I load them in.
Before leaving, I went to the archive and pull out a map under the sector "Grandis." It's a map of his whole headquarter. I take a picture of it and upload it into my watch.
"Ey, where are ya goin Dolofonos?" a fellow colleague asks as I head out.
"Grandis's headquarters," I answer shortly before leaving. I heard that same colleague trying to stop me, but by that point, the door was already closed and I have gone into the shadows.
I never take myself seriously and will mess up on purpose, but this time, I don't have any room to be my usual playful self that messes up in missions.
&#x200B;
Slipping into the headquarters, I take out a janitor and change into his uniform. I scan his face with my watch and replace mine with his, that way, no one will suspect me. I push the now out-of-it janitor's tools and act natural, it will only be a matter of time until someone finds his body or until he wakes up, until then I need to create chaos.
Suddenly, everything becomes a big commotion and staffs gets busy...ah yes, it should be about time when Grandis walks into the headquarters. I quickly bring myself upstairs and using the janitor's card I made through most of the security. Once I've gotten far enough, I abandon the tools and change back into my assassin uniform. While all of this happen, a commotion suddenly erupted in the floor below.
"Geez," I roll my eyes, putting up my mask. I look into the hallway, which is the one that can get me into Grandis's office. Just as I thought, CCTVs and motion detectors, but I don't see any traps surprisingly.
"Quite the confident hero," I tell myself as I shoot a bug into the CCTVs, causing it to malfunction long enough for me to get through.
Hacking my way through the door isn't all that difficult and once it's opened, I made my presence known.
"Well hello there," I say nonchalantly, playing around with my hand gun.
I saw one of the staff try to call the emergency button but I shot at his hand, causing him to move his hand back. I saw another one reaching for a gun then proceed to point it at me. I look at her with and shot her using a non-lethal bullet twice on the shoulder and on the head, causing her to pass out.
Then one by one, the staffs gather their weapons and point them at me.
"I was going to ask you all to just leave, but it seems like you decide to do this the hard way."
&#x200B;
"Grandis, you have another patrol in three hours but until then, please rest up in your office," the manager say as she looks at her tablet.
"Got it, I'll see you later then," Grandis waves goodbye to his manager. "These damned supervillains, causing so much trouble for heroes, bah."
Opening his office's door, he sees an unwelcomed guest.
"Why hello there, I don't remember inviting a supervillain into my office," Grandis nonchalantly says, "nor do I remember my staffs all passed out when I left."
By that point, I have finished knocking out his staffs. Normally, they would be killed but I don't have a grudge against them, it's Grandis.
"Well perhaps you should've attach more security to avoid getting uninvited guests," I twirl my dagger around, not even giving Grandis a glance.
After a short period of it, I end up looking at him, who by the way is glaring at me. I sigh and slid my dagger back into it's socket.
"Okay, I get it, you want to know why I'm here, yes?" I give him a cold look, "Long story short, you decided to raid my business and injure my innocent employees. I may be a villain, but I care about them."
"Aha! So you admit that the business is indeed corrupted," Grandis points out.
"Just because a supervillain owns it, doesn't mean it's corrupted," I sigh, "you heroes are so annoying sometimes."
Grandis hears just about enough and tries to power up, but at that moment, I raise my tranquilizer at him and shoots a nullifier, hitting him at the right spot. With that, his magic dies down.
"Wh- what...." Grandis looks at his hands confused of what just happened. I take this chance and leap across the room to smack him in the face and kick him down.
Now Grandis might be quite dependent on his magic, but he's still physically strong. Easily throwing me off, he charges at me. Although....his big and muscular body does make it easy for me to predict his movement which allows me to easily tackle him to the ground.
"You're powerless against me, Grandis," I mock him, "you're too dependent on magic that when it's taken away from you, you become pathetic."
That enrages Grandis and he gets back up to try and push me to the ground. I got out of the way and pull the trigger, causing live-ammo to pass right through his right thigh. I then proceed to pin him down and inject a paralyzer.
"I hope this becomes a lesson you'll remember Grandis," I lean down to whisper to him, "don't fuck around other people's business without launching a proper investigation."
"If you mess with my employees or colleagues, you mess with me. Remember that." | 2022-11-29T08:15:42 | 2022-11-29T04:09:55 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once. | People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.
Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.
Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.
Having an off day. Pool party.
My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.
It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.
Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.
Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.
All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.
Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.
"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.
"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.
"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."
Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.
"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.
To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I smiled. He is right.
"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"
No one knows why I am called the Upsur.
So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.
"Are you having fun?"
I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.
The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.
Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway. | Ay-Ay-Ron ☑️
^(@officialmrsens8tional)
@fenixfire_herotv isn't this that chump villain you talk about? `https://op-ed.metropost.co...`
----
> Dear Heroes,
>
> Yesterday, a group of superpowered thugs caused an incident at the Little-Big Cheese restaurant. After what must have been too many drinks, one of them groped their waitress before the group erupted into argument resulting in a building fire starting at their booth, a pyromancer shaped hole in the shared wall to Mr. Kim's Asian Fusion, and a half dozen shattered panes of plate glass from super-people who cannot learn to use doors. It's only due to exceptional luck that there were only two broken bones and a concussion among the fire-suppression drenched bystanders for whom you showed complete disregard.
>
> I'd like to think I've been very accomodating to your individual concerns. I've deferred plenty of plans in the name of sportsmanship when you had to travel for business, your boyfriend broke up with you, your brother had a health emergency, or you've just had a bad day at work. But enough is enough. Injury to bystanders and property is strictly against the oaths you swore when joining the League of Heroes. But I don't feel the need to call your regional chapter representative. Because I know how to get to all of you.
>
> I know your uncle still pays for your apartment. When was the last time you talked to him? A week? A month? He couldn't remember when I asked. Too busy trying to land that acting gig again? It's funny how someone so fast has no time to learn people skills.
>
> I know the doggy day care you send the King Charles Spaniel you named after me. Yes, I have big ears, very droll you witless harridan. I know your mother makes sure you take food home because you can't help but burn anything you try to cook. You know she asked me over tea to keep things indoor or at night because you don't wear enough sunscreen? How did you end up bereft of any of her courtesy?
>
> I know you have half a dozen DUI stops in the last three years that you got out of due to Mommy's connections. I know about the "best interests of the family" and the girl from college who disappeared after you proposed to her. It's not a lack of physical strength or toughness that keeps you out of the big-time superheroes, it's you. You're a cowardly, guileless never-will-be who takes out their personal problems on other people.
>
> I can take apart your lives if I want. This is my warning to you: Clean up or get out.
>
> And as for you, Sean, your only crime is having poor taste in companions. If you ever want out of the superhero business, I know some people in contract machining that could use your skill set. And hell, if that doesn't work out I could use another henchman. It's a good gig, ask any of my people--we only have 9% annual staff turnover and our health insurance has the necessary provisions for super-people.
>
> Sincerely,
> The Master of Whispers
> Citizen, Business Owner, Supervillain.
----
Meghan Metal Scuptures *@meghansmetalaf*
@officialmrsens8tional you're friends with these assholes? They *shattered* @QueenOfPuttingShots arm! She's gonna lose her scholarship!
----
Reggie_FPV *@all4wallrideboss* ☑️
.@officialmrsens8tional just gonna leave this here. 😱🤦🏻 `https://youtu.be/dQw...`
*<Video has been removed by copyright enforcement request.>*
----
Reggie_FPV *@all4wallrideboss* ☑️
.@officialmrsens8tional video re-up
*<security camera video of superheroes infighting at a fondue shop>*
----
Whispers *@mrwhisperscasualvillainy* (✮NEW ACCOUNT✮)
That doesn't belong to you Reggie, please remove it. | 2022-11-29T08:53:21 | 2022-11-29T07:39:34 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan. | I don't know if the fucker was wasted or something when he walked in, but Jesus. For a Level 55, I'd never seen anyone fight so... So... Poorly. Maybe he was some kinda special needs guy, and we had to intentionally lose to make him feel good or something. No, that's not it. I mean, he managed to pull off a Divine Bulwark, so he was at least moderately competant. Idunno.
Anyways, so we start doing our routine, fake patrol 'n all. It's apparently a standard guideline for most dungeon's grunts after Orcdom was banned from the Villain's Guild when Hellgam the Brutal gave his Impalers permission to ambush Heroes on floor one of the OrcFort.
Left, forward, forward, left, forward, forward. That's my pattern, until I get permission to aggro. It's usually game over for the sucker who gets this job because it's out in the open, so Boss puts anyone who's in the hot seat with him in it. I, well, I haven't had the best track record.
I'm bracing for the standard Blue Bolt into Electro, but it doesn't come. I continue pacing back in forth, confused and worried that the hero hasn't instagibbed me. I break the regulation and twist my head at what's going on.
He's just standing there, taking it all in. *Weird.* Then, he abruptly turns to leave, bumping into the wall a few times before exiting. Maybe he's one of those crackpot scientist type heroes. All of us relax, at ease.
Then he walks in again.
Left forward forward.
And then out again.
The process repeats itself for another hour.
God, I hate trolls.
Finally, he makes his way in once more, only to unleash a Gyrum's Piercing Arrow on the ceiling. He reminds me of my lil' niece Beelzebub, who walks around in her bearskin diaper and shits on the floor whenever she wants.
Three more steps! Come on! He's almost in aggro range.
Those three steps take another forty minutes, and five consecutive walks into walls.
I turn, Shoddy Dagger of Ordinary Craftsmaking in hand, running, and I stick him with the pointier end. We don't get any good equipment on floor one, so daggers here hurt less than like, fuckin' Enforcer flip flops.
It takes twenty minutes, before the job is done. He swings his sword drunkenly and releases a couple of spells willy nilly. I dodge, despite only being given 5 agi, as a minor demon.
Finally, the sucker plops down dead, dissolving into little bits of bubble like all Heroes do.
Everyone kind of looks at me awkwardly, "What the fuck?" all over their faces.
Fuck. I've fucked up. Prolly shoulda let the guy go on.
Oh boy, Boss is gonna be pissed.
From the stairs leading down to his newly renovated Lair, I hear the steps.
And from below, I hear a deep, rumbling voice.
**"WHO THE *FUCK* KILLED SIR TWITCH_PLAYS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?!"** | So here I am, a scrawny little goblin with a massive dick, standing in front of the Dark Lord Cockripper, the most evil genital mutilator to ever own a dark evil fortress. He is shouting at me so loud that I can feel the floor vibrating slightly and my ears are begging to pop so that the pain will dissipate. He is going on and on about how I ruined his massive, super-duper, evil fucking plan. Big whoop. I would say I did the Guy a favor, but instead of a promotion, or employee of the month, he is going to wrap his massive black hand around my giant sized goblin dick and pluck it from my body. But before I get into the gore, let me explain.
So I'm just sitting in the first level of Ol' Cockrippers dungeon with a few of my goblin buds. We are leaning up against a wall and sharpening our spears, getting ready for the start of a new day. Mostly, heroes try to avoid this place, but the other day one of our flying dickbirds spotted a dude in some shiny golden armor galloping towards our fortress on a shining white steed. We knew that this was probably going to end our employment, seeing as how the last time the base was invaded most of the goblins were torn limb from limb by a massive bear of a man who called himself King Powerblumpkin. Today, we found out that we were going to be slain by Prince Knobgobbler. Whether or not those are their real names, who the fuck knows? All we know is that Cockripper stole their princess or something and now we all get to suffer for it.
So here we are, three goblins and some shitty trap where spikes pop out of the floor and poke the hero for like a tenth of his health. The silence is klling us, but then it starts. The actual thing that will literally be killing us. We hear the front door slam open and the first line of goblins giving their best shrieks for battle. Then the sound of limbs being severed. Then silence.
Clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk.
The even steps of a giant armored god coming to release us our souls from our bodies. Maybe next time I'll come back as a fireball flinging demon skeleton. Who knows, I'm optimistic for being such an evil guy.
So anyways, this big dude rounds the corner and faces us with the most ridiculous look I have ever gotten from another living thing. He actually thinks that he is ending us once and for all and saving the realm and all of that fantasy bullshit. Well come and get it!
Prince Pussyfart starts to sprint down the hallway, his sword brandished over his head like a retarded samurai. All of the sudden, he steps on the spike trap, and it gets him! He falls flat on his face and his sword skitters across the stone floor, sounding like a penny bouncing down a hill. At first, we are scared shitless; not a clue what to do. Then it hits us. We are going to be fucking heroes. All four of us hop onto Prince Buttsniffer and start stabbing him all over with our little spears. Its not having the effect we imagined and he grabs two of the guys, one in each hand, and pops their heads off like little dandelions. What a monster, right?
The third gob raises a spear to stab him in the neck and ends up getting snapped in half. Literally, like pulled apart. A little goblin wishbone. And then there was ME.
So Prince Pisslicker grabs me with both hands and starts choking me. This is it, I think. But like heaven if I'm going down without a fight. Next thing I know, my spear is through Prince Fartsniffers adams apple and he is coughing up blood and crying like he just got turned down at the prom.
HOLY. SHIT! I did it! Everyone is crowding around me, asking for the story over and over again, I'm riding the crowd and being showered with compliments.
"You're the worst!"
"'Your'e so damned evil!"
I'm on cloud negative nine.
Then I get into the big mans torture cave, or throne room, or whatever the fuck he is calling it today.
And hes not happy. Go figure. Not much of a father figure, this guy. Too critical of everyones work.
"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?!"
I've seen some ungrateful pricks in my lifetime, but this guy takes the cake. He yells and yells, and I am not listening. I know what is coming. His name is Dark Lord Cockripper for a reason and I have been playing the game long enough to know when he is about to get handsy. He goes on and on about how he had such a genius plan to trap him in the Lair of Pain (thats what it is today) and to torture the princess in front of him untill he convinced his father to hand over the land. Blah blah blah blah.
And here we are, back to the present. Bad Ol' Cockripper is getting up from his chair and coming over to enforce his name on my johnson. I guess that will teach me never to overachieve at work again.
Who knows? Maybe I will come back as a fire breathing dragon on level 5 or something. I'm optimistic. | 2014-09-03T12:02:19 | 2014-09-03T11:44:22 | 876 | 12 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.