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[WP] You wake up in Hell. You look around, you can't see anybody, it's just fire and brimstone going on forever. Eventually the Devil walks over and says "Finally, you're the first to arrive, so tell me, who are you? what did you do? and how did you die?" | "Steve" I whispered aggressively, "just Steve."
"The fuck you doing down here Steve the worlds only been around for eight fucking days." - the devil
"Chill man it's still a little fresh," - I continued "man I was just minding my own business you know just me and Adam broing out like two lazy ass muthafuckas until god starts butting in. We were just going at it and then god was al like ' stop that, that's gay' and I was Trying to tell him ' whoa it's cool man, just a bro job, ain't no sin in loving bro' am I right"
"Your right" confirmed Satan lord of bad ass muthafuckas.
"So then Adam starts getting bitchy and sentimental about wanting someone to clean all his shit and carry on his legacy and stupid bullshit like that." I pressed "he totally debroified and went straight to god asking for something to cheer his lazy ass up. God was all like 'ok my son' whoa imma stop it right there. God ain't my father or Adams either, I might not know my daddy but he sure as hell ain't no one eyes omnipotent cloud eater. So then is when shit gets crazy, he straight up pulls a muthafuckin rib out of Adams muthafuckin chest, and out came a fine lady mmm hot damn was I weak at the pelvis. So Adam in all his creativity names this bitch Steve, but I was like not in my garden those are my letters and I owned them first or else you pay my seven days rent. And Adam Was all like ' shit man not on the sabbath' so she kept the eve and left the rest"
The devil interludes, " man that's some bull shit man you can't let some bitch woman take your name."
"Whoa there devil let's not hate cause she's a woman,that ain't right." I corrected.
"Shit sorry man" the devil reassured.
Ever since then the devils been a feminist, ". so as I was saying after this bitch came in to play shit started going down. First rule was no more bro jobs. That was enough to set me off right then, but it got worse one day I was just mind my own business jerking off some cows or some bullshit when I see Adam and Eve getting scolded by god about some snake or some other bullshit,"
"Whoa dude stope right there, that was me,I fucked them so hard," said the devil.
"Really man? That's cold as tits, but ado was saying god was bringing down a world of pain making all these bullshit rules when bam, no more gay stuff. And I'm like what the fuck man? I was just mind in my own business jerking off cows and then this bullshit man, fuck you I'm gonna make my own paradise with the devil and shit,"
"Wow that's really heavy man," the devil " and that's why gay marriage is illegal?"
"That's why gay marriage is illegal"
| Fred closed his eyes, the morphine finally kicking in. The car had come out of nowhere.
When he opened them, he screamed. The hot, searing pain of broiling flesh as his feet touched the brimstone beneath was just the beginning. It went on forever, a never ending wasteland with gouts of flame bursting forth from cracks in nature-free brimstone. The heat caused his flesh to crack, and the scream died as thirst overcame even the pain from his feet.
"Water..." Fred gasped, barely able to speak, and his eyes once again surveyed the desolate terrain before him. He was alone. Completely alone. No matter the direction he looked, no matter how far on the horizon he searched, there was nothing but the same fiery hell. Desperate as he spun, Fred crashed to the ground, and it began to broil his sides and back as he struggled, the very landscape attacking him.
Almost by magic, a hand suddenly appeared in aid, and Fred grabbed desperately at it, letting out a sigh of relief as he was hauled back to his feet before gasping at the figure before him. Terror began to ooze down Freds face as realization dawned on him. "I'm in Hell." he gasped, still desperate for water.
"Ah, well..." the figure fumbled, "... about that." Surprisingly, it offered Fred a jug. "Yeah. You kinda are." Fred eyed the jug warily, and the figure shook it, letting its contents slosh.
Fred grabbed the jug greedily, popping the rudimentary string and stopper before recklessly glugging down its contents. Liquid relief poured down his throat, and he gagged, and coughed some back up. When he recovered, Fred returned his gaze to the figure, curiosity on his face as he thought about what just happened "Water?" he asked.
"What else would it be?" The figure asked, surprised at the question. "No, ah, no..." It said, interrupting itself. "I have questions of my own... you see, I have this bet..."
Fred interrupted the figure, who was not as confident as Fred had been led to believe. "The one with God, right?"
"Oh! You know!" The figure was visibly pleased, and Fred found himself smiling back. "That makes this much easier. Well you see... things haven't been going so great on my end." It was Freds turn to look surprised.
"What do you mean?" Fred asked "Isn't Hell bursting with people?"
"Look around!" the figure yelled, its arms spreading to the landscape "Do you see anyone?"
"Well... no...."
"You're the first person buddy! Actually, what do I call you? I think we'll be spending a lot of time together, but I'm not entirely sure how this works...." The figure seemed almost self concious as it spoke, and Fred started awkwardly squirming, while desperately trying not to move his scalding feet.
"Fred. My name is Fred." Fred found himself desperately trying to grasp at the situation as he replied.
"Fred! Got it!" the figure replied, suddenly pilfering a pair of sandals from nowhere and offering them. Fred took them, shaking his head as he did so, but letting another sigh of relief out his feet were freed from the furnace below. "So ah, Fred..." the figure began, but halted, grinding its foot on the ground awkwardly in a fashion Fred found awkwardly familiar.
"Yeeesss...?" Fred replied, not unlike he would when others used the same stance.
"What, ah... what did you do? To get down here I mean?" The figure was visibly distressed as it asked, concern strangely dripping from its features.
"Well, ah..." It was Freds turn to stutter "I always thought I was a pretty decent guy in all honesty." He said, wondering if it is actually true as he surveyed the landscape once again. "Though I guess not..."
"What do you mean, 'you guess not?'" The figure looked confused, so Fred continued.
"Isn't that the deal? With God I mean? Bad people go to hell?" The figures reaction was not what Fred expected, and as he watched something he'd grown up to live in fear of suddenly have abject terror on its face, his own face began to mimic it.
"I didn't get told that bit!" The figure cried, pleading at Fred "What did you do that was so terrible!?"
"I don't know!" Fred shouted back, the situation rapidly deteriorating. "I drank. Does that count?"
"Why would that count?" The figure shouted back, Fred defusal attempt failing. "Drinking bad things kills you! It doesn't get you to Hell!"
"Well then I don't know!" Fred was getting frustrated at the situation, and stopped, suddenly thinking. "Thank you for the sandals." He suddenly found himself saying. "And the water."
"That's what others are for. To help." The confusion on the figures face faded as it spoke.
"I... I think I know what's going on."
| 2015-04-09T07:58:39 | 2015-04-09T07:56:32 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] You're Woody and you've just been "adopted" by a new family. This person has a lot of toy collections but by far his Warhammer 40K collection is the strangest and it's making Buzz Lightyear nervous. | "Greetings, fellow toys. I am Buzz Lightyear, and I come in peace."
"Purge the heretic. Cleanse the foul taint of chaos from this Hive World."
Buzz paused for a moment as a few dozen guns leveled at him. The Inquisitor's grim countenance did not break into a smile, merely curled with further contempt. The Cadians, Mordians and even Valhallans all waited to eviscerate the xenotide.
"But I'm a toy. We are all toys," Buzz protested.
"You mean puppets of chaos. We are not toys, but men, chosen of the Emperor. You, behemoth, reek of the taint of the Warp."
"The Warp?"
"The passage that lies beyond. Once the warp was safe, but we have seen the corrupt savages that return hence. Behold the filth that must be purged."
The Inquisitor pointed over to a shelf, somewhere out of the way. Buzz turned his head, eyes widening at the horrors that existed. Melted plastics, badly combined sprues of limbs, and models slathered with glue, details obliterated in oozing resin. A few even had the worst crime of all: multiple thick layers of black undercoat, with crude red, yellow and orange flames blotted on to their armour by someone who didn't know how to wash a brush.
"Once, this was a pure land," the Inquisitor continued. "We, the originals, handed down from the father, the Emperor. Only now the taint of chaos infests. The spawn of Horus, the infernalist Jimmy, feeds the vile Tyranids with his monstrous presence."
"But...they're just toys, like you! They're just badly painted! Jimmy's done this, not them! Not me!"
"SILENCE!" The Inquisitor howled. "Lest you end up like the remnants of the Hive World 'Warhammer', whose paltry forces of primitive Eldar were sacrificed by Jimmy to the vile chaos God 'Eebaay' when the lies of the 'Age of Sigmar' commenced."
Behind the Inquisitor, Buzz saw tanks rumbling forward. He held his hand up, muttering about coming in peace. But they didn't seem to buy it. They didn't seem to understand. It was almost as bad as his own delusions. Or the delusions of the Other Buzz in that Supermarket. Or the delusions he'd had in the nursery, as his button had been reset. The Inquisitor seemed to believe everything he said.
"Prepare the dip," the Inquisitor commanded. At once, a skull-faced assassin appeared, popping open a pot of something called 'Badab Black'. Buzz didn't like the sound of...
The door swung open and Jimmy walked in. At once, Buzz collapsed. The soldiers, still in their combat-ready poses, froze, guns still trained on him. If he weren't plastic, he would have felt a bead of sweat drip.
"Buzz Lightyear. Laaaaaame," Jimmy said, gripping Buzz and positioning him, fists rigid. "You're what, 20 years old? Still, I got a use for you."
Buzz felt himself cast down onto the bed, Jimmy collapsing down and firing up his console, blasting opponents into oblivion with insults about their mother, munching cheese-based snacks and slurping colas. To Buzz it felt like a lifetime - a torment of waiting to see what would happen. Then Jimmy grasped him again, taking him over to the paint station.
"So, what am I going to do with you?" he asked, pulling out a screwdriver and pair of pliers. "Hmm... GOT IT! I'm going to convert you into an Ork Mecka. Take your head off, add some lascannons and meltas, give you a paint job... yeah. The Ork Boyz are going to love it. You're going to be the centrepiece of my new converted army."
Buzz felt the screw in his back loosening, and gazed up into those callous teen eyes. He was beginning to wonder if the fate the Inquisitor offered him wouldn't have been preferable after all...
Edit: Fixed the spelling of Orc to Ork. | The room whirled by underneath me as I was tossed unceremoniously across the room onto a large bed. Buzz landed beside me, and our eyes made contact over the plaid bedsheets. We lay motionless while the new owner, I believe his name was Gunner or maybe Johnny, moved about the room, tidying the a few misplaced items. He sighed as he finished tidying, looking down at Buzz and me.
"Man, it has been a long time since I have seen Toy Story. Been longer since I have seen a Woody or Buzz toy, especially in this condition. I bet Candace will love this. I got to do a little touch-up on old Woody here first. I wonder if acrylics will work well with his original paint. I better go see Harry. I would hate to have to strip them......"
He mumbled a few more things to himself before dialing a number into his cellphone. The eyes of the blue smartphone, located on the back facing Buzz and me, opened and focused on us They widened, and a mouth made from the speaker located on the back of the phone, silently mouthed a short, one syllable word. The word looked to be hi, but the eyes carried the wideness of absolute terror. Gunner or Johnny left the room, the sound of another human answering the phone following him.
We slowly stood up on the plaid bedsheets. We began to look about the room. It was mostly very spartan and neat. A large closet with hanging clothes, clearly organized by type and color, was upon the far expanse of the room. The walls were made of white sheet rock, only broken by a window and accompanying sill, and the previously mentioned closet.
"Hey, Buzz" I said. "Did you see the phone? Could you tell what it was saying?"
Buzz replied with. "I couldn't see the phone, buddy. I was facing you." He began to grin. "Looks like a new room to explore, and new friends to make. What do you say, we check it out?"
"I was just waiting on you!" I laughed out loud. I began to walk towards the edge of the bed. I saw a large desk with a desk lamp illuminating it's surface. I, at this point, noticed that no sound was audible, which was rather strange. Usually, other toys were excited to see new toys. I pushed it to the back of my mind.
I began to climb to the desk, Buzz following shortly behind me. Once we reached the top, I noticed a fair amount of paint blotches, assorted paint types, and most disconcertingly, a series of uncolored arms and legs and torsos. These figures never moved and many seemed to be attached by their skin to square racks. Buzz and I moved closer together.
"Woody," I hear him say in almost a whisper. "This isn't right. We had better get out of here."
" Yep. You lead the way".
We turned and began to walk towards the edge of the table, when the roars of engines and men shouting filled the air. We turned to see two immensely towering, mechanical, walking machines that appeared to be carrying an immense amount of guns and appeared to be giant whirring chainsaws shaped like swords. How we did not notice them, I will never know.
Three lines of what appeared to be slightly larger army men, but painted in an actual color scheme, ran from behind clever hiding spaces and trained their weapons upon us, with men carrying what also appeared to be chainsaw swords, and pistols shouting nigh incomprehensible orders. I heard another set of engines roaring and I turned to see three aircraft hovering between us and the edge of the desk, rappel lines dropping out and men, though dressed and shaped entirely differently, dropping down those lines. These newcomers each were dressed in green combat fatigue bottoms, a green or black undershirt, some with a green vest, a red bandana upon each head, carrying guns, large knife, and an immense overabundance of muscle. The three lines of hidden men were dressed in a very minimal body armor in various shades of drab brown or green.
Buzz shouted for me to run and he charged forward towards the aircraft. Red colored lights began to crisscross about us. When we were hit, an immense pain began to shoot through us. We hit the front line of the rappelling soldiers. I jumped over their lines, but Buzz lowered his shoulder and slammed through the line. I heard a massive low sound and felt a force lift me up and throw me through the air from behind. The force pushed me far over the edge of the desk, and as I was falling, I caught a glimpse of Buzz holding back the chainsaw sword arm of of the walking machines, and the second arm shooting a large weapon into his chest, his chest exploding, and his parts coming out of his back.
"BBBBUUUUUZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!" I scream as I hurtle downwards through the air. I slam hard into the ground and lie helpless, my air and sense knocked out of me. The last thing I see is a large, but fat man with what appears to be an overcoat, smoking a cigar, peering down at my motionless body. My vision fades around the fat figure and I fall to sleep.
I awake peering into an older man's eyes. I can't feel anything. Nothing but an overwhelming desire to serve the Emperor. Praise be to the Emperor I think, and then I shudder. Who is the Emperor? I ask myself. Why don't I feel anything. The older man laughs and shouts over his shoulder." It's done"
What is done? I stare into the old man's eyes. I see a reflection, but it can't be mine. Only one eye that isn't machine stares back. The rest have been modified and replaced with mechanical parts. I look deep into the older man's face, and say in a voice not of my control, "Those who are unworthy to serve the Emperor in life, will serve him in death. What is your bidding?" | 2017-01-17T00:40:10 | 2017-01-16T22:27:28 | 360 | 56 |
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part. | Sam sighed as he looked upon the whole of his creation. "I just don't want them to hate me," he said. "They never even knew their mother. I'm all they've got."
The woman seated next to him nodded sagely. "I know it can be hard, raising them alone. But this hands-off approach you've been using for the past few millennia just isn't *good* for them, dear. They need *discipline*. As it is, your people are stunted. You gave them this whole beautiful universe and for the most part they don't even care to explore it. They just stay in their Earth, wrecking the place and fighting with each other over who loves you more. You need to give them a little guidance. They'll thank you for it."
"I'm just worried if I let myself lose my temper I'll take it too far," said Sam.
"Yes," the woman paused, considering her words carefully. "The flood was a little bit over the top. But you can teach them boundaries without all of that."
Sam flushed slightly. "I'm still embarrassed about that one," he said. "But they just really push your buttons sometimes, you know? It's the free will that makes it tricky." He sighed again. "Sara would have known what to do."
"I know you miss her," the woman said. She patted his knee. "But you can't just let them run wild like this. Have you thought about reining in the free will a bit? Your people might be happier that way. Look at your ants and bees. So organized!"
"They're killing the bees too!" Sam shook his head. "No, that's my fault. I should have made them cuter. You should see how hard they work to save pandas, and they don't pollinate anything!"
"I think we're getting off topic, dear."
"I'm just saying, a lot of this is on me," said Sam. "I've just been creating off the cuff. Panda bees! That's a great idea right? I should get to my workshop."
The woman shook her head. "You can't just keep escaping into your work."
Sam shrugged "Look, the people will sort things out in time. But they have to have free will. I haven't given up on my goal yet."
"What is your goal, dear? What do you want from them?"
"Just...someone to talk to," Sam said. "That's all."
There was no reply.
The wind picked up. Sam looked at the empty space beside him and sighed again. He stood up.
"I really should get back to it then," he said to the wind.
| ***
The forty-two founders rarely agreed on anything. They had been delivered by the same cosmic anomaly and forsaken to muse on their heritage and place in the void without a thought or word of guidance.
They had toyed with each other and life, and moved freely throughout all of existence. Their being was comprised of all forms of matter — they were linked to everything — and through it they could extend their consciousness and control and manipulate.
"She doesn’t know the meaning of Godhood,” Dev said. He was the most engaging of the forty-two, and over the endless span of their time he had emerged as the prominent number one.
"Did you try to help her once — after she banned you?” Lago said.
As a hierarchy emerged amongst the Gods — dividing the truly powerful with the lesser ‘connected’ — Lago had become a groveler among them.
"I did!” Dev laughed and drank his favorite black star wine. They had all adopted a humanoid form, as they found it the easiest to repair and alter. Dev stood six foot five, his beard was long and black and he ran his fingers through it consistently.
He glared down at the Earth like the long lost lover it was to him.
Of all his creations, across all the multi-verse, Earth was his favorite. He loved to make love to his Earth creatures. He adored being worshiped as he walked among them.
Among the Mesopotamians he was God.
Gilgamesh, he allowed them to call him.
Then Sargon.
Pharaoh.
Zeus.
Brahma.
Jupiter.
Yama.
Yama was he favorite name to be called. The God of Death. Those were joyous times. It wasn’t the mass destruction he lusted after — no, he rarely did any destruction at all.
It was the fear. The way the creatures moved and acted around him. How they treat those they fear is superior to any sensation Dev had felt in all time.
"I did, try to help,” Dev said. “After she — the Goddess of Love and Compassion, the one they always prayed to in their dark hours — after she beat me in that petty bet and I was banned from interacting with “her” creations. “HER CREATIONS! Pah!”
Dev stood and drank.
Lago smiled giddy. Over the years they sat and watched this dull blue planet Lago had dreamed of being elsewhere, but in his subservience to Dev — and Dev’s obsession with this insignificant world — they silently observed for millenniums.
"I created all of them!” Dev said. “Then she comes along, wins some ridiculous wager, and now she gets to control them! They call her God,” he laughed. “Her! That’s how much control she has on them! They all — every one of those misplaced worshippers, they all call their Lord and Savior a Him!”
"She is a weak leader,” Lago said.
"She is not a leader! She is not even a God to them! She spectates and let’s them roam their world freely! Doing whatever they please with no consequences! Pah!” Dev spat. He was mounting rage.
"She brings them a man with the title, Son of God, and disrupts everything I built. She lets them run themselves into the ground. Into controlled chaos and despair because they have no set God to kneel to, so in their expanding idiocy they think themselves powerful and Godlike,” Dev said.
"She should not be their God,” Lago said. “She should not even be one of the forty-two.”
Dev looked over the Earth.
"She lets them breed freely! Look at their population!” Lago said.
"I tried to help that,” Dev said.
"The plague was a very kind thing to do, my Lord,” Lago groveled.
"I thought so,” Dev said.
"And did she thank you! No! She reported your breach to the forty-two.”
"They can do nothing to me,” Dev nodded proudly.
"Then why sit back and watch her neglect your most beloved creation?”
"It maintains order among the forty-two.”
"Do you think they will risk inner conflict over the fate of one world?”
Dev sat and pondered this.
"No,” he smiled, ready to retake the mantle of Earth's One God. “I don’t believe they would.”
***
[/r/wyrdfiction](https://reddit.com/r/wyrdfiction) | 2017-05-07T09:14:56 | 2017-05-07T08:20:02 | 524 | 123 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 828 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 159 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Honestly, I always liked the idea of being like my father, he took care of me, my sis and my lil bro. The man raised us three into great people, I always wanted to be like my dad. Sadly, life wasn’t that kind to me, in the words of the doctor as I had a check up on my health…
“There is no shame in it sir, some people just weren’t made to have children”
I know the man didn’t meant anything bad with that, but well, nothing I could do, nothing bad with being sterile…. Nothing bad with that…
My coworkers in the office found out about it, some joke about it, some others just said sorry. One, one decided it would be fun to give me a mug that said “#1 Dad” I wanted to throw the mug and break it in pieces. But I didn’t, no, I simply left it in my desk and took it with me back to my apartment.
I did my routine of everyday, work, cook, rest, and visit the kid in the park. You see I often visited a kid in the park who I played chess against. Kid you not, he is better than any of my coworkers. Kid knows how to play chess, I’m still not sure how it happened. We just started to play a game in the park, I set the chess board and he sat against me. A couple of hours later we decided we would play every day.
I don’t know what pulled me to play with the kid, but in a way, I saw my lil bro in the kid. Robert had always been one to play board games against me, but different from Robert this kid could make me bite the dust. And that is how every day after work I would play with Alex on the park and buy something for him to eat.
I was sure the kid was living on the streets, I didn’t have any idea of how he survived, I don’t think I could keep it up like him. Maybe that’s what made me push the subject and offer to adopt him about three months after our first contact.
The day the coffee mugs started to show the number in ranking of the fathers all around the news were excited to look for the #1 Dad, who could that guy be? My mug changed that’s for sure. It didn’t show a ranking number, in something totally different, mine got white. The porcelain white mug didn’t have anything written in it. Not that I care though
“I’m going to class dad”
“Be careful out there Alex”
The hug of the kid made me feel like the number one dad. Some people aren’t made to have children, but everyone can be a father. Hope you are proud dad, I’m just like you. | George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor. | 2017-06-11T10:00:17 | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 104 | 77 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 46 | 17 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | "Raul," crooned Raul in a very suspicious French accent, as he took the lady's hand and graced his eager lips on it. "Let me guess," he continued, releasing his grip and pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit, please. Let me guess, you're a Mari- no, no, you're a Cassandra? I'm right, am I not?"
*Suave.* Yes, that was what he would be today.
The woman's botoxed forehead tried its best to frown, her lips fighting (and losing) a similarly uneven battle. "How on Earth did you know that?"
Raul slicked his dark hair back with ringed fingers. "Your beauty, it was that of a Maria, or a Cassandra, and there was a certain radiance that could be of no Maria. I see, no wrinkle has dared to blight your perfect face -- that tells me all I need to know." He lowered his voice to a rippling whisper. "*All I need to know.*"
Cassandra giggled through perfectly still lips as she slid into a seat. "My," she said, "You are a charmer. And that accent... Australian?"
"Australian?"
"Yes. I'm certain of it. I've got an aunt who lives there, and strike me down if you don't sound *just the same!* Don't worry -- she's a smoker."
Raul cursed himself silently. He hadn't done enough research for the role. No, it was fine -- he'd improvise.
"Yes, mate. Good catch."
He sat in his seat and raised a hand, clicking his fingers to gain the attention of a waiter. "If I had a bloody boomerang, I'd get us the wine myself," he said with a wink.
Another half chuckle as the waiter approached. Raul knew her very favourite drink, her very favourite food... Yes, this time he'd get the pudding he'd been after for so long. But he had to be confident. She liked confident.
"Lambrusco, for the lovely Sheila. And the house re- a uh..."--he swallowed hard--"Fosters for me."
The waiter lifted his head and eyed Raul snobbishily. "*House Fosters*, sir?"
"Yeah," Raul replied, tugging at his shirt. "You know, out of the house tap."
"Very good, sir. And to eat?"
"Pie and chips for the lady, and... do you do anything off the barbie?"
"Sir?"
"Struth. Just a burger then, mate."
The lady eyed Raul with suspicion. "I wouldn't normally let someone order for me, but... How did you know I loved pies?"
"Know? Oh, that you're a classy pie lass? Well, it's obvious ain't it."
"Is it?"
"It is to me. A lady who would wear a fashionable tracksuit like that, to a place like this, well, she'd be after the fanciest meal on the whole bloody menu."
If she could have smiled she would have done, Raul hoped. God, she was beautiful. Beneath all that make up. Maybe. Raul began to sweat. This was the best any of their dates had gone *to date*. He couldn't mess it up now. It was time to lay his heart on the table.
"Look, Cassandra, I'm gonna' level with you. I think you're mighty fine, and I reckon you think I'm fine. I mean, I figure I'm the sort of guy you'd normally go for."
Cassandara shrugged. "Eh."
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh'"?
"You're a little too pretty-boy, for my tastes, to be honest."
"You can't be serious. You can't be bloody serious! I've seen all the men you've rejected. What the hell is left?"
Cassandra went tense. "You've *seen* the men I've been out with?"
"Well I er, oh struth," Raul said sadly, knowing he couldn't stop it now. The man's stylish exterior began to wilt, his skin flaking to reveal the green monstrosity beneath. Screams echoed about the restaurant and cutlery migrated high in all directions.
"Wh-what kind of monster are you?" asked Cassandra, her lips trying desperately to quiver.
"Me?" Raul asked, a rage in the pit of his stomach rising. "Me?! What the hell kind of monster are *you*? -- That's the real question! I've tried *everything* to please you. I've been Brad bloody Pitt and Oscar bloomin Wilde. Nothing makes you happy. Nothing!" He realised at this point that he didn't *need* to keep the accent up, but there was something rather bloody pleasing about it.
"Th-hey were *you*?"
Raul's skin began to change again, his black hair falling out in thick clumps, while greasy blonde hair sprouted hurriedly in its place. It took only seconds for Cassandra to be face to face with... Cassandra.
"This," said the new Cassandra, as it got up from its seat, "Is the only person I think you could ever love. You are the worst specimen of any creature I've ever met. And I've been to the Betelgeuse system *and* Scotland. Good day to you!"
Raul/Cassandra had almost stomped its way to the door, when it heard the plaintive scream from behind and stopped in its tracks.
"Waiiit!"
The other Cassandra came running up to it.
"What do you want now? Come to mock me one last time?"
"Mock? No! I'd never mock someone like you. Mmm mm mmmm, you are *gorgeous*. I think... I think I was a bit hasty. How about one more try?" she asked with a salacious wink.
Raul/Cassandra smiled. *Finally*.
"Can you change *any* part of your body?" she inquired as they walked back towards their table.
| Jess could pinpoint exactly when she first thought her feelings were wrong: eighth grade after Advanced Algebra. Her friend Katie got an 82% on a test— and that was disastrously low for Katie’s norm, and considered even lower by her parents standards. Jess spent the rest of the class period trying to cheer her friend up:
“It’s one test— it doesn’t define you. You’re amazing and good at everything. You’re kind and pretty, and this is just a small hiccup! I know you’ll ace the next test! I know it! We can study together— and you’ll probably be saving me from failing, like you normally do.”
When Katie smiled back at her, with a red nose, and puffy eyes, Jess knew that she felt something more for her friend.
Jess, of course, buried her feelings. By no means was she homophobic, but every time she began to feel something for a friend or looked too long at a woman that walked by, she felt unsure of herself, felt like others would somehow know what she was thinking and judge her. So she buried it down— at least, until college.
Jess decided that she would at least try to get into the dating world. She’d go to parties with her friends, and when guys would be interested in her, she’d flirt back and have some fun— and she did, in fact, enjoy her time with most of these guys. So she continued to have fun at parties, flirt, have some friends with benefits, but nothing substantial. Jess liked these guys, of course, but nothing felt like the dramatic and raw feeling of love and emotion that she always heard about from her friends. She decided it was time to start seriously dating— time to find Mr Right, and then she would start to understand how all her friends felt with their boyfriends. They even said it themselves, “You just haven’t found the right guy, Jess.”
The first few relationships Jess was in did not last long— barely even a relationships since they were only a handful of dates and kisses over two or three months before parting ways.
Then she met Matt. He was gorgeous— all of Jess’s friends said so— and he was very into her.
“Jess, I haven’t been completely honest,” he said one night during a dinner date two months into their relationship.
“Um— what?”
“The first time I met you, it wasn’t at that coffee shop. We were actually at the same college— we had a lecture together for one semester. I saw you at a couple parties too.”
“Oh,” Jess said, relieved to find out she wasn’t a side-chick or that his secret wasn’t relationship-ending— but she realized that, maybe she didn’t really care if their relationship ended anyway. “That’s— okay. I don’t remember seeing you though.”
“I realized that at the shop,” he said smiling a bit sheepishly, “but we didn’t really talk and I looked a bit different back then.”
Jess broke up with Matt three months later.
“How could you break up with him? He was so hot!” Regina, her roommate and best friend since college, told her.
“There wasn’t any spark— he was kind of a doormat. He had no personality and went with whatever I said.”
“That sounds like the perfect man to me.” Jess threw the couch pillow at her. “Okay, okay— no man slaves. Hey— wanna watch a movie tonight?”
And Jess never felt more comfortable, more at home, than sharing a blanket with Regina on their couch and watching a crappy movie.
Regina moved out six months later to live with her boyfriend.
“Are you bringing Cam to the engagement party?” Regina asked her half a year later. “Most people Jim and I invited are bring their boyfriends or girlfriends.”
Jess had been dating Cameron for five months now, and things were nice. They liked all of the exact same things, worked in similar fields, had the same hobbies— everyone said they were perfect for each other.
“Yeah, he said he’ll come. You said to come for dinner at eight? Is there anything I could bring? Dessert? Wine?”
“You know we always appreciate more wine— but we’ve got plenty already. All you have to do is bring yourself. And Cam.”
Just a few weeks after Regina’s wedding eight months later, Jess broke it off with Cam. The wedding itself was beautiful, and Jess couldn’t bear to make Regina worry by breaking up with Cam before it.
“But Jess— I love you— we love each other! We love all the same foods and places. We even listen to the same music and watch the same shows— we were perfect for each other this time!”
“That’s the thing, Cam, I don’t want someone who’s the same as me. I don’t want to date myself. I want to date someone that’s different and will push my boundaries— make me try new things— maybe I’ll find things that I never even knew I liked before—“
She thought of all the men she’s dated in the past: they were all the same. They were all Nice Guys that were nice and sweet but had nothing to them— each relationship was hollow and lacked any true, real substance. How many men had she gone on dates with? 15? 20? And none of them made her feel any different. She longed to feel the feelings she felt for her friends with anyone who wasn’t her friends. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could. She was so tired, she had nothing to lose.
“Cam, we’re through. I’m sorry if it’s sudden, but I’m tired— of everything— I have been for a while now, even before I met you.”
“Well... I hope you meet someone one day,” Cam said after a long moment. “Maybe whoever you date next will be the right man for you.”
Jess remained quiet as Cam packed up the few things he had in her apartment. She doubted any man would be right for her.
——
It took her two weeks to text Regina and ask her to meet her for drinks on Friday night.
“Hey, Jess— isn’t this a gay bar that we’re going to? I heard it’s a lot of fun,” she said while they were walking.
“Yeah— I wanted to check it out,” Jess said. They walked in silence for a minute before Jess’ nerves got to her. “Ok— wait, stop walking for a sec. I— I need to tell you. We’re not going to this bar just for fun— I think I’m bi— or a lesbian. I don’t really know.”
“Oh— okay,” Regina said after a moment. “How long do you think you’ve known?”
“Eighth grade. I told you about Katie from high school right?”
“Oh . Yeah that makes sense,” Regina thought for a moment. “Ok you ready to start walking again? It’s cold.”
Jess couldn’t be happier, and hanging out at a bar with her best friend, and the flutters in her stomach when other women came up to them to flirt— it was one of the best nights she’s had in a long time.
And that same bar is where she met Taylor three weeks later. There was something about her— something that made Jess feel like they knew each other for a long time. They liked a lot of the same things, but were different enough that things were still interesting.
There were some things that were a bit quirky though. Taylor was really bad at shaving her legs— she would always nick them multiple times every time she shaved. She was also really bad with makeup and couldn’t tell concealer from foundation. She never had any pads or tampons in her apartment either. Jess had never asked her about it, but she hoped nothing traumatic happened to Taylor that would cause her period to stop. Taylor also had a whole ton of men’s clothing in her apartment.
For all her quirks though, Jess felt better with Taylor than she had with any of the men in her past. | 2022-08-24T03:20:20 | 2018-02-14T08:50:26 | 1,353 | 476 |
[WP]Before he died, your grandfather gave you sealed letter, instructing you not to open it until "all was lost." Well, tonight you've lost everything. It's time to open the letter. | "Don't open this till all is lost, Danny" Grandpa tried to muster all that he could to speak before succumbing to death; his frail hands held a small sealed envelope.
It has been 10 years since Grandpa passed on, yet I still remembered his last words. Things have not been looking good for me now. I've been retrenched for months, and unable to find a job since due to the recession.
I sat on the pavement, pondering about how to move on from this crisis, in front of what used to be my house. What will grandpa tell me to do now if he were still here? I sure miss his comforting words whenever I ran crying to him with any big problems I've had when I was younger. He's all I've had after mom and dad got into that accident. Now, I don't even have anyone.
Then I remembered the letter he gave me on his deathbed. How can I forget? I stood up with a surge of anticipation before sitting down again in utter disappointment. I looked around at the charred remains of the neighborhood - the aftermath of the fire that ravaged the place last night.
I lost the goddamn letter too.
(I have no idea how to write a story I just cobbled up something for this idea I had, someone else can definitely make this 1000x better) | I pushed open the front door to my house with a loud sigh, stumbling in on tired legs. It had taken hours to walk home - and would likely take hours to walk everywhere for at least the next week while the car is being fixed. How much was THAT going to cost I suddenly wondered.
Looking around the relatively small living space, I surveyed my options. I would make food, but there is nothing I felt like, in fact, just being alive made me feel ill after the day I'd had. Realistically... life wasn't over until you were dead, but starting from damn near the beginning was... perhaps more than I could bare.
I got a glass of water from the kitchen and went slowly back toward the living room, reaching into my pocket and pulling out what was inside. I stared at the small box for a moment and then I threw the cigarettes behind the couch with a half-hearted attempt at disgust. Despite being sure that changing now was little more than a joke, I felt slightly better. I recalled what my grandfather had told me once, when I had been overwhelmed by my first panic attack as a young child.
"*Everything good begins somewhere scary...*"
Grandpa... he had always known what to say - what to suggest. He had been so much fun to be around, so carefree and funny. Just remembering how funny he was, as a person - could make me smile. Well... maybe not today.
Was it just collected wisdom or was it an intuition? Did it come from his experiences or his observation of others? Then I remembered the old, faded envelope sitting behind the even older photograph of him on the cabinet shelf.
I removed the frame from its dusty forest on the cabinet and looked at the smiling face of the man who had wish I had known better.
The envelope was loosely tucked behind and I pulled it out, setting the frame down.
"*Well Grandpa, I have a roof over my head for 13 more days and a job I can't get to... and... Tanya.*" I sighed heavily... and tried to force the earlier argument out of my mind by thinking of nothing but blackness.
When I opened my eyes I noticed I had squeezed the letter slightly, damaging it. I frowned at my own incompetence and straightened it out softly. After a moment of wondering if it was really the right time and simultaneously cursing my ability to ruin everything - I opened the flap and removed the small sheet of blue paper.
The cursive writing was not something I normally read, but I had learned to read his writing at a young age. I trembled as my eyes passed over the short message...
"*If you're reading this - then they have arrived. I have a small work-space hidden beneath the soil in the north-west corner of the large barn and there you will find the means to stop this. Get to the farm but you must not look up. Do not drive, do not use the phone. Do not stop for anyone or anything, it's up to you now. Do not look up.*"
I folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, setting it back on the cabinet. Turning back, I calmly walked to the couch and began to dig around behind it... | 2018-02-18T03:29:04 | 2018-02-18T02:10:21 | 114 | 75 |
[WP] Some people manifest a rune that allows them summon and control a creature from another plane. Rune bearers don't get to choose the creature and after 5 years they are sucked into plane that it comes from. You are about to find out what creature is linked to your rune. | I turned twenty five today. My whole family had turned up to celebrate, travelling from around the world to see their Runed relative at his big unveiling.
The Runed are born with their mark, usually emblazoned on their wrist or forearm. Its rare. Latest estimation was 1 in 1000 but there's an element of inherited chance too. The Runed are treated like celebrities, using their summoned beasts to perform wonders and create miracles. There was a girl in India, famed as a healer throughout the globe, pictured with her flaming phoenix hovering above her shoulder.
Those beasts were the rarest. The mythical and supernatural, with powers beyond your wildest dreams. Most Runed had one of the more common creatures, a pixie or centaur. They still had powers but lesser, a slight nature magic or the ability to see briefly into the future. That one had driven the gambling commission into a frenzy and helped push the Runed Register into law. Once my Rune manifested, after the presents and the cake, I would be whisked downtown to list my summon.
I sighed. I was about to receive a gift most would kill for and I was already moaning about the red tape. I shook my head and smiled at the family gathered behind me in the garden. It was a gloriously sunny day and my father nodded at me, holding back tears.
My mother was Runed. Dad told me the story of her manifestation, his fear and pride entwined together in his gut. Told me how the family had gasped as a huge griffin had materialised, golden fur and feathers, a triumphant screech rending the air. As everyone admired the beast, my father looked further. On a first summon, the realm the creature came from is revealed in a shimmering haze. The world his wife would be dragged to in five years. Lush green plains and huge mountains dominated the view. He told me he'd smiled then. She'd be happy there.
I stepped forward as the mark on my arm began to pulse with a bright white light. I closed my eyes as it burned stronger. I hoped for a Griffin like my mother. To see her again. To be reunited. Suddenly I felt a rush flow out of me, like static shock from head to toe. A whinny ruptured the silence and my eyes snapped open.
A beautiful horse like creature, made of flowing waves and ripples, its body narrowing to a shark like tail. A Kelpie.
My family burst into applause and cheers. I heard the click of photos being taken and the congratulations heaped on my father.
I began to shake.
Behind my beast, behind its proud, cresting mane was its world.
A dark sea, covering the entire expanse, a slight beam of light penetrating in the distance, near the surface. Eyes flashing in the gloom. A ripple as something huge moved in the deep.
I screamed.
.........................................................................
r/AMSWrites | “5… Years? I think its five letters. Or maybe six. Or maybe seven. Can you see if you can read this for me?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a rune. That’s what it says it is anyway.”
“Here, give it to me.” Timmy handed the rune, or the rock that was pretending to be a rune, over to Dave who seemed doubtful about the fact that the rune was anything other than an old, dusty rock. The rune fit perfectly in Dave’s hand as he squinted to try and read the fainted letters carved on the flat surface of the rune.
"Instructions: crush rune to summon a creature from another… planet. Well, I’m guessing it’s meant to say planet. The ‘t’ probably is too faded to read.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
“You may control the creature at will once summoned. Warning: you will be sucked into wherever the creature has come from within 5… I can’t read the last word either. It’s probably years though. I don’t think a longer word can fit in there.” Dave said as he passed the rune back to his friend who was noticeably disappointed that he couldn’t read what the last word was either.
“Where did you find this thing anyway?”
“I skipped my third period because I forgot to do my homework. You know what Mrs. Rosewell is like when someone doesn’t do their homework. I was hiding in the unused gym, when I found that thing hiding between some old cleaning tools. I thought I’d tell you about it during lunch before I tried it out. Just in case.”
“You’re going to try and crush it?”
“Of course I am. When do you ever get the chance to summon a creature that isn’t from earth?”
“You’re an idiot.” Dave said as he looked at the excited face of his friend who seemed to believe the rune was real. *He’ll probably believe it if I told him I could use magic* Dave thought to himself as Timmy raised his arm high up in the air, holding the rune tightly as though the harder he crushed it, the bigger the creature he’d summon would be. Timmy swung his arm down as hard as he could, and the rune shattered into a million tiny pieces.
“Ow.” Timothy was the first to speak after a couple moments had passed. He decided it was someone else’s elaborate prank that he had fallen into, and tried his best not to look too upset about that.
“I think the rune was a bit too old. I’m sure it was real though.” Dave said, as he tried to cheer up his best mate.
“Come on, the bell’s about to go. We should head to class or otherwise we’ll be late.”
“Okay. Let me jus… SPIDER!” Timmy screamed as he saw a huge spider crawling on his shoe. Dave started screaming with him, as he ran away from Timmy, who was frantically shaking his legs in hopes to get rid of the spider that seemed unamused about the fact that the ground it was walking on started to move. After Timmy successfully knocked the spider off his precious shoe, he ran towards Dave as fast as he could, away from the spider.
“Since when did we live in Australia?” Dave said, each words through his hard panting, staring at the spider to make sure it wasn’t getting any closer.
“I’ve never seen a spider that big. Is that even a spider?”
“Maybe you should’ve kept the rock so you could smash it on that thing. Should we call the police? It seems dangerous.” Timmy tried to look as manly as possible, or however manly you could look after running away from a spider while screaming your head off.
“Don’t be ridiculous Dave. It’s only a spi…” A bright light flashed that blinded them both. Timmy suddenly got very dizzy, and fell over, only to continue falling instead of hitting the ground. When he woke up, his eyesight’s slowly returning, he could hear sounds similar to an engine of a car. After a couple seconds, he could make out a toilet right in front of his face.
“Where… where am I?” He asked himself, as he slowly stood up in what seemed like a small bathroom. He unlocked the door, only to find himself in an airplane, full of passengers. He walked down the aisle, until he found an empty seat next to an old man looking into a plastic cage. He carefully sat down next to him, trying not to bother him from what he was doing. The old man was looking intensly into his cage, which didn’t seem to have anything in it.
“What are you looking at?” Timmy asked the old man out of curiosity. The old man answered,
“I seem to have lost my pet spider.” | 2018-05-27T07:41:14 | 2018-05-27T05:25:56 | 83 | 14 |
[WP] The heroes failed. The villain now rules the world with an iron fist, and...actually, things have never been better. | As I shut the door, I reached down to lock it, but stopped, chuckling to myself. All this time and I still have that instinct, I suppose. But we don't need locks now. They don't even manufacture locks anymore. I walked down the steps, turning away from my car at the last moment. I'll get some fresh air.
This used to be a bad part of town. Not the sort of place you could raise a family. Now the graffiti is gone, the scattered needles just a memory. I passed by a well-groomed man in a suit and tie, on his way home from work. We chatted pleasantly for a bit, then continued on our way. He used to panhandle on this corner, hopelessly drug addicted and degenerate, in and out of jail. But that was before the President had come along. Now the jails are empty.
We all resisted him at first. They fought against him. I fought against him. I was scared of the change he would bring. I shook my head. In a life full of regrets, standing against the President was my crowning shame. But that was all over now, and he had made it clear that there were no hard feelings. Change is always frightening, he had said, it's natural to be scared of something new.
I picked up milk and a loaf of bread at the corner store, walking past where the register had sat, when we still needed money, and headed for home.
I was halfway home when a disheveled man ran up to me, babbling. "I need help!" he cried. I frowned at his appearance. Stubbled face, wrinkled clothes. The poor creature. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, of course I'll help you!"
He seemed to calm down some.
"You missed your dose didn't you? Don't worry, I've got a spare," I said.
He became agitated again. "The doses don't work for me anymore!" he said, "I've tried and tried, but they don't work! I can't stand it like this. I need things to be okay again!"
By now enforcers had arrived, walking up in their impeccable blue uniforms. "What's going on here?" they asked. I explained. "Dosage resistant huh? That's a shame."
"Can you guys help me?" he asked. "Please I just... I just want to be like you again. I don't want to be like this anymore!"
"Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be all right," one of the men said, as his partner shot the man in the back of the head. They loaded the body into the back of the car, and returned with a hose attachment.
"Wait!" I said. They stopped, and I pulled out my camera, zooming in on the crimson spatter on the pavement, and taking a picture. "See?" I showed them the camera. "I didn't want such a masterpiece to go unrecognized."
"Why, that's beautiful!" One of them exclaimed.
"Looks like a Jackson Pollock. You should frame it," said the other.
"I might do that." I smiled. "See, it's important to find beauty in the little things in life."
The triggerman smiled back. "I like the way you think. Well, we won't keep you any longer."
They sprayed away the gore and drove away, and it was as if the poor wretched man had never been there at all.
I walked away, unable to resist whistling as I did. Another wonderful day. Things really have never been better.
| Horst Gummel looked out across the verdant plains from the rebel's hidden stronghold on a crest of the tallest of some nondescript rolling hills. In the distance he could see the capital city. He seethed with anger.
Little happy farms dotted the valleys and new copses grew on every hill. The streams sparkled as the sun shone above their clear water rushing along once-dry gullies. The city shone like a beacon of mirth and righteousness - which he knew to be false. That feign king, the enemy of the people, had cast the parliament away before it could truly adopt measures which would prove the efficacy of Horst's own economic model. Maybe if he had resorted to violence much earlier, everyone who opposed the feign king's rule wouldn't now be dead, in prison, or in hiding.
Hiding in this wretched hole. It leaked and smelled. The workers who came to plant trees never found Asmai hiding in the ground five years ago, and the rest all ended up here with Horst over time. No more raids, no more protests. The rebel group is just a bunch of wanted persons who live off hunted game and stolen bread. He looked around at the hovel. A smokeless fire, a drafty set of windows for ventilation, a disguised escarpment outside.
There was one person who Horst couldn't decide what to think of. Terry (short for some foreign name) came and went every once in a while. He'd been planted on a farm nearby as labor, but had been a university student before. He was... a kind of sympathizer. Sometimes Terry brought new books or some lard and salt. He said things that we all hated to hear, but couldn't stop listening to. There were fish in the Thyne River, again, first in hundreds of years! The game the rebels hunted wasn't a marvel, the land was blooming with new life! Inventors and trade merchants in cities and towns had the time and resources to engage in new endeavors! The aqueducts in the southern deserts had been rebuilt and the flues lined with copper. Copper! Copper from abroad, even lowly copper was nowhere to be found before. Horst looked out at the capital city again and furrowed his brow in anger so hard that it hurt.
How could the king and his maven wife have done all this. There was no magic in the land, there were no tales of secret wealth or hidden power. What on this simple earth could have sparked such a change in Horst's home. HE knew of smoke and sickness and barren land in his youth. HE scraped by in the streets as a young man, making a living from side-hustles and temporary work. His university friends he made in taverns seemed to all know the answers to life's problems. They rose into politics and Horst became a campaigner with a knack for raising volunteers for their revolution. He mended worn out banners with his own needle and thread, rather than the knees of his trousers. The passion grew and grew until one day he woke up to gunfire.
The violent wing of the party finally had had enough. The old blood of the parliament had died off from a wave of typhoid and pneumonia and radical men and women from both aisles had flooded into open seats - but the wave washed away the moderate faction and conservatives won out those seats. Horst had made dents in the districts to little avail. The margin never amounted to a win for his side. With the old blood gone, young blood spilled in the streets! Losing the parliament meant losing hope for too many of his brethren! They made barricades from the already crumbling towers of the capital and took avenues with defectors from the Guard. But too few cannon, too few officers to lead and make tactical - or even strategic decisions. The week after the fighting started, his whole homeland was ablaze. A month later, a king was proclaimed as the rebels fell before the swords and lances of his personal retinue. The feign king made himself a throne of cobblestone in the parliamentary hall; one stone from every barricade he personally mounted in the relief of the capital.
Horst wasn't in the capital. He had been fetching volunteers from the barren "farmland" around the city he knew and loved. One took him in as the messengers radiated out announcing the defeat. Five years of forming, fighting, and losing as an underground resistance. Two years of hiding. The feign king had been busy. Horst could see it all from his little hole in a hill.
Sitting down with his back against the rocky wall beneath the window, Horst stared at the fire, fighting back tears. Wistful, hateful, tears. HE wanted to mend the land and the rivers. HE wanted to make his nation great. Everyone else in the land was happy, healthy, and apparently remarkably wealthy. It wasn't fair. The feign king and his maven wife had used all the best ideas in their own name to restore - nay - completely improve the whole region! Teams of workers lead by politically reliable captains had soon marched all over planting trees and grasses. University students with political minders along taught once-stubborn farmers how to stop trashing the natural bounty of their land with fire and plow. The industry was tame. The merchants were foiled from capturing government departments.
The sky was clear and the air fresh, blowing in a comfortable draft from the window above.
Horst saw the future in the fire he gazed at. Peace and contentment under an iron fist. Was it good? He was sure it was not. The rebels might have to flee and try to spark the revolution of human progress again somewhere abroad, Horst finally decided, before returning in force to liberate his home.
edit: a letter | 2018-07-25T06:20:11 | 2018-07-25T05:54:45 | 55 | 27 |
[WP] Your girlfriend just died in your house, just before getting married to you. Unbeknownst to you, she now haunts the house, and to cheer you up, possess the objects around to have a chance to communicate. | [POEM]
A New Moon Wedding Day
.
A minute too late, and you’re gone,
Another lonely day, I will mourn,
The love of my life could not be saved,
Her lifeless body in my arms I held.
.
The realization set in a little late,
Today would have been our wedding date,
But she was gone, all too soon,
A fortnight past, this afternoon.
.
Yet I know she’s here, watching me,
I know she wants me to be free,
She still shows me how much she cares,
Every new, sad day, my life she shares.
.
Each day I wake with a blanket on,
That seems to say I’m not alone,
There’s food on my plate every night,
Cooked like she did, it’s always just right.
.
I know it’s her, so I dare ask today,
“Love, is that really you?” I say.
She replies, in a whisper of a breeze,
“Yes,” she says, “I wouldn’t let you freeze.”
.
She told me today to get ready and go,
I went to where her name is carved in stone,
She left too soon, but was here in my heart,
She told me that now she would truly depart.
.
She knew that I had finally let her go,
I will always miss her, that much I know,
My beautiful fiancée, who left too soon,
Will never return after this new moon. | The day that was supposed to be our wedding ended up being her funeral. The doctor said it was some nigh-undetectable genetic heart condition that was the cause. She died in her sleep peacefully, at least, a week before our wedding.
I canceled the honeymoon plans, and as I went to throw away the plane tickets I could hear her voice, in my head, scolding me for not going. For letting her death change plans that had been made. She always hated being a burden. She never was a burden though, she was a gift. A gift that had been taken away from me.
The next three weeks were a blur of tears and numbness. Each day melded into the next, with no defining moments. I fell into a routine: wake up around noon; lie in bed until my stomach started hurting from hunger; go downstairs and have something, anything, to eat; try to remember to feed the fish (*did I leave the lid on the tank up?*); lie on the couch and turn Friends on while mindlessly playing phone games; eventually either fall asleep on the couch, or go upstairs and cry into her pillow before passing out.
One day, about a month after she died, I woke up around 8am to find the covers weren’t on me.
*Weird, I must have kicked them off.*
I grabbed them and pulled them over my head again, nowhere near ready to start the day. A few minutes later, I felt the covers being pulled to the side, the way that she would pull them to try and wake me up when she was alive. I held onto the covers, waiting. Then I felt a tug. I let go of the covers and they flew across the bed, landing on the floor in a heap. I heard a giggle.
*Cool, so I’ve officially snapped and gone crazy. Awesome.*
I got out of bed and went over to the pile of sheets. As I went to go put them back on the bed, I caught a whiff of how bad they smelled and realized that I hadn’t done any laundry since the funeral. I also hadn’t showered since then.
*Maybe I should clean a little.*
As I thought this, I heard a noise in the bathroom. I walked over to find the lights, fan, and speaker on. Maybe there had been a power surge? Then I saw her perfume on the counter. She hadn’t left that there; she was meticulous about keeping things organized.
I finally noticed the song that was playing over the speaker: Hooked on a Feeling. Her favorite song, the one she would play when she needed an extra boost in her step. I started to cry, confused and unsure about whether I was actually insane or if this was actually happening. As the tears rolled down my cheeks, I felt something cold wipe a tear away. It felt like a hand...
“It’ll be hard to braid your hair with it all matted up like that. You should wash it.”
I jumped back, slamming into the counter and knocking the perfume bottle over.
“Hey, careful! You know that perfume wasn’t cheap, you bought it!”
“What the fuck...”
“I know, it’s weird.”
“.... Kyra? Is that you?”
“Hi Lily. I love you.” | 2019-11-19T09:11:13 | 2019-11-19T09:10:25 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] You are an assassin. You do not use guns, knives, or poison. You are a master of the butterfly effect and chaos theory. | PART 1
I kill people for a living. They call me the Lepidopterist, or simply the Butterfly man.
Every day I drive to the same diner and order the same coffee and pie. If there is a job for me a man will be at the counter smoking a cigarette, drinking a cup of coffee.
"Hey, can I bum a smoke?" I always say.
The cigarette the man hands me will have an invisible number written on the white paper in lemon juice. Funny thing, lemon juice. It has been used in tradecraft for centuries. A quick pass of a lighter flame over the "ink" is enough to make the number visible. This is the social security number of my mark. I thank the man, smoke the cigarette, drink my coffee, and leave a nice tip for the waitress. I am a creature of habit.
I say I am a creature of habit not because my life proceeds with the regularity of an atomic clock, but because I do not consider myself to be fully human. I am a creature. You may be tempted to assume that my profession makes me feel this way. Or you might think I am a disconnected sociopath and cannot relate to other humans and you might be right.
The truth, as all truths are, is more complicated. If life was a comic book you'd call me a superhero. The only real way you could call me a superhero in real life is if you consider mild autism to be a power. I am good at planning, though. Maybe that's a bit of an understatement. I see the world as one big Rube Goldberg machine. I cannot control the machine, but I can influence it in subtle ways. This is how I earn my living.
Today there was a man sitting at the counter. The man gave me a cigarette. The flame revealed a number. The socal security number was my own.
I thanked the man, smoked the cigarette, drank my coffee, and left. Today I did not tip the waitress.
"Thanks, asshole." Snapped the waitress under her breath as she cleared the table. Her name was Laura but she could be Susan, or Dave or anyone else. Just the latest in the revolving door of employment that was this small town eatery.
Angry as she was at being stiffed on a tip she did little other than grumble for a few seconds before moving on to her next duty. In her haste, however, she failed to collect her wet rag after cleaning the table. As carelessly as the rag had been forgotten, it slid off the edge of the booth table and fell to the floor with little notice.
The man with the cigarette finished his coffee, paid, and stood to leave. Wordlessly he smiled at the waitress, slipped on the rag and broke his neck on the fake stone tile floor.
I did not exceed the speed limit by more than 7mph as I drove away. I knew the man would be dead by now and while that represented a major deviation in my day this would not be the last time today my patterns would change. Someone wanted me dead and my anonymity was the only thing keeping me alive. For now.
How did I know the man was dead? I don't have any real way of telling you exactly how I know but it feels like doing math. When you add simple numbers your brain just serves up the answer like it was there all along. You don't *think* about the mathematical process of adding 2 and 3. The answer 5 is there almost before you've read the equation. You just *know* the answer. This is how the machinery of the world feels to me. Move one little thing and watch the ball roll here instead of there. I just know how to push the ball where I want it to go. And this is why I live the same day; day after day. | My latest job started like any other, a targeted ad on facebook. Twenty years ago it was an ad in the victim’s local newspaper, but these days social media is the only way to go. And without fail, my ads do the trick. It’s what sets me apart from the others in the Guild.
You see, I’m a member of the Guild of Coincidental Removals. We're experts in removing life from people through a series of coincidental events.
Tonight I find myself sitting in a car watching my latest target laugh with a blonde woman through a restaurant window. Everything was ready. Everything was planned. Well, not planned, more just, understood.
The woman laughed and said something before dabbing her lips with a napkin and standing up. She was off to the bathroom, within seconds of my jobsheet's anticipated time of 8:46pm.
I smiled as I thought about how crazy this must seem to strangers. The truth is, what many people fail to understand, or more accurately what they desperately try to ignore, is that there isn’t as much choice in life as we like to think. And once this is understood, a small dose of manipulation can go a long way.
The smartly dressed man with a well groomed beard picked up his phone and swiped his finger over the screen repeatedly. Then his swiping stopped. He moved the phone closer to his face.
He was reading it. That was it. It was on. I picked up my phone and dialed.
The woman returned and sat down. The man immediately started speaking with an animated face, smiling broadly as his arms waved expressively. A few minutes later they were both standing up and heading for the door. I wound down my window and stuck my hand outside. I watched the skin on my arm shrivel into goose bumps as an icy wind blew by.
The two dinner guests walked through the restaurant door and onto the street. The man wrapped the woman’s thick jacket around her shoulders and zipped up his own black jacket as they took off down the street.
I watched as they walked along, knowing they were moments away from the first event in a sequence of what their families would come to see as an unfortunate coincidence and would forever define both of their lives.
Their looks of innocence reminded me why any of this is necessary in the first place. Before I began my training, I used to laugh at the idea of needing to understand such a complicated sequence of events just to off someone. My first question was the same as every other new apprentice; why not just pay someone to blow their head off?
The answer lies at the heart of our reality. The truth is, we live in a simulation. A sophisticated simulation that controls almost everything we do. This matters because each of us is hosted within an individual supercomputer and every time one computer interacts with another, the simulation evolves. That's how everything around us seems to progress and order emerges from a seemingly chaotic universe.
So the second question every new apprentice asks is why this matters when it comes to removing a dud computer?
Well in simple terms, when one computer interacts with another, the simulation partially fuses their software together as part of the simulation's evolution. This fusion is particularly major when a death occurs. The computer hosting the victim doesn’t stop operating, it merely resets with a new host and forever shares a bond with the other computer that removed the previous host. It's not just the two computers directly involved in a death that are affected either; any computer with an association to the event will be affected to some degree.
I turned to look up the street and saw two headlights approaching. I looked down at my job sheet and saw that the timing was perfect. Of course it was.
The couple were standing at the corner of an intersection waiting for permission to cross. The woman laughed as the man reached out and tried to kiss her through her large hood that enveloped her face, leaving just her eyes and nose visible.
The car, a taxi I had ordered, approached the intersection at a careful pace despite having a green light; the driver obviously aware of the danger posed by the awful weather. I checked the time and saw that it was 9:02pm. The final whistle was about to blow in the football game of the taxi driver’s favorite team.
The car was less than a dozen feet from the intersection when the light turned orange. Just then I could make out the driver shaking his fist in celebration. The game was over, his team had won. I laughed as I thought about how much easier life would have been if I used my knowledge to bet large on football games rather than all this.
Suddenly everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as my heart started to race.
I watched as the driver cheered and the target stepped out onto the road. He was anticipating the green crossing man lighting up while saying something to the woman over his shoulder.
The light turned red as the cab entered the intersection. The driver accelerated to make it through. Only then did he see the dark shape of a man in front of him.
On any other day he would have swerved slightly to get around, but black ice was everywhere.
The woman screamed as the driver hit the brakes with full force and the vehicle started to skid. The horn wailed. The man looked up as if a deer caught in the headlights. He tried to move backwards and slipped. He fell backwards onto the road as the driver swerved at the last second just enough to avoid him.
The driver wound down his window and yelled angrily at the prone man as he drove past. I watched as the woman rushed forward and the man grabbed his ankle, clearly in pain.
A grin creased my face as I looked down at the jobsheet and began reading over the sequence for the second phase. | 2019-12-21T14:08:02 | 2019-12-21T13:50:41 | 109 | 25 |
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters. | “Stop right there! Is that an incisor I see you wearing?”
“Moooommmmmm, you’re embarrassing me. I won’t have my own fangs for at least two more years.” Derek whined.
He was a crybaby but he was my twin crybaby. I preferred he took it out on our parents than embarrassed me at school. Too bad his timing was worse than his temperament.
“Derek you idiot, we talked about coming out and this was not it!”
“Coming out?” Our dad asked for the next door over.
My mom’s eyes grew into saucers. “Derek? “Mike?”
“Well crap.“ Dad said as he entered the room, quick on the uptake.
“Crap? Is that all you have to say, dad?” I asked him. Maybe if I turned it on him, this would go easier.
He didn’t bite.
“Yes, crap. We could have gotten a discount on our taxes for a vampire child. We can’t file back for previous years, it’s not restroactivs.”
“Who cares about taxes. If the boys agree to train, they would become a force to be reckoned with in our monster hunter circles.” Mom turned to dad, forgetting about us
“Don’t you guys care about the tabloids? You fight monsters, after all.” I walked closer to them. This was not how I expected the whole thing to go. I was quite disappointed.
“The tabloids?” My mom looked back behind her shoulder. “I suppose we could arrange for some PR. It better not have been some stray who bit you. Your father and I would never live that down.”
“Right. Right.” Dad looked thoughtful. “We could arrange for a good origin story if we needed to. Nothing like a good origin story.”
“And there I go thinking you would offer conversion therapy.” Derek shook his head slowly, confusion, or perhaps disbelief, written all over his face.
“It’s perfect. Our Mike can be the young up and coming hunter—.”
“—And Derek here,” my mother cut in, “can be his tortured sidekick, his trust companion. A vampire victim striving against his urges to do good in the world and help his brother in his adventures.
I raised my hand as if in class. “I’m a werewolf. I was bitten last year.”
Two guns were aimed at me in seconds.
“Derek honey, come away from your brother. Quickly now. But no sudden moves.”
Derek turned to me, grimacing. “I think I’d have preferred conversion therapy. Then at least our parents would have been ignorant, but not bigots.”
I looked at our parents one more time, then I turned to him. “Let’s go. We need to find a new place to live. Good thing our trust funds are managed by an attorney and not... well, them.”
“Okay.” Once again, he whined. But, whining or not he was there for me.
“Conversion therapy. Yeah. That could have been nice.”
—
/r/posthocethics | “Remind me what your name is again.” The man- I mean wolf- I mean *werewolf* they called Lupus said, with a (perhaps permanent) frown on his face.
The flustered werewolf stammered, “J-Johnny, my sir.”
“Well, Johnny, you’re a fucking genius! You know who that girl is?”
“N-no sir, I’m afraid I don’t know her.”
“She’s the Hickins’ daughter! You may be an imbecile but- oh she woke up, shut your fat ass up for a moment, okay?”
“Okay si-“
“I said SHUT UP.”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Pain. Unbelievable pain. That’s all I felt. Then, as my vision got clearer, I saw 2 very hairy men- or maybe 2 very hairless wolves, peering over me.
“Ahh, you finally woke up,” the buffer of the two said. “I was scared that my... *friend* here accidentally killed you. Anyways, welcome to the group.”
“Wait wait wait, what group? What’s happening?”
“Alright, I understand that you’re confused. First things first, we are werewolves, and as of 2 hours ago, you are too. Johnny here it you a *tad* too hard, and your blood loss was horrible. Thankfully you’re alive. But we have a-”
“That’s so cool! I’m a werewolf now! I’m gonna live with you guys right?”
“...You don’t realize the problem? You’re the daughter of the *Hickens*, the famed monster hunters, and now you’re a monster! This is gre- uh, a huge problem!”
“Monster hunters? No no no you’re confused. My dad is a sales accountant, and my mom is a housewife, definitely *not* monster hunters.”
“They didn’t tell you?” The man said. He turned away and opened a drawer next to the bed I’m in. Then I saw a hair pattern behind his ear. A most peculiar hair pattern, black in contrast to his brown hair/fur. It spelled out *Lupus*. Weird. I heard that name thrown around many times when overhearing my parent’s conversations. I never knew what it meant though. Before I could speak up, he turned back to me, holding some pictures.
“Here are pictures of your parents. Here, this one shows them hunting one of us. This scar is a result of that.” And he showed a big scar across his thigh. “I barely ran away with my life.”
“Y-you mean they’re going to kill me if they see me? I mean, they were going to kill me when I was late to school, but now they’re literally going to do it! This is your fault! Get me back to normal right now!”
“Ahh, I would love to, but we have a conflict of interests. We could really use a spy...” he said with a sly, wolf-like smile.
————————————————————————
“Ow! What the fuck man! Why would you bite meeeugh”
And the boy- looks about 16 or 17- collapsed to the ground.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Uhh.. siir? Are you avake yet?”
“Yeah random Russian guy who bites people, I’m awake.”
“Uhh, excvuse me, I am not Russian, I am Romanian!”
“Alright Romanian guy, why the fuck did you bite me?”
“Vell of course, to suck your blood! Now vour’e a vampire!”
“Fuck. My parents are quite literally gonna kill me!”
“Vhat’s the problem little sir? Don’t you want to be a vanpire?”
“No, because my parents are fucking monster hunters! Why wouldn’t they kill me?”
“Oh no! I feel very sorry for you, little sir, but this is a security breach. I vill have to kill you-“
“Wait wait wait. First, stop calling me little sir, I’m called Brandon, and second, WHAT NO DON’T KILL ME!”
“Vhy shouldn’t I, *little sir*, you could easily expose us to your parents! I have to kill you. Sorry, it’s not personal.”
“B-but I could be very useful to you! I... uh... could be a spy! They’ll never suspect me,and I’ll just hide my vampireness from them and report to you what they do!”
“Hmmm... seems to be a good idea. I’m in.”
“Great.” | 2020-01-12T07:37:48 | 2020-01-12T06:40:38 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] Just before puberty, everyone is assigned a Guardian Angel. Most just get lowly cherubs; the lucky ones get archangels. You, on the other hand, are assigned Lucifer as your Guardian Angel. Neither of you is happy about it. | I looked at Lucifer. He looked at me.
...He was hot. Both definitions.
"Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?"
He decked me. I fell back from the force of it. My head knocked against the floor. It didn't hurt. Guardian Angels are magically incapable of harming their charges.
So I didn't receive any injuries. What I did receive, however, was a clear view of the $100 note I thought I'd lost yesterday. Apparently it was under the sofa the entire time.
I ignored all the dust and grime accumulated from weeks of avoiding cleaning and grabbed it.
I showed it off to Lucifer.
"What," he said.
"Terrible execution," I announced, still lying on the floor. "But the results were favourable. Guess you really are my Guardian Angel. Thank you!"
A vein in his forehead twitched.
This interaction would define the rest of our relationship.
I'd say something like "I'd say God bless you, but looks like he already did," while leering openly, he'd lose his temper and try to kill me, I'd be harmlessly knocked around and come out the better for it.
"Your luck is mine, pretty boy," I told him, pouring wine into a wineglass. He made a face but took it when I shuffled it in his direction.
"The Devil's own luck," he snorted, sipping from it.
-----Aaaaand I've run out of steam. This is all I got. Bye. | "But you're the Devil!" I protested, staring in utter disbelief at the figure standing before me. Truth be told, had he not said his name, I would have had no idea that he was, simply because he didn't *look* like the Devil.
I'd always pictured the big D as an enormous, horned figure, with blood-red skin, a long, spiked tail, and a pitchfork. The guy in front of me was nothing like that. He was massive, yes, but he was a vision of *perfection*: his hair was long and sleek, and golden, like his eyes, which glittered in the morning sun.
His fair skin emanated a faint glare, and his facial features were the ideal image of male looks, from the straight nose all the way down to the Superhero's chin, as though he had been sculpted from marble. Long white wings spread out behind him, their golden edges glinting in the daylight. Even his voice was perfection, deep and silky.
"I *was* the Devil!" he hissed, his wings twitching in irritation. "But not anymore. I've reformed."
I gave a snort of derisive laughter, which caused his smug smile to melt. "You? Reformed? Please —"
"I have too!" he insisted. "Why do you think I'm here, babysitting some snot-nosed brat?"
"Because you don't have HBO in Hell?"
"Because I'm proving to my father that I can be trusted!" he spat, his golden eyes flaring. "He sent me to you because he said you were in dire need of angelic help, but I know what he's doing. He's keeping me away from people he knows I could corrupt. But it doesn't matter. I'm going to stick with you and keep you safe from all forms of harm until he deems me trustworthy and calls for me again."
"Great," I muttered. "Really great."
Except everything after that was — as I'd predicted — as far from great as humanly possible. At lunchtime that day, Lucifer had swatted my sandwich out of my hand, claiming that I was more liable to choke on the turkey inside than on a simple lettuce loaf, which he thrust in my face. Naturally I refused, which meant I went hungry for the day.
In the period following that, after a series of unfortunate events that lead up to me jackslapping another kid in class, Lucifer had intervened to save me from detention. It would have been a nice thing, if it hadn't lead to my teacher ending up in the hospital with a case of severe butt warts.
After that, on the way home, he insisted that I fly back with him — an angelic piggyback ride — because the traffic was really rolling on the road home, which meant I had a 72.6% chance of being stuck on the road for an extra fifteen minutes.
And after that — well you get the point. He stuck with me for another twenty five years after that, and just when we started to move into a good place, he ruined my wedding by smiting my fiancée just as we were about to kiss. He'd wanted to keep me safe from germs.
r/ShortsandSerials :) | 2020-02-26T05:56:06 | 2020-02-26T03:44:05 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] "You sold your soul to me for...this?" The demon stared, brows raised incredulously. It had heard a lot of ridiculous, stupid requests in its near-eternal lifespan, but this one definitely took the cake. | “You sold your soul to me for...this?" The demon stared, brows raised incredulously. He had heard a lot of ridiculous, stupid requests in its near-eternal lifespan, but this one definitely took the cake.
“Yes,” Calvin replied levelly. “I did.”
“A sandwich? A tuna fish sandwich?” The Demon simply couldn’t get his head around this wish. “But...why?”
Calvin didn’t respond. He merely took the sandwich and held it in his hands almost reverently. There was a single tear in his eye as he slowly brought it to his mouth and took a bite.
“You could have purchased a sandwich. I mean, there is a sandwich shop literally around the corner from here! Why, of all things in the universe would you want me to give you something you could so easily get for yourself?”
Calvin sighed and said “It’s between me and my best friend. You wouldn’t understand.”
Curiosity was getting the better of the demon. “Try me.“
“No thank you” Calvin replied. Then he turned to leave.
The Demon couldn’t just walk away from this. “Wait! I need to know!”
Calvin just shrugged, got on his motorcycle and left the demon standing dumbfounded in the crossroads.
This wouldn’t do. After thousands of years dealing with humanity, making deals for souls, the Demon thought he knew what made people tick. But this was a true mystery of the universe. He couldn’t let it rest. In the coming weeks it drove the Demon nearly mad. Finally he admitted to himself he had no choice. Not really. And so he did something few if any Demons had ever done.
Calvin did not appear entirely surprised when a Demon materialised in his bedroom. He barely looked up from his Spaceman Spiff comic book.
“I’m here to make a deal,” said the Demon. “I will give you your soul back if you just please tell me why you traded it for a tunafish sandwich.”
Calvin almost smiled as he set down the comic book and picked up a small orange stuffed tiger. “Well, Hobbes?” he said to the toy. “You were right. When you wish for a tunafish sandwich, at least you get your wish. Now I only wish you could’ve still been here to share it with me, old buddy.”
Note- this was based on the following Calvin and Hobbes comic:
https://m.imgur.com/dyc44e5 | I needed a night off, to get away, with out being away. I truly cared for my family, and they for me. I didn't want to see them hurt, I didn't want to see them grow old without me, I wanted to be the roll model of a father and husband that they deserved. I just couldn't let my wild days slip away, I needed my nights of uninhabited hoorah. Nothing like cheating on my wife or crazy hard drugs, I just needed me and friends being stupid and crazy like the old days. Thing was, they were in same position as me. Family and responsibility seemed to overshadow our own needs, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that, and we all knew that.
The idea was laughed off at first, something so simple wouldn't be considered for the price. But over the weeks the idea simply settled in. If we got what we want, we could give our wives what they want and be given huge brownie points with out the actual sacrifice they thought we were giving up. Say what you want, don't judge lest you be judged.
So there we were in my garage with my copy of summoning, and it all seemed to sink in and we slowly agreed to go forth together. All five of us drew the along the same pentagram with our own blood, we were in it together. The demon came forth, it was a more powerful demon since there were 5 souls at stake, His huge leathery wings couldn't fully unfurl in my garage, his horns ripped a huge hole in my ceiling despite his sitting posture. His voice boomed and reverberated so profoundly the mirror sitting in the corner shattered. "What in the fuck, why have i been summoned in a shit hole?", we had hoped for this outcome. I spoke diligently "This shit hole is my pride and joy, if you can't respect that we can find a fiend for our trade instead of someone in your stature." Souls were the base reason demons visited the mortal realm, and offering ours to a lowly fiend was a spit in the face, one he couldn't let slide or stand. His anger flared across his face, we were given the upper hand. "We have a deal you can't refuse." The demon groaned in exasperation, "Like i haven't heard that line a million times." His defenses were down, his anger clouded his judgement, but his sharp mind still tactfully assessing the situation. We laid the carefully contracted agreement at his feet. It was read once over and thought upon for an hour, we knew he was poking holes, the exact holes we wanted him to poke to avoid the underlining deception. He finally spoke, "A hall pass?"
"But of course, shouldn't be that hard for one so mighty as you", again the indignation of me speaking down to him forced his thickly spiked barbed tail to whip in his confined pentagram. "You'll give your souls so you can simply visit hell?"
"Precisely, we want our own pool hall, unlimited beer, weed, games, internet, everything as stated in that contract." The demon scoffed, such simpletons and their silly requests, the area that was given was plush and comfy, and given in exactly the way the contract described. We spent millennia just enjoying the simple pleasures that we could have on the surface. Then we were violently ripped out and put back in the garage. "Hope you all enjoyed your time, now it's time for payment". We all began to chuckle, I spoke again "we have already fulfilled our contract, for 'you have control of our souls for all time in hell', we have completed that time as you have just said 'hoped we enjoyed it', as we were in hell so were our souls as you never relieved us of them, not our fault you squandered it.Goodbye". The scream was unearthly as we all scrubbed our feet at the pentagram erasing his connection to our world. The kids came running in asking what the commotion was, seeing the damage they teased us about getting in trouble. We all went in to wrap the night up, they were served dinner and played games. When the wives arrived home late they all agreed to meet up the same time next week for another evening of entertainment. | 2020-03-05T09:24:03 | 2020-03-05T07:15:46 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When you entered cryogenic sleep, you expected to wake up in a futuristic world. Instead, you wake up in a dusty cave, a man wearing dark robes staring at you in horror. | “I thought I wouldn’t make it” The man said.
I was still groggy, my brain pounding repeatedly at my heartbeat’s rhythm. “Huh”
“Good morning, child. Welcome. I am Oda”
“Oda? Erm. I’m Randy,” I try to stretch out my arms but my muscles don’t respond.
“Don’t try to move child. You won’t be able to do anything for the first few weeks. I’m dying, so I’ll be quick about this. We are what is left of a great culture named humanity. There are thousands of pods like yours. A new Oda awakens when the last is near death. There are only sufficient resources for one of us at a time. Should anything change, the big red button wakes everyone at once.” Oda breathed in deep. He smiled, content with his performance. “Farewell, one.”
The entire cave lit up in a multivariate palette of metallic colors as a robotic voice could be heard. “Farewell ODA#378991 on death awaken #378992 complete. Hello ODA#378992, I am One, please take your time we have 60 to 80 years and very few tasks to complete.”
The old man made an odd gesture with his hands and walked away. “Time to find a good place to die. Good luck child.” | "You are awake!" the dark-hooded figure noticed the obvious. "Why are you awake, you're not supposed to be awake!" The rest was incomprehensibly muttering.
The young woman ... well, technically probably no longer young but still looking hot ... in the cyro-pot labled Lydia Walker was called Lydia. She was extremely well-rested, which came to no surprise. It was a surprise that she was in a cave and she wondered why.
"Why am I in a cave?" she asked the dude in the robes. "Because well, ... there was no more space in the ... where were you supposed to be? The city? Yeah, because of mutants?" Lydia did not buy that, the guy was obviously a nerd, in fact he was quite small and cowered against the back of the wall, hands behind his back. She looked around, there were more cyro-pots of various designs some quite a bit more advanced then her own, some open some closed. In the corner was a future tech generator, that looked cool but some stylistic add-ons indicated that it was jury rigged multiple times.
There were also some freezers and a table with various tools on it, some looked totally techy, some more from Lydia's time or even before. From the ones she recognized, the young woman brilliantly concluded, that this was a surgery table, but not a very sterile one.
"By the way, what are you hiding behind your back?" she reopend the dialog, when two more guys stepped into the cave. One was large and one was small and both were dirty. The big one looked very dump, he wore an armor made from what looked like rough leather and old tires and also an eyepatch. In his hand he held a staff with some random machinery part, ground into roughly spear-head-like shape on top. *"Oh, fuck,"* Lydia though. *"This is the post-apocalyptic future."*
"You had promised me a new eye and a new liver, Justin," the big guy shouted at the robed man. The later revealed that the object he had hidden behind his back was in fact a scalpel and stuttered: "Yes, well, you see, there is a complication, the organs are still ... inside her."
"Is she, is she from the before time?" the smaller dude at the entrance asked, slightly drooling.
"Yes," the robed surgeon, with the name that obviously had a totally different connotation in this time, answered, "Early 21st century, before the eco-wars and the bad gene-thing."
"She is pure?" the big one interrupted. "In that case, the organs can wait, she will fetch a much better price alive, without..." Lydia had enough, she did not intent to fetch someone a price and she would certainly not stand being called pure. She stood up, went to the dude and gave him a jumping roundhouse-kick to the face, knocking him out cold. "Looks like you guys from the future have never heard of Kung-Fu," she noticed triumphant, took the guy's spear and pointed it at the smaller one: "I'm your queen now, take me to your leader." | 2020-11-05T05:28:05 | 2020-11-05T03:59:37 | 136 | 31 |
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon. | The marble tower is crooked, like a tree leaning towards the sun. It wasn’t always crooked, but one day the earth shivered its soily back, as if it saw its future, and the tower’s foot slipped.
Most things are strapped down inside the room at the top, to stop them sliding like snooker balls on an uneven table. The bed is held to a wall by strands of the princess’s silver hair tied to its legs; the copper table cauterised by dragon flame, melded into the floor. When the princess wakes, she slides herself to the door at the bottom of the room, all the way to the washtub where the dragon has warmed her morning bath.
The heroes arrive once a month or so. Usually men but not always. Their tongues, however, always unroll the same scroll, the same proclamation written in indelible ink: *princess, you are hereby saved.*
But she cannot leave and they do not stay. Not once they realise she cannot be saved. Not unless these heroes can pull loose the threads of time and return to that day, as a child, stuffed bear clutched beneath her arm, holding Mommy’s hand until Mommy’s hand falls loose. Not unless they can change the outcome of that day.
Some of the heroes simply steal her like they might any treasure. They tie her up and tell her she has a curse over her, binding her to this place; that she might cry and scream now as they load her onto their horse, but soon the curse will be broken. Soon she will not be anchored to that infernal tower. True, the first kiss did not break it, but perhaps their wedding night…
The princess becomes wretched those kidnapped days, might vomit into her gag, might almost drown in her own horror. *Let me down*, she tries to scream. *I need back into my tower.*
And then it becomes like that day again, long ago, only a child:
On that day, the guards murder her parents — betrayal paid for by a jealous cousin. She was seven but remembers still that taste of salt as her parents’ throats were slit and their blood lashed against her like waves of water from a hose. Her parents fell; then the mens’ cutlasses leered over her, their own smiles every bit as sharp as their instruments.
The dragon had been as young as her back then, but it was also as large as a carriage. Its flame wasn’t hot enough to instantly kill the men, but it seared their armour against their skin and spiralled twists of black smoke up from their chests, like their spirits were escaping.
They screamed and ran and died, dropping weapons, leaving only a balled up child, dyed red, not screaming or crying or even moving.
Petrified.
The dragon landed. Nudged her with its nose. It too had no parents, or if it had they’d abandoned it pre-hatch. It picked her up in its mouth, gently, like a mother cat — instinctual. Then they flew far, to the abandoned tower, that twisted white tooth, decaying, ivy ravaged by time.
On days when the heroes try to take her, the dragon is there for her again, a wrathful lucifer descending from soot-black clouds. The heroes spatter as ash onto the land and the princess scrambles back to her tower.
On days when the heroes do not steal her but instead fight her dragon, then they must fight the princess too — and she is a fury of nails and knives and rage in the protection of the dragon. Of her friend.
​
A few times a year the princess stands on the very top of the tower, the highest angle of the roof, stars bright above her. She raises her arms by her side and lets the wind wash away the depression that has temporarily tarred her heart.
The dragon nudges her very gently with its tail or nose. Only once, only to let her know that its here, waiting. In the end, the chicks must learn to fly on their own and the dragon knows this.
Sometimes she’s brave enough to jump — to escape the tower. Always the dragon will catch her. They will fly then, for half a mile, maybe less. Rarely more.
When she weeps and shakes the dragon returns her to her tower.
They will try again. Together they will learn to fly, to escape the tower. They are their own heroes and always have been.
​
( /r/froggingtonspond) | “Knit one, purl two,” Clara muttered, as she tracked stitches across the very end of the long, sinuous tail. Or at least, the dragon’s tail would be sinuous when she was done with it.
Clara’s hands ached, they were close to cramping. She’d rushed through line after line of small, tight stitches, not at all like the large scale work she usually did, which presented challenges of its own. The knitting needles in her hands felt like foreign objects, even now after months of practice. She’d scarcely remembered she had them when the idea struck her. Thankfully, the old lessons had come back quickly enough, but still she missed the clay.
Clara shook her head hard, pressing on through the last few stitches. Clay was a thing of the past now, or so she hoped.
Princess Clara Eugenia Constantia, fourth princess of the realm, only technically of the royal blood by conventions of marriage, had been making dragons for a very long time. In her youth it had been seen as a child’s affectation, like making up an imaginary friend. As a young woman, blooded and growing, it had become fashionable to deride, at least insofar as her sisters were concerned. Now, marooned in the castle spire at the center of Hellas Basin, it was both the only thing that kept her sane, and the weak spot in her armor. Her sisters, and their knights, exploited that.
Clara was very much done with being weak.
“Knit one, purl two,” she whispered, “knit one, purl two.”
And then, in an instant, it was finished. The time for knitting had ended, now it was time for a bit of magic.
It didn’t take much to make Clara cry. Today she thought of clay, of skin and bone turning back to brittle, heat fired brown clay and cracking open like an egg to spill the wispy blue smoke of magic back out into the world in lieu of brains, pieces of her best friend’s skull cracking as they landed on the floor. A glass eye, its luster lost, rolling to a stop against her slippers.
Clara was crying before the eye had even fallen in her memory, and she caught the tears in her bare hands, the knit dragon held on her knees. She cried as hard as she could, until a slight film of salty wetness had formed in her palms, tears charged with all the magic that her sadness and loneliness could produce. The tears glimmered a pale blue and she whispered a word that started them sizzling against her skin.
When the time came, when the voices were just beginning to grow audible in the courtyard far below, Clara anointed the dragon and named it.
“Vitala,” she named it. Life. Hopefully a long one.
Nothing happened for several seconds. The first processes of a magical birth were all internal. Then the dragon, knit from soft, purple dyed wool, began to heat up. Clara set it in the fireplace before it burned her knees, scurrying away from it. The wool writhed for a moment, like skin stretched thin by a force inside seeking escape, and then it caught fire.
A dragon was born in the fireplace, hardening talons on thick scaled paws clacking against the stone as rubbed itself on the walls. Wool ash sloughed off into the fireplace, it raised its long neck, spikes running from the ridge of its skull to the base where the neck met the shoulders, and it prepared to a great, proud roar that would echo of the walls, that would tell the world a dragon had just been born.
“Shit, quiet! Quiet!” Clara said, rushing the dragon.
Vitala opened her mouth, a puff of surprised smoke came out instead, and she turned, wobbling on unsteady feet toward Clara, eyes struggling to parse what she saw.
“Do you recognize me?” Clara said. “I’m your new master, Clara Constantia! I made you.”
The dragon cocked its head to the side. A bit of wool still hung from its mouth and Clara grabbed it away hurriedly. The dragon reared back as if to roar again, perhaps missing its wool, and Clara dove forward, clapping her hand over its mouth. She could hear horses whinnying in the courtyard, men would already be in the castle, perhaps even approaching the long stair.
The dragon twisted and fought against her grasp, its wings beat, and then, all at once, it stopped, going still. It was as if Vitala had suddenly realized that she was very, very small, the size of a young kitten.
“Behave yourself!” Clara hissed.
The dragon nodded.
Clara could hear them now, steps on the stair, the heavy clanking of armored boots. There would be swords, spears. She wondered who it would be this time. “We haven’t much time, they’re already coming. Listen to me, I’m Clara, you’re Vitala, and soon we’re going to be best friends, I promise you. But we can only be be best friends if you do exactly what I tell you to do, okay?”
The dragon nodded again.
“Good girl.” Clara pointed the space where a bookshelf had been pushed away from its station. “You see that hole in the wall there? That’s for you. It leads to a whole network of tunnels in the castle and below, and there will be more friends down there who will help you, so, so many more. You need to trust them, okay? Like you would trust me, your creator. Now go, and when you come back I’ll make you a treat!”
Clara scooped the little dragon up and tossed it towards the hole in the wall. It’s wings spread, catching the air for a seconds and wobbling as it glided down. It hit the ground in front of the hole in the stone, looked back to Clara, and then vanished.
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p6us7e/wp_an_agoraphobic_princess_is_sick_and_tired_of/h9fr4it?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-08-18T11:27:18 | 2021-08-18T11:20:05 | 1,167 | 93 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | Their second date was going splendidly. They had spent the last hour and a half having easy conversation over drinks and a fancy meal. Light jazz music filled the richly decorated restaurant as Mathew and Julia finished their main course.
“Maybe one too many drinks tonight. I need to go use the ladies room.” Julia said, reaching for her purse.
“Do you want to get dessert?” Mathew asked.
“Sure. Order something for us if the waiter comes. I trust you to pick something good.” Julia said.
“I’ll pray to the God of Desserts for their wisdom.” Mathew said smiling. Julia laughed as she walked away.
The moment the words left his lips a puff of smoke popped into existence on the table in front of him and a small pixie looking woman in a vibrant multicolored dress appeared. She stumbled slightly and looked around in confusion. Mathew froze wondering if his drink had been spiked.
Now staring up at him the tiny woman said, “Well this is a surprise. I haven’t been prayed to in years.”
Mathew rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh shit. I think I’m having an allergic reaction.” He looked around the room, and everyone was enjoying their meals as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Oh focus. You prayed to me, and I was pulled here like a fish on a hook. Not that I’m angry. The in-between can get pretty boring with no prayers to answer.” She smoothed her dress and looked at him expectantly. “What do you desire from The Goddess of Desserts young man?”
After Mathew sat staring dumbfounded for a few seconds the woman poked his finger, shocking him with a jolt like static electricity. Mathew reflexively pulled his hand back. “Hey that hurt!”
“Sorry but you looked like your brain fell on the table. What would you like for dessert? This is my first prayer in years so don’t hold back.”
“Um, yeah. Well it’s our second date and she told me to pick, but I didn’t expect… this.” Mathew said gesturing at the table.
The small woman held her finger to her chin and looked towards the ceiling for a moment. “So it's for a date huh? I got just the thing. Clear a spot right there.”
Mathew did as she asked and moved some empty dishes clearing a space in the center of the table. The miniature Goddess made a finger gun motion at the empty space and a white plate with two large beautiful cupcakes appeared. “Red velvet cupcakes with a cream cheese ganache icing and topped with shaved dark chocolate!”
She stood looking proudly at her creation as Mathew wondered how he was going to tell his date he was hallucinating a dessert spawning pixie. Just then Julia returned and sat down across from him, “Oh my that was fast. They look delicious!” she said.
Mathew looked quickly back and forth between Julia and the tiny woman on the table, but Julia seemed oblivious. “Uh, yeah. I was just waiting for you.”
They each grabbed a cupcake from the plate and took a bite at the same time. “These are divine!” Julia said.
Mathew shook his head in emphatic agreement. The aura surrounding the small Goddess on the table swelled around her as they ate. | I'd gone with the knight, the priest, the ranger and the thief because of course they wanted a wizard to with them to clear an ancient ruined dungeon. We cleared the dungeon of the skeletons and zombies therein. There was vampire down there six levels down, just sleeping in his coffin. He didn't wake up when we opened it, so we just staked him with some wooden arrows and after he burst into flames and we were pretty certain he was dead, we looted his place. I found some really old books in great condition, and some in not so great condition. I recognized the language, but I didn't know it myself. I'd have to reference some of my books back in my lab, but these were good finds. Everyone else was pretty disappointed in the loot, there was some really old gold pieces that might be worth something to a collector, and a couple of rusty swords and some armor. The Vampire itself was wearing a ring that could be magic, but its probably cursed. I told them to lock in a lead box until they can get a proper appraisal on it and considered my books as payment enough.
The first book of the bunch was essentially a spellbook full of formulae for summoning different kinds of fantastic meals. I summoned something called a Turducken, and something else known as Cheese Burger. The turducken was a tremendous amount of food, and felt silly for summoning a feast for one person. The Cheese Burger seemed like a single person's worth of food, and I found it quite delicious. Far better than the normal magic bread he'd learned to summon at school. I put the 'cookbook' aside. What the hell was I going to do with this mountain of meats?
The next book was on the rituals and rites of the ancient ones, it detailed how they worshipped their gods and goddesses. It seems all of them took food offerings, but usually it was the les delicious parts of the animal. His reading also lead him to believe that the ancient ones did not have the ability to make foods with magic like they did now, at least the way the rituals were described didn't seem like they would actually work, at least not according to how they taught magic at the academy. Ah well, I decided I'd see if these old rituals still worked, and I searched for a fun sounding goddess to sacrifice this turducken to. Bahraghesa the destroyer, pass. Antromi the huntress, Maybe. Tulani the fertility goddess, that's going in the definitely possible pile. Quarlihinn, the goddess of games, yes absolutely. That's who I'd try to send this food to.
I had the magic circle in my lab, it would take me only a few moments to add the needed runes and glyphs to it with chalk to make a sacrificial circle to Quarlihinn. Chuckling to myself, I figured I'd just be sending this to some place in the astral plane. I cracked open this book of dead gods to the correct page, and after making my marks on my magic circle, I brought the mass of summoned bird meats stuffed into one another and placed it in the middle of the circle. I chanted according to the book, "Quarlihinn, Goddess of Games, I offer this sustenance to you that you might brighten all my days and nights with games, Let the games begin!" I Imbued the circle with a tiny touch of my magic to activate the ritual... and nothing happened.
"Oh right! I should say it in this ancient language." I told myself. I used another spell to allow me to speak any language I can read, and since I knew what this passage said already it should work. I spoke the words again, and infused the circle with a sliver of magic, and poof! The damn meatstrosity disappeared. Satisfied with my exploration of ancient deities and amused that her astral address still worked I turned to leave the room, but then there she was. A slender medium tall woman in a harlequin's costume. Her face half painted red, half painted white. Her hair was pulled back in to two pony tails. The tails were red and black dyed, but there was about three inches of blonde roots. She had a massive hammer, but it seemed to be made of some sort of inflatable material I cannot identify.
"So, What's your name Mista?" She asked me. "Jay" I answered her.
"Well mista Jay, you wanna play some games?" She asked me, afterwhich she blew a big pink bubble out of some kind of stretchy material, before it popped. "Uh, sure I guess?" I replied. Apparently I'd summoned a goddess.
"I propose the game we play is called, Catch the Bat!"
"I'm afraid I don't know that one."
"That's where make someone you don't like into a nasty man-bat, and we hunt'em down together! Come on Mista Jay, it'll tons of fun I promise!"
Something about the way she spoke, I couldn't help but agree to join her crazy games. I'm sorry. I never meant to release her. Damn turducken. | 2022-02-15T14:44:07 | 2022-02-15T13:39:12 | 35 | 20 |
[WP]”Why aren’t you scared? I’m a vampire— I could kill you!” “So could literally every other human, you’re not special.” | "I don't understand," The vampire countered, "Vampires are the natural predator to man. There was a time where entire armies would flee from a small detachment of vampire warriors."
"Mankind evolved." I explained, "We replaced swords with muskets, then replaced muskets with rifles. One man with an AR-15 can mow down a group of people in less time than it takes a vampire to kill one person." I pulled my phone out of my pocket, holding it up to the vampire, "Alternatively, a man can tear a person apart emotionally without ever meeting them. Break apart their friend group, get them fired from work, make their life feel so worthless that they'd rather end it themselves than try to pick up the pieces."
"And that's just a few options. Someone could poison my drink or hire a sniper to shoot me from several blocks away. I could be killed quickly, or tortured for weeks by a sadist. I could be killed in a spur of the moment decision, or after methodical planning. A hungry wolf only has one or two ways to kill a rabbit. Mankind has spent thousands of years finding new ways to inflict pain onto each other."
As I talked, I saw my undead compatriot's expression change several times. From confusion, to horror, and eventually to pity. "So..." They muttered, "Some things never truly change, do they?"
"They don't," I replied, "No matter how far we evolve as a race, there's always going to be that creative bloodlust that drives us to find new ways of killing each other. Don't get me wrong, most people aren't sociopaths or sadists, but I'm a lot more scared of the ones who are than I am of someone with a different diet."
As grim an outlook as it was, the vampire smiled softly before patting me on the shoulder, "I think I might like you..." | "That's because, your kind is Pathetic. And also stupid" The vampire flashed a cold, slow grin, letting his gaze run itself down and across my budgeoning water sack of a body, right as my mind for some reason thinks "I'm back in middle school again"... and then he continues his voice a perfect cool pitch of measured quiet, twisting and hanging in the air in front of us like a fruit rotting between my eyes-
" You can't even... Begin to Understand... the amount of Pain you're going to, well" He smiles again, seemingly warmed at the amount of pain I'm going to be in. "I swear, and cross my heart" he winks at me slyly, " By the time I pluck the Flesh from the bone of your eyes, there will exist nothing. Except all the fear you ever felt and all the fear you ever will... do you now understand or should we continue lady?".
"LADDYY?!!" The migraine slicing across my head pops and I stand tall, ignoring the wobbling in my knees and the sweat dripping from the pits of my overwashed cheap polyester uniform I'm forced to wear day in day out. It's all god gave me. I no longer care.
"Exxcuuuuse me? Mister VAMPIRE. First off, if you're gonna call me anything from your stinky rotten mouth, you best damn brush your teeth boy! They straight up look like corn! Second, it aint "LADY" SIR. It's a ma'am. Third, this is a Chilis....now I don't mean to cut your wonky ass ras-no poutin "goblin oh goule speech" short. but my shift ended FIVE minutes ago. I got sciatica running up and down my legs like you woul believe and today for some reason I kept pissin blood!? My kid-sister says it's all the beet juice she's been sneakin into my cereal. Like I NEED A DAMN VEGETABLES IN MY MINI WHEATS??. CRAZY. Lord help her. But YOU! Comin in ere— MY CHILIS? Well you out of your mind and I'll damn kick yo rotten appled ass if I please— Lord forgive me".
With that I leap! I launched myself at him. 290 pounds, I wouldn't know. I dont go to no doctor. Chili's insurance, and those managers crazier than any vampire I've ever seen. But I've been killin rude people since I was five. I reckon a vampire's no different than anyone without any manners.
Now we're fightin! I jumped straight and got him square to the ground. Heathe— the mouthy teenager always in the back givin me crap throws me the dial phone. The vampire starts to laugh and hiss and open his mouth. Too soon to tell but I think he's winnin! I grab it easy. I didn't raise four boys to not learn how to catch anything my way and I pop him slick across his pretty boy face with our rotary phone, slam it down straight into his nose. Into his face. Into those ugly deviled teeth. He keeps going so I choke him with the wire. Shove the plastic deep into his throat. He cracked it swiftly in half and he's clawing up and down my arms but I got him. It's easy to beat anyone doing anything when you outweigh em like I do, and boy I do.
Five minutes later, Heathe hands me a cheap small Chili's cup of lemonaide. We don’t look at each other as he shrugs"Well the good news, we got it on camera. The bad news... it's on Reddit". | 2022-06-08T15:59:11 | 2022-06-08T13:26:53 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. However, you are immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours, and the entire cult was a prank you pulled centuries ago. | Hmm... Consciousness coming back, that's nice...
Let's see, head feels clear, probably no concussion then, good. Concussions are a pain.
Eyes... Oh good, still have eyes. Last time it took forever to get the color right again. Blindfolded though, that's annoying.
Limbs... Right leg feels broken, other leg is fine. Arms too. Tied to something hard. Probably an altar judging by how they have my arms and legs spread.
At least this time they left my clothes.
Chanting... What is that, Latin? No wait, that's Original Babylonian, Latin was the closest language to come out of that whole tower thing.
That means... Knife in the heart, yup. Wonder why I didn't notice that first, that stings...
I wait for the chanting to stop, eventually the cultists realize nothing is happening, you know, aside from the murder.
Once the nervous accusations of unfaithfulness turn into a brawl I dislocate my thumbs and pull my hands free of the bindings.
I sit up and pull off the blindfold. The dude who stabbed me looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to use his mouth to scream or throw up.
Eventually he takes the third option and passes out.
One fixed leg later and I'm slipping out the back door. Just as the brawl turns into more murder.
As I walk down the alleyway, a group of shadows pull towards me, deepening the already dark night.
"Bro" I say, "there are easier ways to get hold of me. I told you I'd get you a cell phone. I'll even pay your bill. I get a good deal if I bundle multiple lines."
"But then I wouldn't be able to pay you back for Atlantis."
I grin. "How was I supposed to know your incarnation that time would be allergic to seafood?"
"Dinner's on me" the shadow says.
"There's a great sushi place just down the road" I reply.
"Dick" | Well this was embarrassing. Apparently Cyrus would have never thought that he'd regret making that fertility cult with his then-BFF, Avelcia. It was going all fine and dandy until they decided to include the idea of human sacrifice. Sure, she helped mark extraordinary evil people to use as sacrifice, but now Cyrus was the next victim, all because of a corrupt priest and his ideals of sacrificing so-called inferior flesh instead of having the goddess fix the defect.
After the orgies finished rather explosively, the drums started beating, and Cyrus was taken out of his cage. Some priestesses, just as corrupt, rushed towards him with a different, much smaller cage in hand. Of course, as soon as he glared at them, they decided it wasn't needed. Throwing the cages away, they walked with him to the altar. Already the high priest had finished chanting. Seeing this, Cyrus stepped onto the altar, soon kneeling in front of a large statue of Avelcia.
"Take this inferior flesh, my goddess, and may he die in humiliation and sustain you in your realm!" As soon as the priest shouted that, he grabbed the sacrificial knife, seeing red funnel clouds touch down. Pressing the blade to Cyrus's throat, he began slicing, dragging the blade back and forth. He didn't notice that the sacrifice's flesh was healing after the knife had finished cutting it, but Avelcia certainly did, and the heavily-pregnant goddess cast him a withering glare, causing him to stop cutting and just leave the knife in Cyrus's neck.
"What are you doing?" Avelcia asked him. "Uhhh....sacrificing this man," the priest responded. Well, he was being honest, so... "*Why* are you sacrificing him?" She asked. This was already proving to be problematic. Of all the things that happened, she was already realizing he was sacrificing her husband.
"Because he is a virgin with a small penis, my goddess." That was the wrong thing to say. She glared at him, walking towards him. "Tell me, Ebenezer, what is my name and what are my titles?" Without a pause, he responded "You are Avelcia, the Divine Mother, the Fusion of Man and Woman, the Healer and Holy Mender, the Sculptor of Flesh, and the Mother of Man and Monsters, Angels and Devils, Saints and Sinners, Gods and Goddesses, and Everything Divine." Still glaring at him, she continued. "Have you ever noticed that one of my titles is the Sculptor of Flesh? Which means that small penises are things I fix with requests and prayers and the occasional sacrifice of food. They are not marks for sacrifice."
"Impossible," he stammered. "I asked for you to fix him and you didn't! That means he's a sacrifice!" This was getting awkward. "It means that he doesn't need fixing because he doesn't have the ailment! And most importantly, I would have told you what ailments he had if you asked!"
"Not to mention she is carrying my child," Cyrus finally spoke, taking the knife out of his neck. Seeing him, Avelcia walked over to him, hugging him gently. "Yes, dear, I was just getting to that. You don't have to worry." Of course, Cyrus had other plans for Ebenezer. "One moment, love...Ebenezer, we have seen your corruption. The only sentence is death. You will be the sacrifice, and your soul will hurtle down to where it belongs—Hell." With a simple throw, he plunged the knife deep into the priest's chest before looking at his wife. "Let's get out of here." His wife nodded, saying "Agreed," before they both left. | 2022-09-10T17:35:30 | 2022-09-10T15:35:59 | 843 | 136 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | Amy bit her lip and looked at up me, her eyes smoldering. She stepped so close that I thought I could feel the warmth of her, right through my clothes.
"Close your eyes." she whispered, sweetly, playfully running a fingertip down my chest in a way that made me shiver. I didn't know what to expect. I imagined it would be all warmth and softness, like when she'd held my hand as we walked to the woods together.
I certainly never expected the stinging cold of the sharp knife she drew across my throat, nor the cold that spread through me as I stumbled back and toppled to the ground. I had no strength left to fight as she crawled atop me, place her lips to my neck, and drank her fill.
The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me, looked very little like the girl I'd admired. She was panting, bloodsoaked, and bloated. Her belly protruded from her her shirt unnaturally distended with my own lifeblood. She raised her knife in the air, and began to chant a series of harsh, guttural syllables that I couldn't understand. It didn't matter -- my sight and hearing were soon gone, submerged in the silent blackness.
The next day, when I sat down beside her at school, Amy was surprised to say the least.
I smiled at her, and said hello, and then, under my breath, I said a few more things I'd been told to say, while I was lying in the shallow grave she'd rolled me into the previous night.
I'd awakened on my back in the forest, the soil and loam she'd buried me under mostly scraped away. I felt weak, cold, and too weak to lift a finger. I drew in a breath, and realized to my horror that I was pulling in air through the gash in my neck, rather than my mouth. I would have screamed if I could have, but all my ruined throat could manage was a burbling wheeze.
A slender shape had suddenly loomed over me. It looked like a young woman -- not Amy, but almost as unsettling as my final vision of her had been. She was tall, gaunt, and pale, with long dark hair, dressed in a strange tight wrap that looked like it was woven from slender vines or branches. Strangest of all were her eyes, which were unnaturally large, and had enormous irises that left scarcely a sliver of white visible at the corners.
"What have you found, brother mine?" she said, in a curious voice that was disturbingly childlike.
"Prey freshly slain, sister dear..." answered a voice that was just a bit deeper than the first. I tried to cringe away as this speaker leaned into view above my shallow grave. He was proportioned like his "sister", and similarly attired, but his face differed from hers. His eyes were almost human, but his mouth....it was far too wide, and filled with far too many perfect white teeth.
If Amy had been surprised to see me alive, she was even more surprised when I extended my hand to her, and asked to join me on a walk through the woods after school. She was still *more* surprised that, against her own desires, she took my hand and silently walked beside me as I led her towards the trees, nothing but her frantically darting eyes to betray her growing fear.
"You made a mistake." I said quietly, as we walked. I wondered why I was so calm. "The place where you killed me? Someone...something lives there."
I shuddered at the memory even now: the large-eyed girl, and the boy with the too-wide grin looming over me. The girl had plucked out a single long dark hair from her head, and the boy had plucked out an impossibly long and slender curved tooth from his mouth. They fit them together like a needle and thread, and the girl began to somehow stitch closed the fatal wound in my neck, along with my severed windpipe. While she worked, her brother whispered in my ear, his breath unnaturally cold against my skin, and told me what they required in exchange for my life.
"Please..." she whispered hoarsely, fighting the power of the words I'd spoken to silence her.
"For one thing," I continued, unmoved by her plea, "You invoked a lot of...things, when you killed me. I guess you thought they'd give you something in exchange? And maybe they did. I guess it would explain why you didn't puke your guts out after drinking my blood, and why you looked perfectly normal the next day. But the thing is, among all the names you chanted while I was dying, you never mentioned *them.* They said it was like bringing dinner to someone's house, and then eating it in front of them without offering them any -- very impolite. On top of that, you killed me with a piece of iron. Well steel, technically, but steel is mostly iron, plus carbon and some other things, depending on the alloy -- Mr. Hanson mentioned that in science class the other day, remember? Anyway, they really, *really* hate iron. I guess I'm lucky I didn't happen to have any on me."
A few moments later, we reached the clearing where I'd died. I didn't feel anything, apart from a vague sense of satisfaction at discharging an obligation, like returning a book to the library before it becomes overdue. But I didn't feel anger, or fear, and certainly not shame. I'm sure I would have felt terrible about doing this, yesterday, even though Amy was a murderer and I was her victim, but today I didn't. Maybe that should have disturbed me even more, but today it didn't.
It wasn't long before we reached the clearing where I'd been buried. It was already starting to get dark.
"This is her." I said, pushing her forward.
The misshapen siblings melted out of the darkness. Amy opened her mouth wide, but the words I'd spoken made her no louder than I'd been with my throat cut.
The boy with the too-wide grin grinned wider. "It is! You tell the truth -- I can smell your blood on her."
"Of course. Why would I lie?" I asked, with a shrug.
"Because you *can."* the girl answered cryptically, as she crouched beside the trembling Amy, and stroked her cheek with her disturbingly long finger.
"And yet you did not!" the boy said, clapping his hands in delight. "You kept faith with us, as we will now keep faith with you. You are free to go."
I nodded, as the girl took Amy's hand, and pulled her to her feet. Amy stood, eyes wide with terror, but still compelled to silence.
"What are you going to do?"
"She dined without us last night." the boy said.
"So tonight we will dine with her." the girl finished.
I nodded. That seemed fair enough, I thought. Then it occurred to me to ask, "Why am I...why I am okay with all of this?"
The boy made a balancing gesture with his hands. "To ask you to surrender one of your own kind to us is a great favor -- greater than us merely saving your life, and teaching you a few simple words of our language. So, to balance the scales more perfectly, I cut out the fear and suffering inside you that was tied to the night you were slain." He cocked his head to the side again. "Do you want it back?"
After a thoughtful pause, I shook my head. "No, thanks."
And without another word, I turned and walked away. | It was pretty unbelievable. I'm not usually good at showing emotions. Not usually great at the whole human interaction thing. Pretty terrible. Never expected her to just politely offer to hang out after all the others from class had left, because she wanted to. I kept my cool at the moment, and accepted her offer with unusual grace and calm. We stayed behind, did some homework, and just talked. Genuinely pleasant and easy conversation. And then, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the woods with her, clear our heads, refresh ourselves a bit. Of course, I said yes. It sounded pretty good actually. There was this weird smell coming from somewhere in the area anyway, sort of similar to formaldehyde? Couldn't place it or where it came from, but definitely not pleasant. Definitely wanted to get away from that. So we went out into the brisk autumn air, out into the woods, where the gold and red leaves were absolutely stunning. It was pretty romantic. Almost a date. Of course, it was a bit much of me to expect that something romantic would happen. I'm pretty much the awkward class nerd, and she's the most popular and pretty girl in class. But when she offered to, well, experiment a little by making out, I wasn't the type to say no. It was like some manner of daydream, when her mouth came close to mine. I had just enough time before her mouth grew fangs and dug into my throat to notice that the odd smell was coming from her. She drained me of all my blood.
Once she was done, she buried me in a shallow grave in the woods behind the school.
The look on her face when I walked into class next day was priceless. She couldn't believe her eyes. It was almost worth the exhaustion of digging myself out of that cold dirt, just for that moment. In class, I just sat down where I usually sat, and wrote down notes as usual. Acted completely and utterly as I normally did. After class, she stared at me with fear and confusion. I pretended not to notice. Pretended not to smell that faint scent of formaldehyde underneath her expensive perfume. Pretended that everything was fine. Of course, she was terrified, and I could tell that she was barely restraining herself from attacking me. I gave her a look that told her to bring it, and she flinched as if I'd slapped her. For the rest of that week, I just acted as I usually did, kept up appearances, and didn't act any way out of the ordinary. Like it had never happened. Of course, it had. And when the weekend came, that was when I changed behavior.
The house she lived in, was somewhat isolated, and newer than most other houses in town. Probably so she could live as her kind prefers, and so nobody would snoop around easily. Of course, she is a predator of humans, and she cannot easily notice those who aren't. Not like she is used to being able to notice people. I cased her house all weekend, noting down hidden entrances and exits, the location of a small graveyard that contained, among other interesting things, a coffin full of graveyard dirt from a distant land. Very useful knowledge. Hiding the dirt was not a hard task. But it was only the beginning. Obviously, I could tell what she was, and she knew that I had somehow survived her attack. That was the basis of our situation. There would have to be a confrontation. It was only polite.
Next monday, she once again asked me, this time with much less confidence and suaveness, to stay after class. I of course accepted. And we went pretty much immediately out to the woods. ''*So. Cassie. Guess it's time to lay our cards on the, well, leaf-covered ground, such as it is.*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. Natalie. Indeed it is.*'' Her fangs grew, her eyes turned red, and her hands became vampyric claws. ''*Really, all claws and teeth. Already and you didn't even attempt a diplomatic solution. You must be pretty young.*'' Her monstrous attributes receded. ''*Well, half a century. I suppose so. You've met many of my kind, I suppose?*'' I shrug. In truth I haven't but as is well known, one should not correct a potential enemy when they're making an obvious mistake. Oversharing is one such mistake. ''*I don't know how you survived. If it is some manner of technique I haven't heard of, I'd gladly submit to your seniority as a vampire, if I can only learn it. You appear so very human, and I must do such work to remain like that.*''
I smile deviously. She doesn't know. She doesn't even know what I am. She's lucky she's cute as hell, or I'd have ended things now. OK, maybe it was hormones keeping me from acting, but the universe should cut me some slack, I'm a teenager in High School. ''*I'm pretty territorial, as far as things go. I'd prefer it if you'd just politely up and left.*'' No need to reveal more than she knows. Let her think she knows what is happening. ''*But think, Natalie, what we could do together, two vampires, like sisters, ruling the night in this small town. We could drink without worry, and rule the night together.*'' Her hearing is not as good as mine. I can hear the distant attempts of someone trying not to laugh. I hold up a hand for her to be silent, and I turn my head towards the area from where the noise came from. ''*Come out. I've heard you.*'' What appears to be underbrush moves and forth from the forest floor three humans, their hearts loud, but not with terror, with bravery, emerge. The leader of them is an unpleasant looking man.
''*Well, well, well. I guess you caught me trying not to snicker. You're playing her for a lark.*''
I shrug. Sure, that's not entirely wrong. ''*Little miss vampire, that's not one of your fellow daughters of the night. That's a werewolf.*'' Cassie turns her head to me in shock. It's clear from her movement, the sound her dead body and fake beating heart makes, that she hadn't thought that those existed. We are a lot better at keeping hidden than vampires. But then again, we don't have to attack people for sustenance. On full-moon nights, we usually hunt animals. We don't have to drink fresh untainted blood. ''*True. I was hoping to get her out of this town without causing any trouble. But I guess trouble found us first.*'' The unpleasant men, their rifles long and their daggers serrated, smile viciously. Cassie just looks at me. ''*How did you survive getting bitten then? I drank all your blood! Sure, it was an odd taste, but I took all of it!*'' I roll my eyes.
The truth is that werewolves transform into their canine bodies when drained of human blood, which replenishes the body with fresh wolf-blood. Have to be partially transformed until my natural reserves of human blood are replenished. Been hard to hide that tail all week, but when you're a nerdy girl that nobody notices, it's a lot easier. Not that I'm about to reveal that to her. Or to these hunters. ''*Wolf secrets.*'' I just say and focus on the men.
''*Now, this is nice and all, but I'm thinking it's time to end this, with a vampire skull on a shelf and a fresh wolf-pelt upon a wall.*''
Jesus Christ how gross can somebody be. I've met Hunters before. Most of them are just trying to protect humanity. I know one of my uncles even worked with a team of them, best option for a hound needed to hunt down supernatural horrors in the states, that's a werewolf. These sickos give Hunters a bad name. ''*Hope you've done your homework then.*'' The transformation is a holy thing to most werewolves. It must take the ritualistic nature into itself, and that takes time to complete. Like a hymn or prayer, you cannot rush it. Luckily, I'm more of a secular werewolf. And since I'm already at least a little bit transformed, I don't have to wait at all. I spring into action, my flesh already fully covered, my claws already long and my sharp teeth easily bite down upon an unready throat. It's not taboo to kill humans, but it is considered a social faux pas. But these three are clearly not suited for a future with the human race. The third of them screams, as the guy who decided to talk instead of shooting first aims his rifle, at Cassie. My mind is pretty occupied by being a killing machine, so when the rifle goes off, and misses, the guy suddenly gets knocked down by a vampire. And they are a good deal stronger and more powerful than your average human, provided he hasn't ingested holy water blessed by a real priest. Funny thing holy water, it only works if the priest who has blessed it actually acts and does as Jesus would have done. Seen a guy throw waterballoons full of the stuff at zombies once, did nothing because the priest was one of those megachurch fellows. When we fled from New York, I saw the local priest drinking some of the stuff himself and wrestling that demon that consumed the souls of a third of Albany. The priest won, I might add. | 2022-12-29T20:28:17 | 2022-12-29T17:02:56 | 819 | 256 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Yuri, come in here, you gotta see this"
Yuri rolled his eye, shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the science officer. He looked as bored as a Redon could possibly look.
"This human, this one human, the male version" Fram began "Hey, Kiol, put it up on the big screen". The starscape was replaced by the image of a human boy, perhaps 15 years old, sitting on his bed with a laptop.
"This human has done it what? Fram, what are we up to?"
"31 times"
"This human has masturbated 31 times today alone! And look, he's at it again. The little bugger is at it AGAIN!".
This caught Yuri's attention. "Just him?"
"That's the best part" Redon said "it's the entire planet! At any given moment some human, somewhere is fapping away to their hearts content. Look, Yuri, you and I have been to, what? 1,000 planets, give or take. Never, and I mean never have I seen a species approach anywhere near the amount of wacking that these people do. They completely suck at everything else but when it comes to going solo, they rule the universe". | "Underchancellor, I want to know exactly who and why and how this happened, and what in Llorig's name you were thinking."
"Well, you see, Overchancellor, Planet Three has reported an alien presence. It's the Humans, the original inhabitants of Planet Three."
"I know that, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I read the report, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to know how they escaped the Penal Colony on Planet Four."
"With, with rockets, sir. Very primitive, by our scannings. Going from Planet Four to Three was about as the maximum range for their crafts."
"We destroyed their entire galactic fleet, didn't we, Underchancellor?"
"Yes, sir."
"And executed their entire scientist caste, didn't we? They've only been on that Penal Colony for only four of their generations. How in Llorig's name did they get their old spaceships back? Did someone sell them spacecraft? That's treason."
"Overchancellor, we've done testing. The rockets they used to escape the Penal Colony match none of the models of their spacecraft they used during the war."
"What are you saying? They invented new spacecraft in four generations? They have no scientists. It's impossible."
"I'm only telling you what I know, sir. And it's not spacecraft, not quite. They have no Quantum Drives or FTL Power. They seem to be powering their craft with fossil fuels they bought off of traders. Nothing like the craft they had during the war, but as far as we can see, they're effective enough. None of them have crashed."
"And how did this happen without any scientists? I oversaw the execution of that caste, there were none left alive. What you are describing is impossible, Underchancellor."
"Sir, I am only saying what has been reported. We're still trying to figure out how they bred a new scientist caste so quickly."
"The next time you come into my quarters I expect this matter to be solved, Underchancellor. If any part of this report appears to be untrue, you will be tried for treason and executed."
"I understand, sir."
"You are dismissed."
"Very good, sir."
"One more thing, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir?"
"Have they made any demands? Any contact with our citizens on Planet Three?"
"Just one, sir."
"What's that?"
"They've offering to sell them things. Human food, human artwork, human instruments, almost everything they produce they offer to sell."
"Well, what do they sell them for?"
"Right now, they're very into buying our Rigaloos and keeping them as pets. They also buy our young's educational books in tremendous volumes."
"Why?"
"We have no idea, sir."
"They can't read them. Why would they buy them?"
"We're not sure yet. We think they're trying to decipher them."
"Humans are weird."
"Yes, sir." | 2014-07-16T12:28:05 | 2014-07-16T11:43:48 | 115 | 78 |
[WP] America is at war and has reconstituted the draft. Soldiers are separated for training based on how combat ready they are. The war seems lost, but the last and largest platoon of soldiers, made of up of the furthest obese is about to be deployed. | Not many people thought that the return of the draft was a good thing, but the success of the 505 (pound) platoon proved the naysayers wrong. Transported to the fray on the finest mobility scooters they could find in the nearest Walmarts, clad in the least-stained bedsheets from the barracks (because the standard uniform was too small), and armed with a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of obscure thyroid gland conditions, they surrounded the sole remaining city in America, ready to defend it to their deaths.
Valiantly, they all dropped dead two days after deployment due to not bringing any insulin with them (what with not being used to leaving the house for extended periods of time and all) and fell off their scooters. Their corpses piled up and began to rot, and the armies of the enemy turned up.
Tried as they might, the dastardly foes could not breach, or even approach the barricades due to the massive amount of sheer organic mass in their way, and the putrid stench said mass was giving off. And so, they set up camp and waited for the 505th platoon to decompose.
However, humans were not the only ones who smelled the bodies of the 505th. Wolves, foxes, hedgehogs, wild boar, -pigs, opossums, raccoons and all manner of meat-eating and scavenging creatures poured out of the woodlands, drawn by the odour of the 505th. But, seeing as the 505th formed a circle around the city and the enemy's camps a circle around that, they went for the enemy's supplies, as they were closer.
Besieged by the unending stench of terminal McDonald's poisoning, and having their supplies stolen every time the sun sank below the horizon, the enemy eventually called it a day, packed up and went home, leaving the continent completely. America won that day and managed to rebuild, reclaim all forfeited territory and rescue all countrymen that had gone into hiding, but not until the following spring when the rotting corpses of their saviours blocking their egress had sufficiently decomposed. | At first it was quiet in the "Fat Body Platoon" hooch. A smuggled flat screen TV, dimly lit, flickered in the corner of the large tent, displaying on repeat, the main menu of the "Futurama" DVD that had been left on, neglected for hours since the last man had fallen asleep. They told themselves they were trying to get extra rest for their first actual operational mission the following day, in reality they were all sleepy from an evening of eating contraband chow and watching cartoons.
The platoon was then wiped out in an instant, still in their berthing area, as a tight sheaf of mixed HE and Willy Pete artillery rounds exploded directly on target, shredding tent and flesh alike. In the artillery or mortar world, this type of attack is referred to as a "shake and bake" the two rounds work in conjuction to maximize carnage. The sound would have been beyond deafening, beyond terrifying, in that infinitely long moment where your perception of time seems slowed to a crawl in the face of immediate death. The sound of metal fragments from the artillery filling the air with a terrible buzzing. The heat was unbearable, the smoke in the air choking those gasping for their final breath, one more gulp of precious life systaining oxygen, but instead smoke from the phosphorous. The enemy observer was good, damned good. It only took one adjusting round before he made the required corrections, and called it in...
"Fire for effect."
It must have been a great joy for the enemy FO to call in such a wonderous fire mission, on such an easy target. A smile crept across his face as he reported back to the FDC of the on call artillery battery, "good effects on target, estimate 40 KIA, over" artillery, truly the king of battle he thought to himself as he packed his laser range finder into his ruck, and gave the rally up hand signal to his 5 man team.
The tents, and their contents were, to put it mildly, "shredded," as if a giant being had placed the area into a blender, on the lowest speed setting, let it swirl around a few times, and poured the contents, at this point a slurry of matter, back to where it had originally sat. Immense, poncho like camouflage uniforms were tattered, the cots a mangled managerie of canvas and aluminum. Blood and body parts, bones tearing thru the flesh of the assorted limbs, mixed in seemingly equal proportions across the area, large chunks of yellow fatty tissue were plastered around the area, the smell of burning human fat and hair permeated the air, a thick almost palpable stink loomed, an assault on all of the senses.
A face, seemingly intact, albeit perfectly removed from the skull of its previous owner hung helplessly, expressionless, from some nearby rusted concertina wire, facial hair and all. A grim sight indeed.
The platoon had heard the wailing of the warning sirens that blare when incoming indirect fire is detected, but they were all in the throes of a deep food induced coma, barely able to use their sausage like, greasy, fingers to rub the sleep from their eyes. (the new radio operator smuggled in plenty of contraband from the still functioning civilian world, in the form of a sea-bag filled to the brim with McDonald's double cheese burgers)
For any other platoon, there still would have been enough time from the wailing of the siren, and the time the FFE hit, to get into their fortified bunkers, heavily sand bagged, concrete structures half submerged in the ground and Dimly lit. Unfortunately for "Fat Body Platoon," their lack of discipline and immense proportions made such a task all but impossible.
And with that, that final act of gluttony, self destruction, and lack of control or care, the final fighting unit left in the reserves was annihilated, and all hope lost. | 2015-05-09T14:08:21 | 2015-05-09T11:16:37 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | I never understood why every superhero out there wore capes. I swear, the amount of raw fabric he goes through must be inversely proportionally to his IQ. My roommate is the self proclaimed "Second Most Powerful Hero to ever live." Never mind he hasn't ever faced off against any truly powerful super villain. Those were taken care of years upon years ago.
Let's break it down. Ryan, my roommate, has; heat vision, frost breath, super strength, skin that can stop bullets and lasers, the ability to breathe in space, and a laundry list of other abilities. He's made me time him flying to the moon and back. Usually I don't have time to press the stop watch. He's all hot air. Well, unless you put these funny green or red rocks near him. Something to do with his home world and all that.
I digress. Today has been strange indeed. He's insisted, once again that I time him. Something about wanting to feel his ranking. I kind of tune him out when he starts going on these rants about his powers. I just kind of tick on my fingers the ones that he's listed. More than anything I just want to tell him to shut up most of the time. However, I really can't. You see, I have a certain ability. An ability that makes the world a much better place than anyone can dream of. Day in and day out I save the world over and over again from a threat that's possibly strong enough to destroy the universe. I keep the idiots in the world cloaked in their own little bubbles. No supervillian has risen in my lifetime, nor will any.
If you haven't guessed yet. I am the most powerful superhero in existence. Not because of the powers I have, but because of what I do. I keep the biggest, most powerful idiot in existence, well, entertained. Well, that, and I can make a lot of copies of myself. So, for every hero that's out there I'm there. I'm watching them all drone on about being number two. After all, no one is more dangerous than someone with something to prove. However, when you're proving it to someone that doesn't care then the world is a much better place.
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold. | "A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected. | 2016-03-23T16:45:36 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 1,932 | 23 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | "Chriiiiis!" Dillon bellowed. I entered the living room to see the blonde moron in his Power Guy uniform, lifting the coffee table, sofa and plasma screen TV.
"What?" I asked, annoyed. I'd spent all night working on my lesson plan for my first day teaching at Key Academy and had little time for his bullshit. Everyone in Altion City knew Power Guy, and how could they not? With super strength, laser vision, flight and invincibility to almost everything, Dillon was their idol; voted second most powerful superhero. In college he'd often take a rain check and fly off to fight some monster from space or a giant mole creature, while I took his notes for him. Now, I was the only one getting a job, while Super Idiot did jack shit. Now, he was going to wreck *my* stuff, stuff that I'd paid for, all for some joke.
"Bro, Centaurette is hosting this party tonight at Nighthawk's mansion, you want to-" Dillon began before his stack of furniture began to fall. I sighed, imagining the flow of time to slow, first to a crawl and then to a complete stop. Everything froze in place while I moved the furniture back to the way they were before Dillon messed with them. As usual, they drifted through the air like balloons when I moved them. I sighed and restarted time, the familiar light blue filter fading back to normal color as time started up again.
"-go?" Dillon finished, blinking. "Where'd my lifting stack go?" I took a weary sip of my coffee and shrugged.
"I dunno, maybe a speedster got to it. Anyway, I'm not going, job starts on Monday." i said, turning to head back into my room. Dillon nodded and put on his domino mask before heading to the window.
"Suit yourself my unpowered companion!" he crowed before rocketing off into the sky. I watched him go before heading back to my room to resume working. The thing about being the first most powerful superhero on Earth is having a good cover. And being the Unpowered roomie of the second most powerful metahuman on Earth is a perfect cover. No special name, no costume, just a man. And I like it that way.
| "A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected. | 2016-03-23T20:02:44 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 487 | 23 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | "Get out of the road, Ian," I yelled, pushing my way to the front of the crowd. Ian stood on the two yellow lines, smiling like a fucking asshole. A drag car burned rubber a few blocks away, coming straight towards him.
I wonder what he bet this time. Last week it was $300 to walk through a fire; the time before that it was $500 to hold his breath for 20 minutes. He bet a homeless guy $5 that he could backflip off a street lamp, and he actually took his $5.
The car was easily pushing 100 MPH when it got to Ian. He ran towards it and leapt forward. One foot landed on the hood. The car dipped into the pavement, flashing sparks and beginning to swerve.. Ian jumped off and landed on the yellow lines while the drag car ran off the road.
Only a few people checked to see if the guy was all right. Most of them ran to get a picture with Ian.
The damage was pretty bad. The car stopped against a barrier on the drivers side. He was still passed out inside. The few that came by were trying to wake him up and break into the car.
"Step aside," I said, "let me try." I ripped off the door and laid it gently on the concrete. "Who the hell are you?" Said one of the guys. "Don't worry about it. Grab his legs. We've gotta lay him down and get blood to his head." He took the drivers legs and I grabbed the shoulders.
I laid my hand across the drivers head while my friend held his legs up. He only suffered a concussion. Good thing. I moved my hand down to his neck. It wasn't pretty. One of his vertebrae was cracked and bulging pretty bad. We shouldn't have moved him. It could've killed him.
"Is he OK?" A woman asked. "He'll be fine," I said, "Just a little out of it." I held his neck and snapped it back into place. I fused his cracked vertebra and woke him up. The drivers eyes shot open. He looked around confused and hurting. "Where am I?" he could barely speak.
The cheers were still loud by Ian. "You're at the bar. You lost a bet." | "A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected. | 2016-03-23T20:24:14 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 68 | 23 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st. | Heroes are people too, I think most of us forget that. Behind all the cheesy smiles, the bright colours or black leathers, it’s so easy to forget that there’s a human being under there. We all get to feel safe, comfortable even, knowing that there’s someone out there looking over us like a kindly god, ready to extend a hand at the first sign of trouble, ready to put down the bad guy, put out the fires and smile the whole god damn time. Even when they don’t quite make it, we’re grateful. Of course we are. We’re glad we have a guardian angel, ever vigilant. We’re glad we have men like Aegis out there, a bright shield, vanguard of the dawn. He’s indestructible (so they say), he’s fast (faster than a bolt of lightning), and last night he saved 839 people. No one asked him to. Nearly no one else could have. Tomorrow, the papers are going to love him. Hero of the Hour, Our Human Shield. Tonight, I wait for him to come home.
There are reasons heroes wear masks, reasons beyond what we assume. We all know, on some deeper level that they must have loved ones, family to protect, lives beyond the assumed identity we all recognise but these people become more than just men and women, they become icons, symbols of justice and power. We see the colours and the costume, we see the smile because that’s what they have to show us. I see Andy.
I see him now, by the window. Skin tight silver and golden helmet modelled like the warriors of Sparta. He’s Adonis manifest, rippling muscles and fearsome eyes. His hands take the helmet off slowly and beneath the mask is a man I know better than anyone else on the planet and he is hurt. We see the bullets, we see the punches, we see everything the cameras can capture, not everyone sees this. Only I see the tears.
“I killed a man today Mike.”
“I know.” I try to muster as much sympathy as I can, not for the dead man, his death saved hundreds. For my friend.
“No. I KILLED a man!”
“Keep it down Andy, the neighbours might hear you.” Old lady Millar next door is nice, but I don’t want to scare her.
“FUCK YOU MIKE. I KILLED A MAN!” I reach out with my mind at this point. He doesn’t know, neither does Mrs Millar, or the lovely Porte Rican couple downstairs. I gently flick the metaphorical switch on our neighbours. They’ll hear nothing. Andy’s mind is a ball of rage, I don’t touch it. “All this god damn power and I can’t even…”
“Andy, it’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” He counters quickly “I chose to do that Mike. I didn’t see another option but it was my choice.” I’m silent now. He’s right, we both know it. “I killed him.”
“You saved hundreds of people Andy, it’s on the news. You’re a hero.”
“What kind of Hero kills people Mike?” The question comes out less than a breath. Without the mask he’s just a man and he has to live with this. I know the feeling. I’m speaking to a man on the edge of breaking. You don’t need my powers to know that. PTSD is a bitch. Even heroes are human.
“No one else could have done what you did today. No one is fast, or strong enough.” I tell him. I appeal to the ego, the part of him that loves being a hero.
“He could have done it.” This one is like a punch in the gut, I almost take a step backwards.
“He’s gone Andy…”
“Gone where?” he asks, the anger returning. Now, now I step back. He advances. “GONE FUCKING WHERE?” he screams. The room shakes. “ALL THIS POWER AND WHAT GOOD IS IT MIKE?”
“You can stop bullets, fuck Andy, you can stop missiles!”
“But I can’t stop people can I?”
“Sure you can…”
“No, I can’t stop them from making choices. Choices like I had to make today. I’m strong, but I’m not a god.”
“You think that’s what he should have done?” Now I’m the one getting angry, not good.
“You don’t? I think he’s a god damned coward, that’s what I think! I think I had to kill a man today because he couldn’t hack it and it makes me furious Mike. Can’t you understand that?”
“Oh. Boo Hoo!” What am I saying? “You had to make a choice. At least you could make one! One life Andy, One life for hundreds. No one can hate you for that!” His eyes narrow to little glowing points, he wants sympathy, not this.
“I can hate myself. I can hate him.”
“He can hate himself too!”
“He doesn’t get to hate himself.” The penny drops. Now I understand. “He doesn’t get to be one of us. Not with that power. He could fix this.”
“Fix what?” I yell.
“FIX FUCKING EVERYTHING!” The glassware explodes. I feel a stray shard cut my cheek but Andy just stands there, impervious. My power doesn’t work like his. “He could fix the fucking world Mike! No more war, no more terrorism, no more heroes and villains!”
“He’s just a man!”
“He doesn’t get to be just a man! Neither do I!”
“If you’re so high and mighty, what the fuck are you crying about?” I ask him. It’s the last straw, he flies off the handle. One punch is all it would take to reduce me to a fine mist and we both know it, but he’s lost control. He thunders towards me, all blue light, silver costume and rage. Time seems to slow. His fist is an inch from my face and closing when I reach into his mind and force him to stop. Realisation dawns in his eyes. For the first time, he sees under the mask. Realises there's a man underneath.
“Two men made choices today Andy, I don't have the right to take those choices away. You, you’re a shield, an Aegis. I could only be a tyrant.”
| "You know we have a microwave..." I commented to my roommate who was currently heating up her soup with her laser vision.
"Pfft, maybe for you *norms*," she emphasized. It was what she called non-superheros, and rolled off her tongue dripping with judgement. I wondered why she even bothered being a superhero as she seemed to think that the world would be better off without "norms." But as much as she loathed us, she needed us. The Terrific Titan thrived off her fan base. She did talks on campus, photo shoots with fans/other college students on a regular basis. Campus tours regularly benefited from her presence. She did so much good press, the college gave her a scholarship, available each year to "the most powerful superhero on campus." And she was the only one. Well, the only who was known because she would rather be a "norm" than have a secret identity. Frequently, she shit on all the superheros who had secret identities, calling them cowards and two-faced. I declined to point out that she could give Narcissus a run for his money. The Terrific Titan had t-shirts for the Terrific Titan, that she regularly wore to class. My favorite one was the one that said Super-HER-o. I'm pretty sure self-obsession was one of her super abilities in addition to laser vision, flight, and super strength.
"So, listen," she started, pulling me back into reality. "I've been thinking--"
*'Oh God, what now,'* I thought to myself.
"I need a 'damsel in distress' for Tuesday," she declared.
"Why?" I pressed her, utterly confused.
She shrugged her shoulders, turned off her laser vision to inspect her soup. "It's been a slow semester around campus, like, I can't even show the college my abilities anymore. So I need you to pretend to get mugged in the middle of campus on Tuesday. You only have Physiology until 12:30, right?"
I just stared at her, appalled. "Please tell me this is some sort of joke," I replied dryly, looking at her expectantly.
Cocking her head to the side, she looked at me. "Sweetie, I know it's hard for me to understand as a *norm* what a superhero needs, but I'm like a tiger, if you don't keep me moving, I'll waste away and I don't deserve to be neglected."
I wondered if I stared at her long enough, it would make sense. It didn't seem to be working. "Alright," I began, already tired of this conversation, "I'm gonna say no, and formally suggest you not enlist anyone else. That is not what your superpowers are for. If you want a real challenge, why don't you just fly over to Chicago?"
If her eye roll had been any bigger, I think I would have seen her optic nerves. "First off, I told you I don't like Chicago. Deep dish has too many calories and the lighting is terrible for photo shoots. Come on, you priss, just do this for me," she retorted angrily.
"No," I replied, calmly yet resolute.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was uncharacteristic of me to defy her; I hate confrontation. I could see her cheeks flushing, blood pressuring rising, heart rate increasing. She rose to the challenge in any fight, norepinephrine levels going up the minute someone opposed her in anyway. One time she burned a hole in the white board just to the right of a professor who told her that her answer to a question was incorrect. Her abilities were great, but her control, not so much.
I mention the vital signs because I'm a biochemistry major, going premed. I work in a hospital, specifically that cardiac wing. I want to become a cardiac surgeon and revolutionize the field. My roommate has dismissed this several times because she thinks I'm just a stupid norm, but I comfort myself in those moment by using my X-ray vision to ~~look into her cold, black heart~~ look at the weak spots in her primary arteries and pray for one to burst. Which I wouldn't have to pray: I'm also telekinetic. I could easily burst a blood vessel in her brain--or a variety of other things that would harm her in some way--but I use my powers to help people, not for murder--although I did consider it when she left her dishes in the sink so long they grew mold. You see, I can perform heart surgery without ever making a single incision on a patient. Do you know how many people in America have heart disease? Greater than one in three. My roommate has to wait to have a crisis happen. Thanks to Mickey D's, Marlboros, and close relationship between the American ass and the couch, I literally don't have enough time in the day to save all the people who need saving. But I don't wear t-shirts that say Super-HER-o. I just go to fucking work like a normal person, do my job, and watch out for my loved ones. I don't want the recognition, so I don't even have a superhero name. My boss knows, and we've been developing some techniques around my abilities, but I only work at the hospital due to their agreement to keep my abilities quiet. But today was gonna be hard for me to pretend to be a fucking norm again.
My roommate's eyes glowed, a dull red, like burning coals. "What?" she asked tersely. I plopped down on the couch. "Nope, not doing it," I commented calmly, pulling out my phone.
**Contrict bronchioles slightly**
I heard her gasp slight, but continue on. "You don't **swallow** understand what you're **gasp in** doing!" she retorted.
"I do," I replied calmly, scrolling thru Twitter.
**Initiate small intestine peristalsis**
The Terrific Titan clutched her stomach. "I swear to God, could you be any more of a lame ass norm??" she asked incredulously.
I finally turned to look at her. "I don't think you *see* **block firing from optic nerve** what's going on here," I laid the emphasis heavy on the "see." She screamed and fell to her knees. "What the hell?" She yelled. "You can't be not a fucking norm!!" she shouted, more angry than surprised.
"I'm the biggest norm ever, you tell me so daily. What's going on with you right now?" I ask calmly, playing dumb. It was fun to see her squirm, vulnerable for once.
"Now here's how things are going to go," I continued, down to business. "You are going to stop being such an asshat on campus. No more t-shirts of Terrific Titan, no more selling photos for money to broke college kids, no staged muggings. In return, you still get to be the best superhero on campus. And if you try to tell anyone, I will break down your liver for proteins and force them through your kidneys; or in non-science people terms: you can kiss drinking goodbye. So are we clear?" I asked, more aggressively than usual.
Her eyes burned a brighter red, then faded back to green in her defeat. She nodded glumly, looking down.
"Good," I reply, reversing all my interventions. I start walking towards my room. "Also you are going to want to go get a pap smear. That shit has been changing over the past few months." I may be a dick for my little power play there, but at the end of the day, she's still my roommie. | 2016-03-23T22:50:10 | 2016-03-23T21:31:57 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] A poorly-disguised escaped dairy cow has worked for years in an ice cream parlor, somehow miraculously avoiding detection, but now her love of bovine-related puns is slowly starting to give her away. | "Please come in and take a seat" said Clive, the CEO of Delicious Ice Cream.
Terry nervously trotted into the room and negotiated herself onto the way-too-tiny chair that was positioned near the desk. She adjusted her straw hat and tried to affect a smile.
"Mmmmm yes?" said Terry.
"Terry, it's... um.. may I call you Terry?"
"Mmmmmm..." murmured Terry.
"Terry. This is quite a delicate subject. It has come to my attention that there are some aspects of your work that are causing alarm to some of your colleagues."
"Oh? Who's said what?"
Clive tapped away at the computer and scanned his eyes back and forth, reading from the screen.
"Well, Mark Ashley from G section says you can be very disruptive to the team."
"How very dairy!" exclaimed Terry. "I mean... how very dare he say that."
"That! Just what you did then. You keep making these...comments..."
"It's the first I've... um... herd of it."
Clive looked up from the computer and fixed Terry with an intense stare.
"Sorry, did I make a Miss Steak?" said Terry innocently.
"What was that?" snapped Clive.
"What was what?"
Clive pondered for a moment. He was surely hearing things. He went back to his computer.
"The next complaint was from Patricia...."
"Pat!" shouted Terry.
Clive winced. "Yes... Pat. Pattie. Patricia. She said you flashed your boobs at her."
"I did no such thing!"
"All 4 of them."
"It was teat-time. I was getting changed. I feel like I'm the one being...er... bullied here."
"Well you can always leave."
"Moove on to pastures new? See if the grass is greener? No thanks. This is udderly ridiculous. I cud sue you if I was so inclined but it behooves me to stay calm and not milk the situation. No point crying over spilled milk, is there? Oh, I'm in such a bad mooood now!"
Terry stood up sharply and then winced in pain.
"Ow, me calves!" she shouted.
"I'm so sorry if I've upset you" said Clive.
"Upset me? UPSET ME? I FEEL ABSOLUTELY OFFAL NOW!"
And with that, Terry left. | "Fuck, dude," I groaned, sweat dripping into my eyes. "It's so hot outside. Seriously, let's just go indoors, I don't give a damn where."
Harry rolled his eyes at me. "Whatever, if it gets you to stop complaining. Might as well get some ice cream, right? Poor little Bobby, you want some ice cweam to cool you down?"
I punched him in the arm and walked into the shop, sighing with relief as a wave of cool air hit me, icing the sweat on my skin. There was no one behind the counter, so I took a moment to browse the flavors. Java chip, mint chip, chocolate, swirls of caramel and streaks of fudge; too many to choose from. Two scoops wouldn't even be enough. Harry started laughing behind me, and I turned to him.
"What's so funny?"
"Hello," a female voice called out from where the ice cream was. I turned to face the counter, jumping back in fear when met by a standing cow. Harry laughed even harder. "Sorry if I gave you a scare. There are a few tricks farmers have to help with that."
I gave the ice cream woman an odd look. "Why are you... I mean, is that just part of the gig here?"
"Yes, they make me dress up like a cow. May we please moove on?"
"Uh...sure."
"Well? What would you like?"
I paused for a second, staring at the cow-woman. "Um, a triple scoop in a cup. I'm still working on flavors, but I'd like one to be mint-chip."
The attendant grabbed a cup with two hoofs, placing it down on the counter. One scoop of mint-chip was placed in. "What else?"
"Uh, give me a second. Say...that's a really, like, *real* costume you have on. Where'd you get that?"
"Made it myself."
"Oh." My word hung in the air over us all, and discomfort was clearly written on my face.
"Will you tell me what udder flavors you want?"
Harry snickered, but I was fumbling. "Um, what recommendations do you have?"
The attendant groaned what sounded more like a moo than anything else. "You think I eat any of this stuff? I just make it, you pick it."
"Oh, you make the ice cream here?"
"Did you think aliens brought ice cream down from Mars? I make every ingredient from scratch. Just...guess a flavor. My legs are getting tired."
"Yeah, sorry. Sure, um, one java chip and one chocolate."
The cow-person placed two more scoops into the cup and handed it to me. "Want to add a cookie and upgrade it to a cow-pie? I make those myself, too."
"I... think I'm okay, thanks." I followed her to the register, which revealed more of the attendant. A disturbingly realistic udder was jiggling in front of me.
"Seriously? You stare at cow-tits, too? Men are all the same. You give pigs a bad name."
"No, God no, I'm not... it's just... very realistic."
"Thanks. No plastic surgery here, I'm 100% natural." She handed me the change.
"...yeah. So, you run this place by yourself?"
"No, the owner is just out right now. I only make the ice cream and work here. Way better than my old job."
"Old job?"
"Yeah, you don't want to know. They used to keep me locked up, forcing me to work for way longer than anyone should. Always on my feet, no freedom at all, totally taken advantage of. Wouldn't even give me maternity leave, so I never got to meet my kid."
"Damn, I know what you mean. Jobs suck."
The cow-lady looked at me, I think. "I doubt you know what I mean, idiot. Get out of here."
I put my arms up in defense, grabbing the ice cream and heading back out into the heat.
-----
*went less of the constant pun route and more the awkward interaction one, hope you still enjoyed it! thanks for reading, you can find more of my work over at /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-06-26T11:27:04 | 2016-06-26T10:14:55 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] You are Subtle Tea, a super hero who alters major world events by a most appropriately timed cup of tea. | "You rang, sir?" I opened the door to the lair of an arch villain, my heart racing even though outwardly I tried to remain as composed as possible. Of course, the heavy latex on my face and all the stage makeup really helped with that.
"YES! Come in here! We need to verify the plans!" A familiar voice waved me in, and I noticed that he had a whole lot of maps of the world out for some reason.
Probably evil plans or something.
He let out a snort as I finished entering his lair, leveling a glare at me. "I have been given to understand that Subtle Tea may try to stop our brilliant scheme. Just be careful. She's called *Subtle* Tea for a reason! I will not have her and her sneaky yet somehow completely delicious Ceylon blend ruining my plans this week!"
My, or rather 'Jeremy's', nose twitched before I nodded at Forthright Water, Subtle Tea's longtime arch nemesis. "Aye, sir, negative on the tea, right." I carefully hid a world-weary sigh around the words. "Will double check the beverages at the conference, sir. No tea leaf products will escape my eagle eye, sir."
"Good! Now get out there and WATER THE WORLD!"
"Aye, sir." I decided not to rile him up and mention that he was on the short list for this year's Nobel Superhero Prize for almost singlehandedly eliminating drought worldwide. Of course, my quiet efforts behind the scenes as his second in command 'Jeremy Eitchtooh' assured that his watery prowess and genuine skill at designing machines for water was ultimately used for good, not evil. I slowly turned around and excited the ocean floor lair of my archrival, a grin slowly dancing across my features as I walked down a hallway to one of the large escalators to the surface. This one would be fun.
I then approached a waiting car that was weighed down with a large barrel of water. A huge man guarded the car, in fact a man so huge you almost didn't think he could even fit into the vehicle he was standing watch over. "'Lo, Frank. World Superhero Center, quick-like. Boss' orders." The gorilla-esque driver grunted and nodded, opening the door for me and offering me a bottle of water before we both got settled in and took off.
I added some powered Lipton to the bottle as we approached the massive four hundred story building known as 'Big Gold' to most Heroes. I thought it was tacky as all get out, but no accounting for taste. I quickly polished off my tea and would make an excuse to toss it somewhere in the building so my powdery betrayal wouldn't be discovered by someone else that used the car later.
After Frank went to drive the barrel of water around the back, I entered the building and went right to what I knew Forth's target would be, the weekly meeting of Hero Representatives that went on on the very highest floor. One Hero with every type of power, trusted to represent everyone else with that ability. *And the perfect target for Roger- I mean, Forthright. Lots of Heroes gathered in one room, the perfect time and place for him to show off his evil plans.*
The 'evil plans' were going to help the drought-parched Midwest and save a lot of crops instead of merely flooding everything and wrecking the farmland like Forth was hoping, buuuuuuuut the Reps had gotten pretty good at playing along over the years.
And Subtle Tea would be there to make sure all went according to *my* plan, not his, one cup of high-quality Ceylon at at time.
((Heh this was fun :) May continue this if enough interest!)) | All I can remember as I ran down the cobblestone road was the fear I felt. The bone-shaking feeling that frightened me to my very core as my hands and feet felt all but deprived of any sense of warmth. I hadn't the energy of a morning cup of Earl Grey nor the overpowering strength of Darjeeling inside of me.
My vision grew hazy. The air around me condensed into a cloud of thick, evening fog. By god's good sake, I had become lost in my attempt to run, run as far away as I can from that stranger that stalked me in recent days.
It had all started after the Soviet affair. After I had managed to get the dictator to calm down with a relaxing glass of Jasmine green, to agree to a disarmament conference, there had been an odd feeling in the back of my head that someone was watching me, not just Subtle Tea, but Richard Twining, my real self. I tried to relax myself with some boxed white tea that I left in my kitchen, but for some reason, it didn't help.
I had always been able to harness the power of the Tea Leaf to vanquish my foes and save the day. I had been able to increase the caffeine content by sheer strength of will, and even induce mind-altering effects into the tea to boost myself up and tear others down emotionally.
In the past eight weeks, I have drunken about a total twelve gallons of thrice-steeped black teas, all of varying brands but enchanted by my power to enhance my senses and awareness. Yet, throughout all those days, I've been unable to even conceive the evil that followed me. What sheer, unreal abomination that had lingered behind in my every step was beyond my imagination.
Today, in the early hours of morning, was when I realized that the end was nigh. I had to leave without a cuppa. The gas had shut off that morning. So had the electricity. There was no way to boil a batch. My leaves had expired. The water had tainted.
I left to head towards the police station, to turn myself in for my own protection. I put in a few calls to Saltman and the Breakfast League to warn them of an impending threat that lurked at our doorsteps. Some of them, my sidekick-slash-rival Sweet Tea and the Obnoxious Orange also reported similar feelings of being watched.
When I got into my cell, it had happened. A tall wave of black, toxic sludge came through the barred windows above my cell. I summoned the leaves to me and forged a key to run. And that's all I've been doing. Running and running. Long into the night.
Now, here I am. Trapped in an old, forgotten alleyway as the black wave came closer to me. It came closer and slower, mocking me with every inch of the way. I gathered my will, but there was no caffeine in me. I mustered the last of my strength into the leaves and created a mighty Ceylon sword.
I readied myself. Then, she appeared. A woman whose appearance seemed to defy reality itself. Her mer-like features, tails where her legs should be, adorned her whole being, making her seem more like fish than man. A starred crown sat atop her head. Her black, bitter brew followed her command like an animal on a tight chain.
The Lady smirked at me and muttered few words, "Twining. Your end's hella come."
"An American accent? Is that a trace of the Northwest I hear?"
She nodded, "Face it, oldtimer. No one drinks tea anymore. You're a relic of olden days. Stand aside or oversteep where you stand."
I spat at her. She grimaced and raised her trident into the air. The fog continued to thicken and my nose was clogged by the new, foamlike texture. Without proper oxygenation, my sword would soon fall and turn into a tasteless, useless mess.
I swung frantically as her wave slammed into me with the force of a steel cannonball. The sludge burned hotter than I thought imaginable. I screamed as it pushed and restrained me against my brick backing.
The Lady giggled and beckoned closer to me. Her long, pale fingers stroked my chin, "You are like, such a fool, y'know?"
I bared my teeth for her evildoing. Alas, the Lady was a cruel mistress. The sludge came upon me like the gates of death. It filled every orifice upon my face. It splashed down my nose and forced its way down my throat. A harsh, acidy taste struck wildly at my throat and into my belly.
My heart thumped faster and harder than I ever thought imaginable. This sludge had caffeine. Lots of it. More than I've ever had. My consciousness was slipping away. The tea's creativity and gentle tones, made of a combination of Oolong, Pu-ehr, and barley, were abandoning my veins, replaced with the harsh grittiness of productivity and a hectic jaunt.
This was the end of me. At least I've made said my farewells. I looked at The Lady with the last of my being. I had to force myself to speak.
"What's your name, foul villain?"
She smiled, "Name's Green Eyes. Welp, be seeing ya. Hoped you liked the coffee!" She cricked her neck and went off, her twin mermaid tails fading away to take the form of legs.
The light vanished from my sight. The sludge continued to pound away against my being. I had lost. I had died. A rusty, metal taste like cheap instant tea coated my tongue.
Sweet Tea... Orange... Avenge me. | 2016-07-11T22:15:52 | 2016-07-11T21:49:06 | 48 | 27 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | It's time to find a new bench.
I've been sitting on mine for 200 years, but at long last my grandkids' grandkids' grandkids have run me out of town. It didn't used to be like this.
"They say that phrases like that are signs it's time for you to leave."
That's what Xtina, the bratty 14-year-old, said to me when I said that times had changed. She speaks only in emojis, except to me.
"I don't even remember how to speak English out loud anymore!" All she does is complain when her grandparents force her to come visit me. But what shocks me is that they seem to find me more annoying than her.
"Gramps, we love you but this is getting old. Do you even enjoy anything anymore?"
Sean blurted this out after my 200th birthday. That one was tough for everyone socially. People don't respect those who don't have the dignity to live a good life, then die.
"I like sitting on this bench. I watch people. Listen to podcasts."
"Listen to what??? Ugh.. you're so like gross and post-mortem. Just do it already!"
"Xtina!!" I could hear the disdain in Laura's voice. I looked up at my great-great-great-great grand-daughter with hope. She refused to meet my gaze and spoke to Xtina instead. "I mean don't be rude, honey. We all think it's time for Grandpa to go, but we need to remind him that this is what he wants."
"Hmpph," Sean rolled his eyes. My hands went instinctively to my Navy medal. I rolled the pointed ends across my fingertips.
"Do I need to remind you, son..." I started in.
"Nope! You don't. We know you were in the Navy. They don't even have that anymore. Geez, like someone would go fight in a war themselves? Why do you think we have avatars?"
"Those avatars are connected to real people in other countries! You're killing real people!"
"There he goes with the conspiracy theories." Laura shrugged.
I stared at my loafers.
"I just don't feel like I've lived my purpose yet..."
"Don't try that again." Sean's garish plastic shoes were next to mine now. "We know that's not true. You've done a lot."
"I mean, it sort of is true though!" All three of them looked indignant. "Really! I don't feel like I've lived my purpose. The thing is... I'm just not sure everyone has one. We tell ourselves we do, but I've drifted through enough lifetimes to know, I think for most people that's just a fantasy. I may not have a purpose, but I just want to ... keep existing. I'm not ready to give it up yet."
"That's not a good enough reason!!!" Xtina erupted. "I'm thinking of killing myself this year, that's how much I've accomplished! Do you know how it looks for us, who are all looking at early deaths, to have you hanging over our heads?! Get on with it!"
Laura and Sean slowly nodded in affirmation.
"Well, if that's how you really feel," I reached a hand in my pocket, gripping the ancient handle of a Colt .45. "Then don't wait up for me."
---
*CC welcome!* | *Read more at /r/GoldenGirlC5* | 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T08:35:00 | 916 | 49 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | "Unfortunately, this ended up derailing Trump's campaign due to"
"Yeah, I was there!" Frank shouted across the classroom.
"Yes, we're all aware you were there, Mr. Henbeynz, you've been reminding us throughout the semester. We appreciate your....contributions.... to the class here at Star Station 55,"
"Yeah, I was there when they built this thing."
"..... but, we'd appreciate it more if you stopped interrupting, or we'll have to turn the audio off of your hologram" the teacher warned as the rest of the class let out an "ooooooooooooo" in unison.
Frank wasn't having any of that and switched off the hologram himself. "Damn kids, I was there when those kids were all cloned. Clones these days don't have any respect. Back in my day kids weren't clones."
"Yeah, we know, great great great great grandpa. Frank Jr used to tell us too, before he was decommissioned."
"Coward" Frank muttered.
"Frank, you can't just talk about people like that, he was your son." his great great granddaughter said, shaking her head as she farmed moisture while Frank watched on, uninterested in assisting.
"He was a coward," Frank continued, "Let himself die without a fight."
"'Die' ugh, by the stars... how barbaric. He has uploaded himself to the great server in the sky. It's something we all have to do when we get to a certain age, something we ALLL have to do."
"I'm not doing it." Frank said, holding the NES cartridge against the oxygenation system.
With another sigh, his great reat granddaughter continued, adding "we don't even have dust up here. You've clearly lived a great life"
"Have not"
"You've clearly lived a great life, and it's time to go on a nice vacation.'
"Updating my consciousness to a server is not a vacation, Barbara." Frank mumbled. "Back in my day we just inhaled whipped cream cans if we wanted to mess with our brains that badly, Frank added as he grabbed the emergency breathing apparatus and took a nice big breath of pure oxygen.
"Frank.... I..... I hear Spacegarden is playing all their biggest hits tonight, Black Hole Sun, Theist Pose, and The Fourth Day of the 7th Solar Month!"
"Spacegarden... you don't say...." Frank said, smiling for the first time in years. "I saw them with Nine Inch Exhaust Ports back before you were cloned. Ah, nothing like the originals, but they do put on a show."
"Well, come on down with me, we can just forget about all this silly nonsense and enjoy a great show!"
"Tubular, dude"
Frank was put on his hoverchair and pushed through the space station cooridore, singing along as he went, "Utencilman, teleport together with your hands!.... hey, you're passing the theater!" Frank shouted.
"No, no, this one is a special show, limited seats, we're bringing you to the VIP area!"
"Finally showing respect for your elders."
Wheeling him into the sterile white room, Sgt. Dr. Morpheus welcomed the group in, "Hey doc," the great great granddaughter began, "we're here for the show" she said with a wink.
"Ah yes, just in time, come on through Frank, you're gonna love it"
"This better not be any more of your bullshit, Barbara."
| 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T08:49:34 | 916 | 23 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | When she was two, she tugged on the dog's tail, causing it to yelp slightly and growl at her. Her creamy white blood now tainted with thin wisps of black, but still mostly pure. It was nothing, but the blood didn't care.
When she was five, she lied and said it was the baby that had drawn on the walls. Wisps of black marbled through the young girl's slightly off-white blood. The blood didn't care.
When she was twelve, she cheated on a test. She could feel the new wisp of black join the others, but she didn't care. The blood didn't care.
When she was sixteen, she fought him off. It was dark; he was so strong. She had screamed out, but nobody had heard. She needed help; she had tried fighting back, but the few black scratches on his face and arms seemed to do nothing to deter the monstrous man.
His sick, vile words as he tried to tear the clothes from her body, her screams relentless as she kept pleading for someone, anyone, to save her... when her hand glanced over a large shard of glass, abandoned on the concrete.
Grabbing onto it tightly, she swung at him, slashing at his throat; he collapsed, choking on his blood as his body quickly plummeted to the ground. As she let the shard of glass fall to the floor, she noticed it had cut her hand.
She watched in horror as the grey blood oozing from her hand darkened to a tar-like black. She wept, realising she had murdered someone - one of the worst acts to commit.
The blood didn't care.
When she was twenty, she eagerly awaited her wedding.
But when she had fallen, just a week before the date, she was terrified to see her blood splatter across the cream carpet. What kind of woman would he think she was?
She expected him to run, to scream, but he just stood there, looking at her hand as the bleeding slowed.
She explained that night. She knew he wouldn't understand. She wasn't evil, she wasn't a monster.
But he did understand - when he sliced his own finger, the black blood trickled down slowly, pooling a little in his palm.
"She-" he began hesitantly. "She pinned me down, she tried to- to..."
"I know," she replied, putting an arm around him.
As they held each other in embrace, twins in blood and history, they knew they would be okay.
The blood didn't care; neither did they. | "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T23:53:24 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them! | Age : 15
Paul was always envious of the other kids. Of the cool kids. Being a teenager was hard enough, and it didn't help that filthy stray cats followed him on every step. He loved them as much as he hated them.
He always felt a special bond to cat and figured out early that this was his "special talent".
The cool kids were incredible dancers, strong football players or beautiful girls.
And he was just the cat guy. The weird cat guy.
Age : 19
Yesterday Holly visited him. She loved cats almost as much as Paul and their relationship just happend at the local animal shelter. That was 2 years ago, now Paul was the local animal shelter.
Holly wasn't quite sure what her power was. Some people figured out their talents later, some sooner. The sooner you found out, the more powerful you got.
But Holly didn't really care. She had Paul and the cats, she didn't need a talent. Most people didn't care. If your talent is being extremely good at cleaning wine stains in curtains or being able to grow your nails fast you don't really care.
And although Holly was a big part of Pauls life, today he didn't waste a single thought on her. He would finally be able to leave the US to a Safari trip to Africa !
Age : 23
The Safari trip didn't turn out as planned.
The first week was great. The lions and leopards loved him just as much as the cats and while they were a bit more stubborn, they followed his commands just as the cats.
It was almost like Paul and the cats had a telepathic bond. Everything his cats, small or big alike, noticed, Paul noticed. It wasn't overwhelming, as it happend naturally. When Paul was out in the jungle, he felt like a god. Sensing every bit of the deep forrest like a part of his own body, through the senses of the cats was just special. And he was only 23 !
So that was really fucking cool. But in the second week, it began. Some guy with insane charisma started a worldwide revolution through YouTube.
Everybody knew of this guy, nobody really thought he was a problem as he mostly teached nice ethics on his YouTube channel. He made the world a better place ! And then he took LSD and had a horrible trip...
The video he uploaded while having panic attacks and paranoia couldn't be censored soon enough and pretty soon most of the world thought that all the powerful people were lizards.
Anyways, Paul now was stuck in an extremely underdeveloped part of africa where the people didn't had any access to YouTube.
He informed about the craziness by Holly. It turned out her talent was handling dangerous situation well, so she somehow got out of the mess North America was.
Age : 30
Today was Paul's birthday !
Every year his talent got more crazy. He now was the shared consciousness of all cats in a radius of 50 miles. Which was a lot, since he attracted cats like a super magnet.
The revolution had cooled down 6 years ago. The guy who caused everything managed to calm his fanatic followers down by telling an even more extraordinary claim : Cats were god's.
Most humans who were regular users of the internet already knew that and with a army of Reddit users missionaring the world to the one true faith, events turned quickly.
And with the help of Holly, Paul had no problem claiming himself as the god-emperor, bringing peace, cuteness and occasionally broken lamps and cups to the world.
Because that's what cats do !
Thanks for reading ! This turned out longer then expected. It's my first time and I'm not a native speaker, please be gentle :)
(Still correct all the grammar, please) | I was walking home from work in the cold sleet, wishing I had a car. No one did, not anymore. All the vehicles not used by the military were scrapped for the war. I lived in The Sanctuary, one of the few human cities independent of the Animal Kingdoms. We had to fight every day to maintain it, and military service was mandatory. I had worked at an ammunition factory for 3 years, ever since I was 14. After 4 years of civil service I'd only have to serve one year instead of two. I took this program because the pay's decent, and the average soldier lives for a few months.
Pets are nonexsitant here, but there are "stray" cats and dogs all over the place. On civil service program involves rounding all these up, but many evade them. These "strays", as all school children know, are very aggressive and hostile to humans, often growling and barking before scampering off; however, cats have never been like that to me. My friends would be hissed at and scratched, but I could pick them up and they'd purr with delight. This was noticed by many people, including the Ministry of Defence who feared that I, like the "stray" animals, was a spy.
Walking down the deserted alleyway, I heard a low rumble from behind. I turned, only to be confronted with two leopards. I tried to run, but a third leopard blocked my escape. They lunged, and slashed me across the chest. One tackled me, but was pulled away by a massive german shepherd. A pack of the biggest dogs I've ever seen flooded the alleyway, and parlayed with the big cats. I ran, and was stopped by a pitbull. It wanted me to follow it, and I did. It lead me out of the city. Along the way, I'd see small flocks of birds badger random areas on rooftops, only for a tomcat or two to spill out and get chased off. A few were scooped up by hawks.
Crawling through a small tunnel that smelled awful, I emerged in a forest, and collapsed from the shock and massive lesions across my chest. I awoke in a room. I could see the walls of Sanctuary out my window. I heard a knock at my door and two middle aged men came in. They introduced themselves as the King of Dogs and the Lord of Birds. I was in a fortress and main base of operations for the two men's war against the Queen of Cats. They told me I shared here affinity with cats, and that she wanted to kill me and take out a possible rival. My powers are weak now and I can barely control cats, but eventually they'll develop enough to rival her's. I was rescued so that they may use me as a weapon, I could undermine her powers and give them the edge they need to win.
I've been kept here for 40 days now. While I'm free to walk around the castle I'm escorted by sheep dogs and birds watch my every move. Lately I've been confined to my room. I have a marvelous view of the dogs and birds heading to the front. Everyday a column of dogs marches off in eager spirits. Every night, an equally large column of wounded dogs limps back. My room is right above the infirmary, the howls of anguish and the yelps of the doomed keep me awake for hours. The columns marching off have been getting smaller, and the ones marching back are getting larger. I see fewer and fewer birds flitting about. The war goes poorly. The dogs and birds have been fighting amongst eachother. The amiable sheep dog was replaced by a pack of mean wolves and a cassowary.
Tonight, I was awoken by a soft voice repeating "Wake up, wake up." I opened my eyes to see a cat standing on my chest. I jumped up but was hushed. "Silence in golden right now." the cat began "The Queen apologizes for the excessive forced used earlier, it really was over the top but you were incapable of understanding us at the time. The Queen wishes to have you in her palace. She is an old woman, and here years are numbered. While twice as powerful as her adversaries, thanks to her age, she is almost 80, and needs an heir. Come with me, we can smuggle you out and take you to the palace."
"I'm not sure I trust you." I proclaimed.
"That's understandible, but we're your best bet for survival. The dogs and birds have lost, their line has collapsed, the cheetahs have the area surrounded. There is a rift in the alliance. The Lord of Birds is retreating, and wishes to take you away with him. He's really bad at keeping a secret, since everyone knows and the King of Dogs wants to kill you. You can't return to Sanctuary either, as you were declared an enemy of the species and had your humanity formally revoked. If you could make it to their trenches alive you'll be shot on sight. Hurry now, with me. If you run away with the birds and are inevitably captured when the birds get intercepted no mercy shall be shown to you."
So now here I am. The cassowary was killed outside by the sound of it. I can see the King of Dogs marching through the courtyard with a group of wolves. I can here dogs and birds fighting out in the hallway. My only choice appears to be with the Queen of Cats, and I don't by that "excessive force" story. I fear this may be the end for me. | 2016-12-30T12:22:20 | 2016-12-30T11:51:08 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | It took only a day.
A shadowy organization saw the sharing of information through names, and so realized a great loophole in the univese
_The mechanical spiders finished their construction of a nano-fabricator_
Earth is not the only planet. There are billions. Somewhere, far away, there would be an alien civilization with knowledge far beyond our own. And some of those aliens would have _names_
_The SENS research foundation's goal is now complete. Old age is eradicated. Inevitable death itself has been slain. The aging population crisis is over. The lives of all of us have been saved._
And so, the shadowy organization took it upon themselves to mass-breed, creating thousands of children in secret, and naming them literally everything. Every possible sound and light pattern to create was noted and tested, until eventually, a child was born with a name from an alien planet, billions of years old.
_The child's first words were all the evidence they needed. No human sound, but a throaty collection of clicks and hisses_
Global warming cured, and nuclear fusion attained. The future was bright... However, soon, other names began to gather alien information too, and with that, the location of Earth was given to the alien conglomerate... No secrets remain. Now we can only hope our hosts do not find us wanting.
| Mulan Szechuan Sauce
Yes, the same fucking sauce that is currently available in McDonalds during April Fools.
That's my name. Mulan Szechuan Sauce, I'm a guy named Mulan born in Ohio not Szechuan and develop a rare allergic reaction to one specific widely food industry ingredients which btw is the key ingredient to make McDonald Sauces. So, I can't even eat the famous Mulan Szechuan Sauce.
My Father being born a Chinese Muslim from Singapore, he wanted to add his family name and the most famous name in Islam, Lee and Muhammad.
Mum on the other hand was, still is, very competitive decided to track her ancestors which apparently is linked to Russian and Indian linage and wanted to add Alexai and Adhitya into my name.
Their little competition attracted my grandparents which started their own competition and chose Johnson and Smith since my mother is from USA. Face palming, my grandparents on my father's side decided to make an ultimatum if they put Johnson and Smith, my name should also include, this is quite a long one,
Zhang Wang Nguyen Garcia Gonzalez Hernandez Smirnov Muller
In that order. Should be the in the middle of my name.
At this point, you would expect all of them to end it with a laugh but lo and behold, President Drumpf heard this and tweeted a Presidential Order to include Drumpf in my name. Yes, Drumpf.
And that Sirs started the shit storm that almost collapse Tweeter (former name Twitter Inc).
Kardashians, Evans, Lawrence, Tatum, Clooney, Depp, Pitt, Damon, Lannister, Potter and Greyjoy are the main 11 names who started to gain momentum because their fans were not satisfied that somehow the Smiths manage to get their name but not them.
UN on the other hand made an emergency meeting to include the names of all respective members of the UN, which concluded after two months of intense discussion finally decided on 'The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2015: Face with Tears of Joy' as their agreed upon name representing UN.
Thus my current name, which I have to write on every page for my university entrance exam, You heard it right, EVERY FUCKING PAGE, is:
Muhammad Drumpf Damon Lannister Potter Greyjoy Kardashians Evans Lawrence Tatum Clooney Depp Pitt Mulan Szechuan Sauce Zhang Wang Nguyen Garcia Gonzalez Hernandez Smirnov Muller Johnson Smith Alexai Adhitya The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2015: Face with Tears of Joy Lee
Jokes on them, I'm currently is the smartest person alive but for the life of me, I could never remember my name without checking my extra large ID. Courtesy of the White House. And..... I forgot the last one again.
Muhammad Drumpf Damon Lannister Potter Greyjoy Kardashians Evans Lawrence Tatum Clooney Depp Pitt Mulan Szechuan Sauce Zhang Wang Nguyen Garcia Gonzalez Hernandez Smirnov Muller Johnson Smith Alexai Adhitya The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2015: Face with Tears of Joy Lee Is White.
I'm not even white dammit! | 2017-04-07T09:39:12 | 2017-04-07T09:32:51 | 141 | 77 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast." | 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T06:30:10 | 1,143 | 80 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd.
He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl.
Around her neck.
What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman. | "It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:11:19 | 2017-05-31T06:38:29 | 1,143 | 47 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon. | Alex takes her spot next to the man wearing 1000 year old bifocals, and then grabs the pen atop the booklet with her name on it. The cover page feels similar to cardstock; she can feel the indent of each letter from the back. As prompted before she walked in, Alex opens the booklet and prints her name on the solitary line in the middle of the page.
"You got a weird last name." Says grampa glasses.
"Thanks." Alex shifts uncomfortably because she can't put enough room between them. She focuses her attention on the other people still filing into the room.
"What's your middle?"
"Please stop talking to me."
"Weird middle name too."
"Seriously, I'm not in the mood to talk."
Grampa glasses points to an exceptionally attractive man a few rows in front of them. "Bet you would talk to him. You're pretty, but you're mean. I see why you're here now."
"Yeah? Well it didn't take me long to understand your reasoning, asshole. I hope yours fails."
Silence finally finds the two of them. A man in a suit enters the room, closing the door behind him. Everyone watches him walk to the front of the room and write his name on the board, followed by Esquire. He picks up the blank booklet before him and holds it up for display.
"Good morning all. I'm going to get right too it, since I know you all have important places to be."
Laughter from the room.
"Everyone should have a booklet with their name printed on the front, and should have printed their name on the first page by now. Go ahead and sign the line in the last page. As you're all aware, I am here to assist you in the writing of your last will and testament, so call on me as you see fit. You may use the entire booklet, but we suggest keeping things as direct and concise as possible. When you have finished, I will collect your booklet. When everyone has finished, someone will replace me to guide you home."
Alex raises her hand. "I was just wondering, are their individual chambers, or do we all share one chamber?"
The lawyer points to what looks like speakers mounted into the ceiling. "You're already in the chamber dear. Once I leave the room, they'll lock the doors and pump the gas."
Alex turns to Grampa glasses. "Please write fast." | 2017-05-31T07:58:46 | 2017-05-31T06:30:10 | 272 | 80 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast.
Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon. | "It's such a nice day for a drive, don't you think so honey?" He talked to his wife, eyes on the never ending country road in front of them. She was quiet. Taking a long side glance, he saw her eyes closed, soundly asleep in the passenger seat.
"Have I ever told you how beautiful you look when you sleep? You look so graceful, almost like Snow White." He remarked, his proud smile spreading wider on his cheeks.
Howard always loved morning drives with his wife. Their first date was a drive along the country roads surrounding their city. Their honeymoon was car camping in every province of Canada. Their company debut was celebrated with a long drive after the party to the harbour for a romantic picnic under the moon. He smiled at the nostalgia that filled his mind. Wouldn't it be great if this could last forever?
His eyes swelled with tears as the thought of the company came to mind. Their advertising company debuted over thirty years ago, on the same day as their wedding anniversary. It was almost like a gift from Howard to his wife, a dream she's always had finally coming true. Business was excellent until the recession hit. He remembered it well; employees were being docked, clients dropped them as means to save, their bank account slowly decreasing and finally, the bankruptcy of their company. They owed millions in debt and are still trying to pay it off even ten years later. They've scrounged and saved but nothing seemed to be helping. In the end, they've lost it all.
Making a short turn, he stopped the car close to the cliff overlooking Scarborough Bluffs. The seagulls were calling, the waters were waving and there were even some people on the beach just a few hundred meters below. He sighed at the rising sun brightening the waters and giving the sand a warm orange hue. If only life was as beautiful as this view. Getting back into the car, he noticed his wife's eyes still closed. Turning the ignition on and shifting the gear to drive, he placed his foot gently on the gas and watched as the car drove closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. On the way down, he looked over at his wife and said;
"If only you were alive to see the view before we- *CRASH*
Edit: Wrote this in the morning. And edited some things... like how a car works and Ontario being a province of Canada -_-
| 2017-05-31T07:58:46 | 2017-05-31T06:38:29 | 272 | 47 |
[WP] Tales tell of a blacksmith at the top of the mountain. He knows the future, but says nothing. He only makes you what you need. | The young boy in ashen robes beside him stood and stared curiously as I encroached. The small hollowing of stone embedded in the side of the mountain was lit only by a few wall mounted torches and the fires roaring from the furnace itself.There he was, pounding away at his anvil, sparks flying haphazardly about.
Upon the walls were weapons and armours of extraordinary quality, artisan tools and royal garments. Set in glass cases were daggers encrusted with gems and enchanted pieces of shimmering jewelery. He himself was basically clad, with cloth hanging from his chest and a hood covering his head. I could see dark, long strands of hair whipping his sweating, weathered face as he brought the hammer down on the anvil. I supposed he didn't need the extremities he was known for creating.
What he was fabled for, however, was his ability to create precisely what you needed. He could tell the future, but will not speak it. There were legends of peasants turned lords and knights crusading in impenetrable armours and they all were supplied by the Mountain Arm.
He stopped for a second and motioned the boy. The boy nodded and disappeared, after a few seconds he returned with a water skin. The Arm drank and gave it back to the boy. He then acknowledged my presence and motioned me into the cave. He leaned back against his workbench and studied me curiously, his eyes shifting around from the shadows cast from his hood. After a while, he tapped the boy in the chest.
The boy spoke, with a voice as light as the whisking wind.
"He will make what you require, sir, for your hard travels to our cave in the mountain."
"Thank you, friends, I-I do appreciate this."
"It's okay, please be comfortable. It will be a while until it is done."
With that, the two left me alone on the wooden chair in the curtained off, stone walled room. It had been a long journey, and this chair was the most comfortable place to rest in almost 2 days. Scaling the mountain was no simple feat, heavy winds and thick snow battered the mountain daily. Constant fears of rock slides and unstable terrain made movement slow and careful. My calloused hands and blistered feet were rewards for the extreme conditions, because on this mountain, failure meant death.
It took them almost an hour to return. The Arm was standing behind the boy, who clasped in his grasp an item wrapped in dark cloth. His arms reached out to me, extending the gift. I took it and began to unravel it.
"It's for the biggest challenge of your life, which will begin quite soon." the boy said, in almost cautionary tones. The Arm smiled from underneath his hood.
The cloth hung over my hands and nestled inside was an intricately created baby rattle, with her name chiseled delicately into the side.
| Ted looked at the mountain, and thought *this is it*. He had traveled a long way from his home in Boston.
He didn't dare rest, because he had to know, what did he need to do to find happiness? He had sailed across a vast ocean in a sailboat and walked across a vast, empty continent before he reached the mountain, at it's very edge.
The narrow peninsula reached out, over the void that was the edge.
Ted had wondered what it had been when he first saw it, now he knew. *It was the edge of the world*
He was exhausted by his year of travel in the wilderness. He was a bank teller, not an adventurer. His shoes had failed him long ago, and his feet were worn bloody from the long miles.
Ted dared not stop, he needed to find the secret. *How could he find happiness?*
The early slopes were not very steep. Trees were thick with summer foliage, and there was a cool breeze that balanced out the brutal sun.
Ted didn't spend a moment more than he had to in the forest, as he had come so far.
The path grew steeper, and progressed into a series of alpine meadows. The flowers were in full bloom, and the air was buzzing with multi-colored dragonflies and moths.
Ted swatted away the dragonflies and stomped the flowers. He muttered under his breath curse words, and hurried as fast as he could to get out of the hot sun.
The meadows gave way to an evergreen glade, where the scent of pine was strong, and the branches provided sweet shade. Under the shadows of the trees lay mushrooms that grew like bouquets. There was a stream here, that babbled and jumped as it wound its way down the mountain.
Ted shivered in the shadows of the forest. He quickened his walking pace, and made sure to jump the stream as quickly as possible.
The evergreens gave way, and beyond their gnarled limbs lay only a few hardy, ancient joshua trees and broken rocks. The stone was a beautiful red sandstone, and the remains of ancient life from between the tides was visible if you looked closely.
Ted cursed as he hurried, because the stones tore at his feet, and the sun beat down harshly. He tried to take shelter beneath one of the trees, but their meager shade did not satisfy him.
Eventually, even the hardy joshua trees found themselves unable to find a living. There, where the rock was covered by ice and snow, and the glacier began. The blue ice made caves, and melt water, pure and chill flowed in a braided stream.
Ted drank greedily from the stream, and shivered in the cold wind. He began his way up the glacier, and soon found his feet numb to the cold. His fingers soon followed suite, and though he struggled against the ice, he made little head way.
Ted crawled, foot by agonizing foot, up the side of the glacier. His efforts were in vain though. The sun was setting, and the temperature dropping. Tears of frustration froze on his cheek.
*Its not fair. I've worked so hard. I deserve to be happy. If only I were just a bit closer* he thought, before the darkness enveloped him.
The moon was yet to rise, and the sky was cloudless. A billion stars were visible, shining with their blue light on a still world. Frost formed on the trees down below, and crusted over the still form of Ted.
Ted woke up, something he didn't expect. The room was steamy hot, and he was lying on a pile of blankets, several of which covered him. There was a fire in a stone fire pit, and a tea kettle next to it.
There was a man, tending the fire. Ted's eyes passed over him at first.
"Are... are you... the blacksmith?" Ted croaked. His throat felt dead.
The small man only nodded. His almond eyes smiled, though his mouth remained motionless.
"D... did you... rescue me?"
The man nodded again.
"Is it t..true? That... you can m-make the thing t-that a m-man needs m-most?"
He nodded.
"Could you... for me?"
The man turned his back to Ted for a bit, blocking his view of the fire. He was shuffling around his hands, but there was no clanging of iron, no swinging a hammer.
When he turned around, he had in his hands a cup of tea.
He held it out to Ted, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.
| 2017-09-05T00:17:01 | 2017-09-04T22:49:56 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | There we were, math class again. Typical Friday afternoon waiting for the weekend. Everyone around me focused on the board while I sing to myself, waiting for someone else to answer the question as I chant 42 to myself.
Today's song just happens to be about a beautiful girl in class. My Sweet Caroline in fact. I feel like my rendition could put Neil himself to shame. I watch Caroline as I sing, wondering how many times boys have sung this to her to try and impress her. Suddenly she raises her hand. 42 she calls out.
I start to sing louder. Jealous of the fact that I got the answer first, but don't have the balls to say it in class on the off chance I'm wrong. My song gets louder in my head as I calculate the next problem.
BA BA BA!!! I yell in my head followed by the next answer. Caroline flinched. Raises her hand. Calls out 6. Right again. But why the flinch?
Curious now I keep singing, and staring. There is no way she heard me. People can't hear other people minds. That's like movies and weird stories you read on Reddit. No way it exists I say to myself as I hear Caroline start to hum along with my singing. | Mind reading was never something Lauren thought of on a daily basis, but today something triggered her. It was all she could think about. What made her like this was as much of a mystery to her as it was why her crush never talked to her.
Lauren was done with her worksheet and forgot her book, something she never did. Knowing class was almost over, she put no thought to it. Instead, she went bold and screamed. In her mind, of course. A trick she did to catch mind readers. Something to ease her boredom.
She was very surprised to see someone flinch right when she screamed. Not just someone, but her special someone. It had to be Luke Benton, her crush. The one person she never suspected. She did it again, and he did the same.
Lauren waited until the bell ringed to talk to him. She got very nervous, and hoped Luke wasn’t listening to her thoughts. If only he were telepathic with her. That would be the dream, well maybe just at the moment.
The bell ringed and Lauren walked up to Luke with an over abundance of nervousness she, probably, didn’t need. More than likely, he already heard what she had rehearsed in her head over and over to make sure she didn’t mess up.
“What?” Said Luke in a very annoyed tone as soon as he saw Lauren walking up to him. Although knowing what his ‘special gift’ is, it seemed to ease her nervousness.
“Is it true? Can you really,” she paused, quieting her tone so others couldn’t hear her next words, “read my mind.”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner." Was all Luke replied. He leaned against the desk, clearly wanting to engage in this conversation instead of leaving like Lauren thought he would want to.
“God. I’m such an idiot. You knew all along. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed." Lauren did a literal face palm while speaking.
"Yes, I know,” Luke said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t think you’re stupid or that you should be embarrassed. I only ignore you to get you to talk to me. And it finally worked.”
Lauren blushed. Never in a million years would she have thought Luke Benton didn’t hate her for no reason.
"Will you go out with me?” Lauren asked with great confidence. She never thought she would ask that question with that much confidence. She for sure thought he would say no, but it didn’t matter now. She asked it and that was all she needed to be happy about.
"Yes. I, Luke Benton, will go out on a date with you, Lauren." Lauren’s face blushed so hard it was on fire. She tried to conceal her happiness, but it was harder than she recognized.
Lauren exited the room and continued walking down the halls like any other day, but her mind was planning out what was going to be the best first date ever. She couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. | 2017-11-13T19:47:06 | 2017-11-13T16:30:42 | 236 | 37 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | As I stood in the lab room, I let my eyes wander as I waited for the centrifuge to stop. I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced around the room before he came into my line of vision.
I grinned to myself. *Cute.*
As the centrifuge whirred to a stop, I pulled out my group's test tubes and began to head back to our station. I narrowed my eyes away from our results and the discussion at hand to sneak a peek back at him, and chuckled when I made eye contact. *Smooth.*
Quickly looking away, I made a bold conclusion about our results and scanned around at my lab group. They nodded hesitantly, then with more confidence as they wrapped their thoughts around my conclusion.
By the time we had written down our results and conclusions, I had only been thinking to myself about the lab itself. Looking back up, I watched as he sat down at the counter at the front of the room.
*I hate Thor.*
I watched as he whipped his head around with a dumbfounded look that dissolved once he noticed my gaze fixated on him. Bursting into laughter, I observed as a flush appeared on his face.
"You don't really hate Thor, do you?"
| Mind reading was never something Lauren thought of on a daily basis, but today something triggered her. It was all she could think about. What made her like this was as much of a mystery to her as it was why her crush never talked to her.
Lauren was done with her worksheet and forgot her book, something she never did. Knowing class was almost over, she put no thought to it. Instead, she went bold and screamed. In her mind, of course. A trick she did to catch mind readers. Something to ease her boredom.
She was very surprised to see someone flinch right when she screamed. Not just someone, but her special someone. It had to be Luke Benton, her crush. The one person she never suspected. She did it again, and he did the same.
Lauren waited until the bell ringed to talk to him. She got very nervous, and hoped Luke wasn’t listening to her thoughts. If only he were telepathic with her. That would be the dream, well maybe just at the moment.
The bell ringed and Lauren walked up to Luke with an over abundance of nervousness she, probably, didn’t need. More than likely, he already heard what she had rehearsed in her head over and over to make sure she didn’t mess up.
“What?” Said Luke in a very annoyed tone as soon as he saw Lauren walking up to him. Although knowing what his ‘special gift’ is, it seemed to ease her nervousness.
“Is it true? Can you really,” she paused, quieting her tone so others couldn’t hear her next words, “read my mind.”
“Surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner." Was all Luke replied. He leaned against the desk, clearly wanting to engage in this conversation instead of leaving like Lauren thought he would want to.
“God. I’m such an idiot. You knew all along. Oh my god I’m so embarrassed." Lauren did a literal face palm while speaking.
"Yes, I know,” Luke said with a smile on his face, “but I don’t think you’re stupid or that you should be embarrassed. I only ignore you to get you to talk to me. And it finally worked.”
Lauren blushed. Never in a million years would she have thought Luke Benton didn’t hate her for no reason.
"Will you go out with me?” Lauren asked with great confidence. She never thought she would ask that question with that much confidence. She for sure thought he would say no, but it didn’t matter now. She asked it and that was all she needed to be happy about.
"Yes. I, Luke Benton, will go out on a date with you, Lauren." Lauren’s face blushed so hard it was on fire. She tried to conceal her happiness, but it was harder than she recognized.
Lauren exited the room and continued walking down the halls like any other day, but her mind was planning out what was going to be the best first date ever. She couldn’t help but keep a smile on her face. | 2017-11-13T18:05:33 | 2017-11-13T16:30:42 | 102 | 37 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The Captain filled a small container with what had to be bourbon, carefully sealing the spout to prevent any of the liquid from floating away. As I dogged the hatch behind me, I saw that he already had his drink in hand.
First day aboard a starship, and I'm drinking with the boss? Not a bad start.
Captain Leonov sent my drink floating through the air. I caught it without thinking, using my other hand to hold onto the wall of his quarters. I had never been drunk in 0 g, and this small container wasn't going to do the job either.
"You handled spacedock well, Commander," He said. "I was told that this was your first deep space assignment, but from your conduct, I could not tell."
"I've been on the Titan run for the last year, and Luna before that." I shrugged, the tiny movement a third of what it would have been dirtside. More than that and I'd float off. "Spacedock is just a bigger port, when you get down to it."
"Perhaps," the Captain replied. Now that I had a chance to listen, I could tell that something was on his mind. The old man was worried.
I floated closer to him, approaching the cupola-style window of his quarters. "What's on your mind, sir?"
He looked at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "How did Natalya handle the launch?"
My wife had been angry, truth be told. We were shipping out sooner than planned, and going to parts unknown for who knows how long. She wanted stability for our sons, and the run to Jupiter space had afforded that - one month on, one off. Yesterday had been the angriest I had seen her since before we revealed our names, hers on my shoulder and mine on her ankle.
The relief on her face when she knew that she was mine, and I hers - we had made love that night, for the first time. I think we started Anatoliy that night, honestly.
"She was fine," I lied. "She is a spacer's wife, sir."
The Captain nodded, saying nothing. He took a pull from his drink.
"Sir, what's on your mind?"
The Captain looked at me, and that sadness was there still. He grabbed a folder from the wall, Velcro breaking the quiet with a stiff ripping sound. Tipping it to me, he sent it on a slow trajectory across the room. Plucking it from the air, I unzipped the folder and looked a the contents. A bright red EYES ONLY across the top gave me pause. Below that, I saw the table of contents - and noted that the package included first contact protocols.
My heart stilled as I got to page two.
"72 days ago, we received this transmission. It's from an object in the belt. I don't know the details, of course, but I guess the big brains figured out that it was base 8. And that let them figure out that it was a series of pixels, and that those made images." The Captain nodded toward the folder. "You're holding some of those images in your hand. The first confirmed signal from a non terrestrial intelligence. Our mission is to go to that point in space and see who sent this."
I looked again, to be certain. The image I saw, the one that changed everything, was a star chart. Ours was marked, as well as several others. Eridani, Centauri, so on. The markings were utterly alien - and immediately familiar. I looked at the Captain.
He rolled up his sleeve. The Naval tattoo he had on his forearm took new meaning. On the hull of the small spacecraft, a series of dots and swirls was apparent. You might miss the alien script, if you didn't know to look for it.
"No one knew what it meant," he began. "So I covered it up, as soon as I could. Command knows, of course - your names are always recorded. But I figured mine was a placeholder, that I would die somehow with no one to blame." A sad chuckle came from the man. "How could we know?"
Wordlessly, I unzipped my uniform. Pulling the tunic open, I saw the captain's eyes grow wide as he saw. For on my collarbone was the same set of dots and swirls. The same alien script.
The Captain nodded. "Everyone on board has the same. 72 men, 14 women."
I nodded, absently. Then I emptied my drink. | Dannos Quill was asleep in his favourite chair when the early-warning alarms tripped. He had set the runes himself, personally inscribing them on the sides of 12-inch candles which he then burned in a mile-wide perimeter around his cottage by the lake. The alarms were tweaked to only detect magical entities of the 4th Order and higher, since he wasn’t worried about mortal threats *per se*.
After all, retired though he may have been, he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the entire Kingdom.
Dannos tottered to the door, threw it open, then stepped out, staff in hand. The sun was just setting, and its rays skewered the calm waters of the lake, unleashing prismatic dragons upon the surface. The birdsong had abruptly ended. He was rooting around in his mind, fretting about which spell he wanted to prepare, when he felt a hand slip over his.
He turned, and Mayna was there, as she always had been. He knew that Mayna would have sensed the disturbance too, but curiously, her face was devoid of emotion. No fear, no sadness, no panic. Their frequent rehearsals must have paid off.
“One, or both?” she asked.
“Both, it seems. At the same time.”
Dannos had pulled back both sleeves, revealing his forearms in turn. And now, the tattoos on each were no longer their usual dull-grey, but had grown livid with energy. The ancient lettering pulsed red-hot, like script writ from running lava, exuberant in its escape from long-dormant volcanoes.
On his left – SABINE.
On his right – BRENOWAH.
“Are you happy? To finally get this over with?” Mayna asked.
“In a way, in a way… I always knew this day would come. But whatever happens, I think I’ve had a long and fulfilling enough life as it is.”
“Do you really mean that?”
Darren heard the crack in her voice before he saw the doubt in her eyes. He looked down into her pale eyes of blue, and though her hair now ran with streaks of grey, though the wrinkles now crept over her face like the inevitable shadow of night, he could only see the Mayna Firewind he had met all those years ago, in the halls of the Academy.
Brave, out-spoken, resourceful, beautiful Mayna. From rival, to companion, then finally to wife.
“Of course,” Darren said. “My life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“But… but one of them’s your soulmate,” Mayna said. “When she appears before you, wouldn’t you look upon her and think that perhaps you wasted your entire life here with me, when you could have been with her?”
Darren managed a small laugh. “Ah, you’ve finally revealed which of the two names you’re more worried about.”
Mayna clicked her tongue, then stomped lightly on his foot. “As prophecies go, even if the other one manages to kill you, rest assured that I’ll be sending her along to join you very shortly after that. But the first one… the soulmate…”
Darren looked up into the sky, then reached out with his mind. The two magical entities were closing in, like twin streaks of lightning racing to reach the ground. He still had time.
Just a little, but it was enough.
“Consider this, my dear Mayna. We all have choices, don’t we? I could have lived my life chained to the prophecy. I could have poured my life into controlling how I meet these two people whose fates are intertwined with mine. I could have spent every waking minute raging against the unfairness of it all. And what sort of man would I be then?”
Mayna chuckled. “Not a very good one, I must say. I would have throttled you long ago.”
“And so you would have. I’ve told you this before, but I’ll say it again. I *chose* my life, in the end. I chose to be with you. We’ve seen it all, haven’t we? We’ve repelled demonic hordes, bloodthirsty invaders. We’ve nipped plagues in the bud, we've unravelled murderous cults. We kept the peace of the kingdom as best as we could, and we did the Academy proud. Side by side, Mayna, we did all that, side by side.”
“But… your soulmate…”
A tiny sob escaped her, and Darren placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. It startled him to think that a woman who had once stared down a dragon by herself, could yet be so vulnerable.
“Never think yourself as less, Mayna. She may be my soulmate, whatever that means, but you are my *love*, my wife. We took what we had, and we made an entire lifetime of memories of it, yes?”
Mayna nodded, and buried her head in his embrace.
“Would it be alright with you if I just fireballed both of them when they arrive?” she asked.
Darren laughed. “I couldn’t stop you if I tried. But aren’t you curious, though? To find out what this damn prophecy means? And why the hell both of them are coming together at the exact same time after a lifetime of managing to avoid me?”
Mayna sighed, then stretched out her left arm. The magic crawled along her skin, and a tiny portal opened at the end of her fingertips. She reached in, then seized her weapon. Her staff, a sturdy oak of whitewood, the opposite of the dirty muskybrown of Darren’s thrillingbark, thumped heavily on the ground.
They chanted together, as effortlessly as if they were one.
Which, in all senses, they were.
The protective spells leapt to life about them, forming a blue film around them, a soap bubble of the gigantic persuasion. In perfect mirror symmetry, they primed their spells. Overhead, two shooting stars, one red, the other blue, sped towards them. It was obvious from their current trajectory that they would end up right in the middle of the lake, side by side.
“Ready?” Darren asked.
“Ready,” Mayna said, as she grinned. “Just like old times.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-03-11T08:45:50 | 2018-03-11T08:08:31 | 120 | 37 |
[WP] A genie gives you two options. One is to get your three wishes now, or to get one wish a day for five days. He tells you that no one before has survived and gotten all five wishes. You choose the latter. | "That won't be a problem."
Rovif had scaled several mountains, slain a giant eagle, and even incurred the wrath of a mage's guild just to reach this ancient temple. The fact that he survived all the deadly puzzles and tests of wits on his way to this underground altar room only gave him more confidence in his goal. Why would he hesitate when the Genie was in front of him?
"And, just to make it clear, it can be whatever I want?"
"Anything" said the Genie.
"Perfect. I'm ready."
"Very well," the Genie swelled with a torrent of magical energy, "state your first wish."
"I wish I was immortal."
The Genie paused. "R-really? Don't you wanna mull that over a bit? People always save that for last."
"I'm a decisive man."
The Genie laughed. "Way to go for the throat, then."
Rovif smirked. "Problem?"
"No, no, it's your wish. That said, I will warn you that it doesn't count as surviving if you end up trapped under rocks for eternity."
Rovif swallowed. "H-has that happened before?"
"Yes!" echoed two strange voices in the distance.
Rovif furrowed his brow, confused.
"Just ignore them..." said the Genie. "One of them thought they could stop anyone else from ever reaching the temple by collapsing it. Obviously, since he was immortal, he could survive the aftermath of any explosion he created." He grinned. "That stroke of genius literally backfired."
"Screw you!" said a male voice.
"And the other?"
The Genie chortled. "She didn't listen to our warnings when she tried the exact thing."
"That's on me..." said a female voice.
Rovif started looking around the altar room. He couldn't see them anywhere. "Where are they?"
"Meh, they're encrusted somewhere in the walls. I had to rearrange the temple around them. Do you wish to know their location?"
Rovif frowned. "No, make me immortal."
"Sorry, sorry, I had to try."
"I've read every legend there is to find this place. I think you'll find your usual genie tricks won't work on me."
The old immortal man cackled. "That's what *I* said!"
The Genie shook his head with a knowing smile. "Believe it or not, I never have to do a thing. People always seal their fate with their own wishes. Are you sure about this?"
"I won't repeat myself."
The Genie nodded. "Your wish is my command!"
--------
>[Continued here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bxt4rx/wp_the_blacksmith_wont_sell_you_any_weapon_the/eq9nb5w/) | "Definitely a wish a day," I asserted confidently. The genie looked at me surprised, his warnings having been ignored. Picture me, this modern day Aladdin, beanie instead of turban, a little bit whiter around the edges but basically the same in the end. He rubbed a lamp, I rubbed a bong and just like that there's a genie chilling out in the family room. To be honest, it took me a minute to realize it was for real. I tried to touch the dude and my hand went right through and that definitely didn't help. It was only when he started making tangible things out of thin air that I actually believed it.
"For five days," he clarified, ever cautious as to the ambiguities of these verbal contracts. I nodded. Five days, five wishes. Or I could take the other option that he was pressing me towards: three wishes, right here, right now. "Are you sure?" He was really pressing me towards using all my wishes right now. Probably working on commission or something and the more people he can get wishing, the better. I nodded, commission be damned. I wanted five days of wishes, one wish a day. "You did hear the part that nobody has ever survived and gotten all five wishes, right?" I nodded. Zero percent survival rate was what he had said before, to be exact. I'm really not one for statistics though. I've read the articles. Numbers can be manipulated and twisted and you get whatever statistic you want out of them. I wasn't falling for that one. He'd be working for me for five wishes over five days, no questions asked. Plus, quantity over quality. That's what they teach you when you're churning out those burgers. His muscular, pellucid shoulders shrugged. Seemed like there was plenty of time to hit the weights while he chilled out in genie world as he waited for some clever pothead to rub the bong and beckon him to the earthly realm. He was insistent it wasn't like prison but he definitely looked like he did those prison workouts. "Alright, that's that then," he said. I put the magical pen to the magical paper that he had created and that was indeed that. "Your first wish?" he requested and I inhaled from the now magic-less bong and sat back in the couch. The genie stared at me impatiently and I wondered if he was working multiple customers at once.
"I'm thinking," I insisted and he glowered at me silently. I'm not quite sure how this master-genie relationship works but somebody less chill would have definitely been demanding some respect. "I want 5 pounds... No, wait," I hesitated, re-thinking my wish before committing to it. "5 tons. I want 5 tons of weed in the garage, stat," I ordered. The genie looked at me skeptically. "No questions asked, buddy," I snarked and he shrugged again.
"You'll need to word it more officially," he said. "It was in the contract." I rolled my eyes. So much fine print, if I actually read through every contract I signed I would, it would take centuries. This dude had centuries but to the best of my knowledge, I did not. I would also be in way less debt and way more successful, but hey - I would also have fewer wishes. Silver lining and all that crap, you know? "You need to start with I wish," he instructed and I sighed. Of course I had to jump through hoops just to get my damned wishes.
"I wish for five tons of weed in the garage," I said sarcastically, making sure to enunciate the official vocabulary he demanded. The genie looked at me dolefully, as if he was about to put his dog down or something. I don't know if genies even have pets or if they are pets. Can pets have pets? "Are you my pet?" I wondered out loud. He ignored me.
"Done," he remarked simply before disappearing back into the bong. I glanced around in confusion, unsure if this was all in my head or legit. I thought genies were from Arabia or something but this dude had just Irish goodbyed me like his name was O'Shaughnessy. Reluctantly, and fighting off the urge to keep sitting on the couch but way too curious to not check, I pulled myself to the feet and made my way to the garage.
"Oh, shit," I said quietly when I opened the door. "So that's what five tons of weed looks like..."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-06-04T10:57:08 | 2019-06-04T08:12:27 | 91 | 68 |
[WP] You never miss a pill ever since you were a kid and diagnosed with a deadly illness. One night while out, you’re kidnapped by human traffickers. You plea to be let go because you’ll die without your pills. Turns out, the pills were keeping your telekinesis at bay. It’s starting to come back. | My mother always insisted that the staff had promised her they wouldn’t record or tape our visiting hours. There was a nice park on the grounds, with a basketball court and a set of swings we sometimes sit in. But I don’t like to see the huge fences around, so we just stay in my room, talking and playing games.
*“Where did you go last month?” I would ask.*
*She was a flight attendant, and had my sisters to take care of, but she always made time to see me.*
*“I went to Rio de Janeiro. Do you know where that is?”*
*“It’s…in Mexico?”*
*She laughed. “It’s in Brazil. There’s a great big mountain, with a huge statue on top.”*
*“A statue of who?”*
*“Just some guy. But that’s not even the best part. They have this huge beach…”*
*My mom took me to the beach once, when I was four. Before the men in uniforms took me to the facility. So I don’t remember much, only that the water was tough, like it was alive and scratchy.*
*I would tell my mother this.*
*“Sometimes, mom, I swear…it’s like the ocean is alive. But that’s not possible, right? It’s just water.”*
*“Well, anything is possible, sweetie.”*
And then I would ask if she thought me coming back home was possible, and she would shake her head, and take out a tissue, and mess up her makeup.
She hasn’t come in a year. The staff says this time is crucial for my recovery, and they want to limit all confounding factors.
Whatever that means.
\-
The raid was very late at night, to the point where it’s actually early. Sometimes, I get up at this time, and I have to go to the bathroom, and it’s annoying, because I have to get a guard.
But I heard noises, upstairs. My room is so deathly quiet, I’ve come to hear almost everything. I heard a bang, like something falling off a table.
Then, silence. I lay there for what seemed like an eternity, wondering if it was safe to fall asleep.
Finally, the door opened, and I heard footsteps. I dared not look. I didn’t see who had come until he was standing over me.
His face was long, especially from my angle. The man had a rough face. One of his eyes was not like the other, and he had several long cuts his stubble failed to hide. But still, he looked sad, like looking at me hurt.
“He’s so young,” he said, his voice soft. “It will be so easy for them.”
“To do what?” another voice asked.
“To make him into what they want.”
And then he reached into the pocket of his pants, and stuck a needle into my arm.
(to be continued below) | This actually reminds me a lot of the show The Umbrella Academy
nonthing the less
​
"Please let me get mt pills. I'll die without them""If we let you go, you'll run away. Do you think we're stupid?"
"Pl-"
**THWACK!** Followed by a loud thump to the floor. You were unconscious and being transported to a place where you may die, yet your main concern was your pills. You wake up and see that it is now morning, and thought to yourself, *At least* I\*'ll die before where ever I get to where ever I'm going\* You start to chuckle at the fact that you know you will be of no use, and are consoled by the fact that you will meet death before whoever you were being sold off to.
About a few hours pass and its high noon, but you don't feel any different. You think to yourself *this can't be right. I'm supposed to be dead right now, right. Those pills are real right?* You make no attempt at conversation with the capturers because you know it's futile. A few more hours pass and dusk starts to set in, but this time you feel different, maybe even... powerful? No that's not it, but you have changed in a way. Night falls and you're woken up by the two men hurling you out of the car when a blast of something hits them. You immediately begin to think to your self "What in God's name was that. Was... was that me? No... that's... not possible... right?" You shake your head dismissing the idea when you're hit by a tranquilizer dart. The guy hit by the blast gets back up, and they carry your body off to the auction site. You wake up in a dark room behind a stage surrounded by a number of other people who you presume are in the same situation as you. *Is... Is this it. Am I being sold off? I should be dead by now. Why... why am I alive right now?* The curtains open the blinding lights give you a terrible headache, causing a ringing sound in your head. Before the stage, there are countless rows with people, primarily men, sitting down and eyeing the people on the stage. You also look around and notice there are around 70-80 of you. The announcer starts the auction, and immediately there is murmuring, fueling your massive headache. After around 30 seconds you break. A colossal explosion comes from around you, destroying the stage, and causing the entire building to shake. All of the people and chairs are blown to the back of the massive auction house. As everyone starts to get up, another, a bigger explosion occurs. The building now on the brink of collapse. A final boom, even more powerful, and the building now collapsing, but all of that is irrelevant because the only thing your eyes perceive is the blood. The massive amounts of pooling blood, and red-stained blood. The very sight of it brought you back to your scenes. Your breath is now completely unsteady. *Wha... What happened here. Am I dead? Did...Did I do this?* Your brain is now completely unable to comprehend anything, and you faint.
you wake up in a police department and is immediately brought into question "Do you have any memory of what happened there mam" All I remember is passing out and waking up surrounded by blood and rubble. I was going to be auctioned off, but something happened" You were the only survivor, so we thought you have had something to do with it, but you probably couldn't have done anything if you were being sold off" Why haven't you done anything to shut down this terrible, terrible business?""excuse me, mam""You must be aware this is happening, why aren't you doing anything"
"Ha... Do you really think we control this town? I'm sure the mafia could easily take on the entirety of the police here. We're just here to investigate stuff like this"
"Oh"
"Well, You're free to go"
"thank you"
You go outside, and can't remember the last time you felt the sun like this. It's warm, almost comforting. You suddenly remember that you haven't taken your pills in over a week, but you're not dead, in fact, you feel very different. Like a candle that has been rekindled, like... like a part of you that you forgot about, and once again have. Your life would never return to the way it was, despite how much you wanted it to. This is apart of you now.
(I am not a good writer, so please have mercy. Thanks ) | 2019-11-13T22:35:17 | 2019-11-13T21:57:51 | 95 | 42 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both. | "Citizens of the Federation."
War Czar Mitya Kalishinov stared directly into the camera. His tall, strong form, clad in the midnight black of the Human military, filled only a portion of the screen. Behind him was the interior of his ship, the *Hades*, itself a mix of black paneling and red lighting. To his sides stood the proud men and women of the *Hades.* Looming over his head was a floating map displaying the one thousand, eight hundred and thirty-five ships of the Second Armada.
At first, the man did not speak after the initial greeting. Instead, he let the image cement itself in the minds of the viewers. They would be watching from across the Federation, hiding in their rat warrens and fragile cities. They thought themselves strong. The War Czar knew otherwise. Finally, he spoke.
"I am War Czar Kalishinov, Supreme Commander of Humanity's Astra Militaris. I speak for Earth's government on the matter of the Federation Council's rejection of Humanity's application for admission." He cleared his throat and then his eyes began to move slightly from left to right as he read from the prompter. "Humanity's application to the Federation Council was made as a gesture of goodwill. Formed out of a desire to align Human interests with the other denizens of our galactic neighborhood. This application was genuinely made, though it was only supported by a thin margin of qualified citizens."
The eyes stopped scanning from left to right and instead peered at the camera again. The next words were slower, more deliberate, "The rejection of our application has freed us from the restrictions we willingly placed upon ourselves in an effort to find a compromise with the Federation. These limitations curtailed our actions, and yolked Humanity's progress to the whims of foreign beings in foreign lands. We are thankful to have this obstacle removed." Mitya smiled, the first sign of emotion during the presentation, "I wish the Federation luck in what is to come."
The video feed went dark.
Mitya turned to his side, nodding to his Executive Officer, "XO Lewis, transmit and confirm Thoran transit orders with the Second Armada."
Executive Officer Madison Lewis, a short, stocky woman with a broad jaw and buzzed grey hair, saluted Mitya, "Yes, sir." She turned on her heel and made her way over to the fleet comms controller. She leaned over and had brief conversation before returning to the Czar, who had taken his seat at the center of the command deck. "Sir, transit to Thoran has been charted with the navigational route transmitted and confirmed to all ships within the Second Armada. Estimated travel time is four hours and thirty-five minutes. The transit will required thirteen chutes."
Mitya nodded, "Very good, XO. See that nothing comes undone during during the A to B." The XO saluted and took her own position a few feet from the Czar's command chair. Mitya opened a small panel in the left armrest of his chair and pressed a bright red button. He leaned back in his chair, pressing firmly against the flesh of the black leather. A moment later, a spine from the chair pressed against his neck and then inserted itself just beneath the base of his skull. The Czar's eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped down.
Mitya's consciousness floated for a moment in the etherium of buffer space as his brain was scanned and loaded. A moment later, the scan was complete, a symbiote AI formed, and the SAI was transmitted to Earth Command. The symbiote would act as his proxy on the Command Council once he was out of communications range, permitting him to be two places at once. It was not a perfect solution, but it was far superior to the alternative of courier messages or command fragmentation. Trials on symbiote decision trees showed a 99.999999999998% overlap with their source trees at inception. Of course, that percentage decreased as lived experience diverged from scanned experience, but no solution could be perfect.
The spine retracted and Mitya opened his eyes. The scanning process took less than a minute, but the aftereffects of the scan always left a short period of disorientation. Mitya was no stranger to this feeling and handled it with little distraction. Once his head cleared, he opened an all hands channel to the *Hades.*
"Soldiers of the *Hades*, we make for Thoran to rendezvous with our new allies." A pause. "Then we ready for war. All hands, battle stations."
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | The meeting took place in a bunker multiple hundreds of meters below the soil of an unknown planet within the solar system.
"Are you sure it is completely safe to speak here?"
"It seems I trust dirt and steel more than you."
"If you trust this place, I will too, I guess."
"So let's begin then."
"Ah, yes, so... when shall we declare our independence?"
"Are you mad? We need to get allies first, you small-brained Thoran. Never mind my outburst. But really, your ideas are ridiculous. We need more people than this."
"And your are recommending what? Ad banners all over Federation space saying "JOIN THE REVOLUTION"?
"Of course not. We will have to undermine them."
"That's obvious, now tell me how."
"Prove that the Federation cannot protect its members."
"Are you proposing open war instead of mere declaration of independence? You are truly the one who is mad in here."
"No, no, we supply and pay the Pirates to organize a single massive assault on a Sn-7.62D."
"You yet again prove you are mad. You say we fund space terrorists to attack the capital of the Sran? They are one of the strongest nations in the Federation."
"Listen, we need to make an impact on everyone else, shatter their belief on the Federation. We must order the Pirates to plunder it as fully as possible and then to bombard it from the surface. After all, the other nations have abandoned most of their weapons due to the Federation's new Bill's. It should be easy to seize even a capital, even of them, with ease."
"Ok, and then what? Huh?"
"By then most people will realise that remilitarization is a necessity and the Sran will hate the Federation in infinite quantities. We shall have a mighty ally and swayed interests of others."
"Sounds good. But when will we strike?"
"We will need to at least have the near full support of the Sran."
"So nowhere near now?"
"Of course not, we will help them repair their damaged capital. Cover the while story up. No one has to know except a bunch of dead pirates and a couple of us higher-ups."
"Fine then, Sir Darwin."
"Now leave, Ghajin, before our absence is noticed by any... 'unfriendly' groups."
*Some time later*
"So you are offering us these prototype weapons and this money to attack Sn-7.62D?"
"Yes, now be urgent. The Federation might have a spy in our ranks. We must complete this before they can intervene."
"Understood, Sir Darwin."
"Good to know we understand each other."
*Some time later*
"FEDERATION!!! SOS!!! SOS!!!"
"What is the emergency?"
"Absolutely ginormous fleets of pirates are assaulting the planet!"
"What planet is this message coming from? Never mind... wait what?"
"Sn-7.62D I know your re surprised, but we genuinely need help here."
"Do you seriously think will believe that YOU, the strongest nation in the Federation, needs help?"
"We do! They have already breached the first orbital defense ring! And the second one has just now fallen and is crashing down on the planet!"
"How can the pirates be so strong?"
"We dont know but- *BOOM*"
"What happened?"
"S-s-sir, th-~ ar~ bomb-~ th-~ planet! We wo-~ ast lo-~! Help!-~"
"SEND ALL FLEETS. I REPEAT, SEND ALL FLEETS. RESERVE FLEETS WILL GUARD THE FEDERATION CAPITOL."
*Back on Sn-7.62D*
"Crap. Did they even get our message?"
"I don't know man, but right now we have to avoid the bombs and falling buildings. And about that- *CRASH* "I just saved you from one. From now on, look around yourself please."
"Not like I have anything else to do."
*Some time later*
"Well you humans are such a nice race, they're helping us out after this devastating attack."
"Thank you."
"Our welcomes to you, Sir Darwin."
*Some months later, back in the bunker*
"When shall we declare independence?"
"Well, I don't know. You started this."
"What? That was the Thorans."
"Well you started it officially."
"You could have clarified that earlier."
"Anyways, back to the point. I reccomend we do it within the next couple of Earth rotations, or as we call them, days. Ghajin, are your fleets ready to defend?"
"Yes Sir Darwin."
"Konen?"
"My fleets are dispersed throughout the galaxy and if a war comes there will be fighting in every corner of it."
"Good, Konen of Sran. We are ready."
"Let us recite it first."
"Of course, Ghajin."
"The Sran, Thoran, and Humankind hereby declare independence from the Feferation. We do so as a result of the actions taken by the Federation, which include: nearly forced demilitarization, removal of rights of each race, by this I mean the near complete authority of Federation officials on each planet within it, and the demolition of multiple colonies, including A-4, B-17, Sd8-3.3, and 0-6-D.3."
"Short, not very clear, but it states the point well enough. Clear enough for people to know what we are doing, and at least a couple vague reasons. Sounds good enough, Konen."
"I tried. At least sort of to make this."
"We know, Konen, we know."
*At Federation capital ring a couple of days later*
"What is this? A declaration of independence? Oh boy, those Humans and Thorans clearly want a beating.* But Sran? I though they were happy enough? What could have made them willing to join our enemies? Maybe a slow assistance of our fleets? I mean, we did all that we could."*
"Lord Raiek, have you decided on our course of action?"
"Not yet, General Mazhouj."
"Then I will return later, Lord."
"Now go away then. I need to think."
*A couple of hours later*
*"I should probably send them an ultimatum, that is the most reasonable decision. No immediate war, but my demands are loud and clear."*
"Lord Raien, I am sorry to interrupt your thinking, however there is a message from the Humans." | 2020-04-16T08:51:12 | 2020-04-16T08:19:10 | 219 | 110 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | In case anyone wants to read the book that the prompt seems to be based on.
[https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/36735/the-perfect-run](https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/36735/the-perfect-run)
" Ryan "Quicksave" Romano is an eccentric adventurer with a strange power: he can create a save-point in time and redo his life whenever he dies. Arriving in New Rome, the glitzy capital of sin of a rebuilding Europe, he finds the city torn between mega-corporations, sponsored heroes, superpowered criminals, and true monsters. It's a time of chaos, where potions can grant the power to rule the world and dangers lurk everywhere.
Ryan only sees different routes; and from Hero to Villain, he has to try them all. Only then will he achieve his perfect ending... no matter how many loops it takes." | At least I get to keep the same clothes
I’ve done this at least 3 times today and each time it only gets more annoying. I should feel bad for doing this to Nancy but she wouldn’t stop bugging me. Sorry little sis but it had to be like this
( Load file)
“ File 4”? What was that. That must have been when Mom was mad at me for skipping school. I should delete that one.
(File Deleted)
Alright now that I don’t have to worry about all that I can choose a new save point. Don’t worry I don’t get a infinite amount of these. I get 10, one for each finger pretty much. Once I get to 10 I’ll be found out. The highest I’ve went is 8 but that was only because I was cheating on a test. Either way I have to choose a file before it chooses for me. And the last time it did that I was in the middle of a state test with the answers in my hand.
( File 3 chosen)
Now we’re back and Nancy can finally leave me alone but there’s one issue at hand. I had taken some money from my girlfriends purse in File 1 and I should probably pay it back before I delete that file. I went up to my mother’s room and took 30 dollars from her purse and snapped
( Which File would you like to open)
I needed file 1 but the save time was wrong. I had saved it at 11:27 PM last Tuesday but the time read 11:34 PM last Tuesday. Going through the other 2 I still had none of the times matched up. I guess it really didn’t matter because if anything went wrong I could just snap out.
( File 1 chosen)
Landing in Morgan’s room like this wasn’t normal. Usually whenever I took from someone I made sure to save somewhere they weren’t but I had been in a hurry. I put the money back and began to climb out the window when my voice said “ Cmon Morg I didn’t take your money”
God damn it I can’t believe this. I saved down there? Why? Why? Why? Did I not think about what would happen if I came back. I gave Myself the rule years ago “ no saving at someone else’s house”. Especially not at someone’s house that you steal from. I could hear the door open as My voice said “ You idiot” and Morgan began to shout and scream. We both insisted it was okay and then turned to each other, arguing over our collective stupidity. I had enough and snapped my finger but the other version of me snapped and I said “ you have 9.... and since I’m here I’m 10. So now”. | 2020-12-15T14:22:29 | 2020-12-15T13:59:51 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] You are a wolf who was bitten by a werewolf. Every full moon your hair recedes, your teeth dull, and you are left cold and naked on a hillside. You’ve also met a lovely park ranger named Christine. | “What… are you?” The park ranger said, scrambling backward in fear as she beheld the bloody sight before her. She had rushed over in response to an emergency call of a “wild, bloody man and a pack of wolves feasting” and hadn’t expected the call to be so terrifyingly accurate.
I paused my chewing and looked up at her. “I am a werehuman.” I said, the full moon shining down on the blood dripping down my face and my hands. “Ever since I got bitten by a werewolf, every month I gain the full capabilities of your race, human, and I use them for the good of the pack.”
I gestured at the rest of the wolves, who were feeding off of the corpses of two other deer.
“Are you… going to eat me?” The park ranger stammered.
“Certainly not,” I said, waving her comment away with a bloody hand. “Why on earth would you think that? It’s far easier and less dangerous to hunt for game than human meat.” Then I looked at her sidelong. “Of course, if you meant harm to my pack, it would be a different story.”
“Oh,” The park ranger said with a short, hysterical laugh, “I mean no harm for your pack at all. Not at all. The opposite in fact.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said with relief, “Would that mean you’re a friend of the wolves?”
The park ranger thought for a second and nodded, “Yes. We believe wolves are important to the natural order of this national park and have taken measures to protect them.”
I smiled at her, “We are indebted to you then. Is there anything we wolves can do for you to express our gratitude?”
The park ranger tapped her chin looking thoughtful. Then she said, “Hmmm… why don’t you meet me here every month when you become a human and we can talk more?”
“I would like that. That would benefit the pack far more than anything else I've done as a human.” I said, stroking my chin thoughtfully.
The ranger looked lost in thought herself, then she shook herself out of her trance, “Oh, I nearly forgot! My name is Christine, what’s yours?”
“Hmmm? Oh, I don’t have one.” I said.
“Can I name you then?” Christine said with a small smile, “In human society, exchanging names is the first step to establishing a friendship.”
“Ah, very interesting... this friendship... like being in a pack perhaps? That sounds nice, please go ahead.” I replied.
“Hmm… what about Dante?” Christine said, “Do you like that?”
“Dante… yes it works,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my wolf brothers slink into the shadows of the trees. “Looks like my time is up. I promise I'll meet you here in a month... Christine.”
“Goodbye, Dante,” Christine said.
We looked at each other for a moment, then looked away. My heart rate quickened. I never craved friendships with humans in my wolf form, but this body made me want to stay with Christina for longer. I pushed down the feeling, wary of how it made me neglect the brotherhood of my pack.
I turned and walked away. Just as I walked into the shadow of the surrounding trees, I remembered something and turned around.
“Oh, one more thing, Christine!" I said loudly, "That werewolf that bit me is still on the loose, and there might be more of them. Please let your human pack know to be on guard!”
___
As Dante left, Christine sat in moonlit silence, the bloodied deer corpses in front of her being the only evidence that the encounter was real. Then she shivered as the wind blew through the trees, causing leaves to rustle and shadows to shift. She looked around frightfully, then hurried to her car.
*Werehumans, werewolves… the natural world is a much darker and wilder place than I thought.*
Then she looked up at the full moon with determination.
*As a park ranger though, it’s my job to protect humanity and the natural world at the same time. I have to do this!*
___
Unfortunately, I didn't have time for part 2 on this one.
However, if you enjoyed, feel free to visit r/WanderWilder for more stories! Thanks for reading! | “Chrissy you’ve got to help me, I can’t go back to that!”
Chrissy reclined in bed, her eyes heavy lidded and her whole body ready for sleep, if only Spot weren’t having another crisis. She pressed the pillow down over her face and tried to count disemboweled sheep, the kind Spot left behind when he was a wolf. Sometimes she thought she liked that version of him better, his howling was less annoying then.
“Seriously Chrissy, you don’t understand what it’s like to be a wolf! I learn all this stuff as a man and then I’m hurled back into a pack that doesn't understand me. I’ve got to run and kill and hunt, I don’t even have hands, we just use our mouths for everything!”
“And I bet the females don’t look at you either, huh?”
She could imagine his expression, the human version of the guilty grimace he’d had when she caught them on the game cams. “That was one time and she was in heat!” he said, his voice getting shrill. “You can’t possibly blame me for that, I was a wolf!”
“Oh, so when that happens it’s all *‘oh but I was a wolf’* and then when you have to live outdoors and I’m not cooking for you it’s all *‘save me, I can’t go back to that!”*
Chrissy rolled over, pulling the covers tighter to herself. She could hear Spot stalking back towards the bed and she prepared herself for the pounce.
He leapt onto the bed with all the supple strength of a wild animal, pulling her to his chest. When Spot spoke his voice was husky and carried the strangest hint of an affected accent. Chrissy regretted showing him a romance movie that one time. “But baby, wouldn’t you love it if we could be together? We could frolic around this beautiful park every day, making love and catching prey as we willed, without any fear of bears or rain!”
Chrissy threw the pillow into the corner, rolling back towards him. A broad smile creased Spot’s sharp features and his eyes positively smoldered at her. He thought he was so damn cute sometimes. “Well, *baby*,” she said, pressing her hands against his muscled chest, “I happen to like our schedule just the way it is. Besides, you’re barely housebroken on the one day a month I have you. Now stop whining, you’re ruining my afterglow.”
She pecked him on the lips quickly and turned back around. “And remember to be out of here before sunrise, I can’t have you transforming in my bed again. That was fucked up.”
Spot’s grip around her waist grew slack. He nuzzled against her neck gently, it was normally as a close to an apology as she got, and then she felt him stand.
“Bye Chrissy,” he said. His voice sounded truly sad. She only turned back to watch him leave, walking out into the rising dawn naked as the day he was born, or perhaps in his case made. She saw his transformation through her bedroom window, heard his scream become a howl, watched bones rearrange themselves and coarse hair tear through soft skin to cover his body.
Chrissy closed her eyes and went to sleep, finally getting to relax and enjoy her body’s languid exhaustion.
She was woken when the cabin door opened an hour later. Someone poked around in the outer rooms for a few minutes, giving Chrissy time to reorient herself before the door opened again. Eliza stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the early morning light from the windows. Her clothes were messily donned, half the buttons of her shirt missing. Her hair was a disaster, what little makeup she’d worn the night before was smeared tragically around her face.
“Hey babe,” Chrissy said, “you’re looking cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a rough one. I’m gonna jump in the tub, but I'm glad you're up, I wanted to say hi.” Eliza walked over to the bed, sitting down where Spot had so recently been, and gave Chrissy a long, hard kiss.
“You taste funny,” Chrissy said, making a face. “Not a deer this time?”
“I wish. I found a half dead elk. It was pretty gross.”
“Ewww, yeah wash your mouth out before you kiss me again.”
Eliza stood, going to their attached bathroom. Chrissy heard a bath begin to run and then Eliza began gargling mouthwash. “How was your night?” she called after she spit.
“Fun!” Chrissy said. “Spot is an animal, pun intended. But if we ever try this again remind me to have you bite a less whiny wolf. My god is he annoying before he changes!”
“Oh really? He doesn’t want to go back?”
“Nah, he wants to stay human. He’s been asking me to help him, although I’ve got no idea how that would even work.”
“Yeah for real.” Eliza poked her head back into the bedroom. “You can cure a werewolf by killing the one that bit them, but a were-werewolf? I don’t even know how that would work.”
“Uh huh. And besides, there’s only room for one human in my life. Come back here.” Chrissy propped herself up in bed and reached out for another kiss now that Eliza’s mouth was cleaner.
“I kinda feel sad for the guy though,” Eliza said, walking back into the bathroom. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be a wolf either.” Chrissy heard a contented sigh from the bathroom, Eliza must have stepped into the tub.
“Well, as far as I’m concerned we’re doing him a favor.” Chrissy said. She stretched, groaning loudly as she gave up on sleep. “Whatever. Is there room for two in there?”
“You bet!”
Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-03-14T14:53:32 | 2021-03-14T13:49:33 | 187 | 129 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years. | "There," aQuilla said as she wiped away the excess ink over the stylized BRAVE now written on Discourse's arm. She smelled like that no-nonsense but still sweet shampoo she always used.
"That's everyone! Now, I'm not going to lie. This next match-up is going to be tough. Ever since they moved Steel Toe up to the C class heroes, we've struggled to get offensive power but ShortShot here will be our new cannon." She placed a hand on ShortShot's shoulder who seemed far too cocky for only having the power to punch with triple strength.
"Discourse, how old is your mental copy of Trainsplitter and Dungeon Time?" she asked looking at him with those hazel eyes.
"A few weeks," Discourse said. "Want me to see what plan they would make against us?"
"Yep, go ahead and use my room upstairs. We'll start working on a strategy down here," aQuilla said, twirling the feather in her hand.
"Wait," the new boy said. "You have to be alone when you use your power? So not only do you have the lamest power ever. You can just ask questions to a mental copy of anyone you've touched, and you can't even do it on the fly? I don't know what I expected from a D class. I'll be C class soon enough, so don't get too used to me on this team."
The boy smirked as aQuilla seemed to want to speak up in Discourse's defense but only gave him an apologetic face before continuing the discussion.
Discourse went up to her room, looking around at the many posters. This would likely be the only time he'd see this place, he realized sadly. A huge drawing of PowerGirl filled up one wall, the most powerful hero to ever live. Discourse had shaken her hand once six years ago.
He made sure no one was watching and he summoned the shadow clones of Trainsplitter and Dungeon Time. "We are here to serve, master," they said in unison. "Point us towards your enemies."
"Be quiet," he hissed and they promptly stopped all noise. "I don't want anyone to know the extent of my power. They think I can just talk to you. Now, what are your plans on how to fight us?"
"We were going to have DT prepare a pit in the center of my tracks then lure you all to it in a cluster with Praire Dog's help."
"Great, thanks," Discourse said, banishing the summoned heroes. He looked at the painting on the wall again. He had never tried it, but he might as well make sure it worked in case of emergencies. A perfect clone of PowerGirl appeared in front of him, who he remembered to cut off before she pledged herself to him. He watched her hover for a moment before banishing her. One day, he would show his true power but he wasn't ready to be promoted out of aQuilla's squad, not yet.
​
\\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | I woke up chained to a chair, shackles keeping my wrists and ankles in place.
My greatest nemesis, Dr. Hugo Todt, stood over me, tauntingly.
"So," he begins in his usual German accent, "he awakes. Good, I didn't want this to be boring. I wanted you to witness what is to come."
As my eyes scan the room, I see another chair stood across from me, and the captain of my small squad of heroes similarly chained to it, still unconscious. A single old lamp shed its weak light down between the two of us, as the "good" doctor paced the room.
"What do you want me to witness?"
At this, Dr. Todt produced a knife from the folds of his lab coat and brandished it in my direction.
"Oh, it's quite simple," he said. "I learned of your true talents quite recently. Most fascinating and enlightening, truly. It seems your talents are wasted on your small team. Do you think," he continued, motioning to my captain with the knife, "that she knows who you truly are?"
"Anyone who learned of my 'true nature' is dead, how could you possibly know about me?"
"Long days and nights of research and investigation," he elaborated. "Finding any sort of evidence that confirms what you are is... exceedingly difficult. You've covered your tracks well."
"I try," I added, rather sarcastically, "You still haven't told me what you want me to witness."
From another pocket in his lab coat, the doctor produced a hypodermic needle filled with an unknown, glowing green liquid.
"This," he explained, "is a serum developed from the combined blood of both you and your 'superior' officer there. I intend to inject myself with this serum, kill you, and then kill her."
"Why?" I asked. "Why do the impossible?"
"Simply to see you and your team dead, of course. I have no plans for world conquest, or any other far-reaching, lofty goal. I am fuelled purely by revenge. When I have that, then we shall see."
He began rolling up his sleeve at this, putting the syringe down to produce a large rubber hose from his coat, swiftly and deftly tying it off around his upper arm. With that done, he continued:
"One of the few benefits of being a drug addict and a doctor. I am more than familiar with human anatomy, and equally so with narcotics."
As he raised the syringe to the crook of his elbow, flexing his fist repeatedly to raise the vein, and injected himself.
"As with all major medical breakthroughs: human experimentation is sometimes required."
As soon as the needle entered his arm, I began struggling against my restraints, more in a show of trying to break free than actually doing so.
As I continued to watch my adversary, he circled the room, patting his neck with the knife almost thoughtfully. A moment later, his brown eyes flashed green, and he sped over to my captain and raised her head.
"I've changed my mind," he growled, "I think I'm going to kill her first, before I kill you."
Before I could react, the knife swept across her throat, painting both of us with arterial spray. The captain woke then, but only briefly enough to gasp wordlessly for air that would no longer come.
As her head lolled to rest against her chest, my rage was unmatched. It was then that I let loose a scream of utter anger.
"Scream all you like," the doctor began, "there are none beyond the door but my own men."
I knew he was toying with me. He usually did, when he wanted to make a point. When my outburst had finally subsided, he asked one question:
"What happens when you kill God?"
"I don't know," I answered, teeth clenched in rage, "why don't you tell me?"
"You *become* God."
At that answer, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. My adversary, staring at me for quite some time through this outburst, finally managed to get another question out. It would be the last he would ever ask.
"What's so funny?"
My response was not what he expected. Between fits of laughter, I managed to get my answer out:
"You inject yourself with a superpower serum. You kill the woman I love. You think you can kill me."
I rose from the chair, my restraints parting effortlessly. At this point, I'm no longer laughing. Instead, my fists are clenched trembling at my side, blue lightning beginning to spark from them.
"You think you know God?" I ask, my eyes beginning to glow bright blue and myself starting to levitate, altering my voice to sound more intimidating:
"HERE I STAND!!" | 2021-04-12T09:08:44 | 2021-04-12T08:41:05 | 106 | 61 |
[WP] A voracious monster stalks the city at night, claiming one victim a month. The way it feeds is especially horrific. It only devours the most vicious criminals. In a city plagued with crime and violence, the inhabitants struggle to determine if the monster is a benefit or terror. | “Tell me love, what do they think of my killings?”
Anton spoke the words softly for fear of disturbing her. Ella reclined in bed, in the home she’d designed for them from the ground up, under the fine linens she’d chosen and loved. She was quiet of late, though her words still rang in his head.
“People say you’re insane,” she said, “though an equal number whisper that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing some good. If only you weren’t taking heads.”
“I take more than just heads.”
“I know.”
Anton shook out his long black mane of hair, letting it fall over one shoulder as he knew she liked. He sat down at Ella’s bedside, stroking porcelain skin, smiling their secret little smile that said all the things he’d always struggled to say out loud. He wished she’d smile back, but she’d changed since the killings began. She’d grown more distant, colder. Not that he could blame her of course, anyone would have.
But then, anyone in his position would have done the same.
Bending down, Anton planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, one that still didn’t make her smile, and then he turned back to his work. He sharpened his knives every night, disassembled and cleaned his guns, washed the blood off his vest. Come the next morning he would be spotless; a pure vessel for judgment, untainted by the red stain of revenge until his knives bit deep and his victim lay wriggling—
Anton forced himself to suck down a deep breath. He closed his eyes as he sharpened, he’d been at this long enough that it was second nature. “Baby?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Am I doing the right thing?”
“I don’t know.” She wouldn’t have, she couldn’t. Nobody could know something like that but him, and every fiber of Anton’s being said yes, yes you are doing the right thing, the only thing anyone could do. The larger travesty to him, seemed to be that no man had ever done as he had. Vigilantism had been something of a national past-time before his family had even immigrated, so why were all the locals hiding behind the police?
They weren’t blameless either, Anton’s knives knew that.
“I think it scares them more because you do it in the daylight,” Ella said. Anton glance back at her and she seemed to look right through him. It made sick, he wished she’d look him in the eye again but he knew what he’d become to her. He was a monster to everyone now, he’d earned that.
“I have to hunt them at night, it’s where judgment lives. The daylight lays all their sins bare. Besides, nighttime is their time, the kind of criminals I’m looking for feel safest at night.”
“So don’t you think we should reclaim it?” Anton turned to the door and the woman standing there. Emma was Ella’s twin in every way, though her skin lacked something of Ella’s pallor. She stood relaxed in the doorway, leaning against the frame, a double barreled shotgun, unloaded in the crook of her arm, badly stained hammer hanging from a belt loop. “There’s a whole city out there that’s afraid to go out once the sun sets, and for good reason. If we started cracking skulls after dark maybe that will inspire people, win them over.”
“Not a chance, Emma.” Anton said, shaking his head hard. Ella’s sister stared at him hard, she pursed her lips, considering her words carefully before she spoke.
“I think that’s your own fears speaking, not some strange construct of ‘judgment,’” Emma said.
“My fears? Mine? How many lives have I ended in the past two weeks? How many more will I end in the next month? I have no fears, not anymore.”
Emma’s eyes slid pointedly off his, resting on her sister for a long moment. “I’m not so sure about that. In any case, the point’s moot now. I got a lead on our guy. He’s down by the docks tonight, how many other chances will we get?”
Every muscle in Anton’s body stiffened and suddenly he realized that he was afraid. He glanced out the window at the darkness outside and shivered, gripping his knives tighter. There were shapes in the darkness, shifting, too familiar shapes and screams besides. He stabbed a knife hard into his desk and reached over, grabbing Ella’s hand.
“You coming?” Emma asked.
Anton leaned down, kissed wife once, as he always did before he left, and pulling his knife free he donned his vest and turned to leave the room.
Emma stopped him in the door way with a hand on his chest. “You’re really going to leave her here, like this?” Anton’s tilted his head curiously, he didn’t know what she meant. “Anton, this is ridiculous! It’s unnatural! I’m with you on the revenge but Ella…”
“Don’t tell me what Ella thinks,” Anton growled, “she’s my wife, I know.”
“She *was* my sister. I know things too.”
“Don’t touch her, she needs her rest.”
Anton turned back, staring into the bed where Ella lay. Her skin was so, so pale and growing worse with every passing moment. How long had it been since she’d moved last? She’d grow too weak to stand at this rate. When he got back he’d try to coax her out of bed.
“Anton, please!”
He brushed Emma out of his way. “Come on, he’s at the docks. We’ve got a man to kill.”
Emma followed him out the door wordlessly. She studiously ignored his shivering in the darkness, she said nothing of the tear he shed when he looked back to the one light that was still on in the bedroom window. She merely loaded her shotgun and climbed into the cars passenger seat, waiting patiently for him.
“Bye baby, be home soon.” Anton whispered. He got into the car and they were off towards the docks, towards death and vengeance and all the terrors of a too dark night.
r/TurningtoWords | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 6: Awe v.s. The Criminal Underworld)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The city of Sacrament had seen better days.** Its Mayor had been sacked on trumped-up charges; supervillains had clashed with the Federal Angel Corps in the middle of the streets; assassination attempts had been carried out in broad daylight.
In all this chaos, Todd LeFortier thought, a man could be forgiven for letting himself go a little.
He didn't *want* to hurt anyone, not at first. But when the riots and the looting started, when Mayor Clara had been evicted and Sacrament had finally fallen apart, he'd been forced to defend himself in his office building when a lunatic of a woman forced her way up the stairs and tried to burn the small Federal firm down. He'd gotten behind her and bashed her on the head with a fire extinguisher, and she'd slumped to the ground, skull cracked open like an egg.
And that awakened something inside LeFortier.
His daughter loved those videos on the internet where a calm, steady hand cut something apart and revealed that on the inside, it was all delicious cake. LeFortier could only compare the feelings he felt when he stared at the bleeding corpse to that. Humans moved and talked and acted as if they were living beings with souls and free will, but cut them apart and reveal their insides, and they were all just... cake.
His daughter had called those videos "satisfying". As he methodically hacked open the corpse of one of his former co-workers, LeFortier wondered if he would describe this as "satisfying" as well.
There was a certain mental *squelch* to it, he thought, like digging his fingers into wet clay. "Satisfying" videos were trending lately; maybe he should start a channel.
"Ahem," a voice whispered from behind him.
LeFortier spun around, caught... well, red-handed. His eyes whipped around both ends of the alleyway behind the Federal firm—it was dark out, nearly midnight, and the electrical grid hadn't been working right since whatever Shocker had done the other day. Police sirens wailed in the distance—but police sirens were *always* wailing in the distance nowadays. One end of the alley revealed an empty, trash-strewn street; the other, nothing but darkness.
"Down here," the voice said.
He looked down and blinked. It was... well, it was a child.
Despite the gore on his hands and the body in the streets, the girl didn't seem afraid. When LeFortier locked eyes with her, he saw nothing but disgust and sorrow and wisdom utterly inappropriate for the little girl in a sundress.
He wondered what was behind those eyes of hers.
"Are you lost, girl?" LeFortier asked, wiping his hands off on his pants. He'd have to throw them out; the wife and kids had no idea what he got up to in the streets, and some feeble part of the LeFortier that used to be wanted to keep it that way.
The girl's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I am not lost. I am Awe."
"Funny name for a girl your age." LeFortier blinked—then he laughed, a hearty belly laugh that had no business on a man who'd just gutted someone like a fish. "Oh! Oh, I get it. You're one of those wannabe superheroes that've been cropping up, eh?"
"I see little reason to deny it," Awe said, taking a step closer.
LeFortier grinned. "Mm. So what makes you tick, little girl? You got super-strength? Laser-beam eyes? You gonna freeze me with super-cold breath? C'mon, don't be shy. What've you got? It's gotta give you *something* good if you're willing to stalk the streets at your age."
["I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mii32v/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/gt5drhw?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
LeFortier paused, and an incongruously wistful expression seeped across his face. "Sort of like... cutting the skin off reality. Taking a peek at the cake beneath the world."
"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," Awe informed him. LeFortier gave her a closer look—yes, there was a certainty to her bearing that no child her age should have. Perhaps her power had given her knowledge beyond her years.
LeFortier spread his arms out, grinning madly. "Well, by all means, zap me with your contemplation-beams, O Mighty Superhero! You've beaten me once and for all! Haul me off to jail and I'll come back a better man."
The smile faded from Awe's face. "...ah. I believe that there was a misunderstanding. I have abilities, yes, but they are hardly applicable for combat. Beyond... oracular purposes. No, aside from giving me some key insights into where I can find such monsters as you, I'm afraid that my... esoteric abilities... are not what emboldens me to stalk the nights thusly."
"Thusly." LeFortier began to giggle, and Awe couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow. This man may have been a vicious criminal, but he was also clearly insane; there was nothing that could be done for him at this stage. "So, then, girl. If you're not going to *reform* me with your powers, then what—"
LeFortier broke off as a *bang* split the night.
Uncomprehending, he looked down at the bloody hole in his shirt.
Awe tucked away the Beretta Allemie .36 Special that she'd borrowed from her mother when the looting began, giving the twisted little man a sorrowful look.
LeFortier looked up at the child and blanched. "You... shot me... you... monster..."
The sorrow in Awe's eyes winked out like a birthday candle being snuffed out. She gestured at the body of his coworker. "*I* am hardly the monster here."
"What... kind of... child... carries... a gun?" LeFortier croaked.
Awe's gaze grew distant, looking out into the burning city she called her home. "The kind who had to grow up quickly."
She fired another shot into LeFortier's head before he could get up.
For a moment, the little girl stared at the carnage, clenching her fists, resisting the urge to vomit.
Then she holstered her gun and turned to leave, disturbed by how easily she brushed aside the man's death.
Maybe she was becoming a monster.
But until Mayor Clara returned, she was the monster this city needed.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-16T22:40:19 | 2021-04-16T22:28:28 | 119 | 39 |
[WP] A voracious monster stalks the city at night, claiming one victim a month. The way it feeds is especially horrific. It only devours the most vicious criminals. In a city plagued with crime and violence, the inhabitants struggle to determine if the monster is a benefit or terror. | Swathi hated when the full moon came around. It meant another day when her cleaning service would be hired. It wasn’t an easy job, even if the city paid her and the other cleaners well.
“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Jyothsna asked.
“Well, the monster keeps taking more and more powerful people. Maybe the mayor this time?”
“No, the mayor’s just corrupt,” Sandeep said. “I think it’s the local MLA. He used to be a gangster. We were too young to know it, but my parents bring it up whenever he’s on the news.”
“What about the superintendent of police? I hear he killed a few people while they were in lock-up and covered it up.”
“I guess we just have to wait and see,” Jyothsna said, sipping her chai. “I hope we don’t have to wait for the DNA analysis to find out like last time. The principal from last time looked like the worst kind of confetti.”
They all shuddered, remembering how the fountain at the city center had flowed red. How slivers of skin, muscle and tendons had coated the fountain and the surrounding road. It had been a nightmare to clean up.
“The monster seems to getting angrier,” Swathi said. “Can we call it eating anymore? It’s more like it’s playing with its food.”
“The stray dogs were picking up pieces of the last victim,” Jyothsna said. She gagged at the memory of it. “I hear the local veterinary students had to do autopsies of the poor animals.”
The wall clock chimed eleven o’clock.
“We’ll find out tomorrow morning, anyway,” Swathi said. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
She woke to a stinging pain on her back. Jyothsna slapped her back again.
“Wake up, Swathi!”
They took their autorickshaw to the fountain and waited for the police to collect samples. The truck filled with their bigger cleaning supplies would follow later. The yellow tape kept the bystanders away.
“Looks like we’ll have to wait for the DNA analysis again,” she said. This time the monster hadn’t just shredded its victim to bits. He had pulverized them. The monster had knocked over the statue of a mermaid and dolphins at the center of the fountain.
“They should just remove the fountain. The water makes it all so much messier and harder to clean,” Jyothsna groaned.
Swathi didn’t understand why the police even bothered investigated. It wasn’t a human that could be punished or captured. It was a monster. At first, they had tried to capture it, but it was solid only when it wanted to be. Their bullets went right through it. No one knew how it appeared or why. It came, it killed, and it disappeared until the next full moon.
Swathi looked at through the carnage. Something glinted in the sunlight among the blood and guts. The police and forensic team left, and the yellow tape was opened for them to begin their work. She headed straight for the thing that caught her eye. It was a silver chain, made of beads of gold and red stones. It was an old fashioned thing, and Swathi took it into her hand.
The chain had been thrown at her countless times during her childhood. The forensic team carried a severed finger in a plastic bag, wearing a ring studded with nine stones meant to bring her father luck.
“Sir!” Swathi called to the forensic technician. She walked over and examined the ring closer. There were many men who wore such rings in the city, but her father’s was distinct. It was blunted by hitting her throughout the years, and she knew every inch of his hands. They were the things she knew to avoid during her childhood.
“May I see that?” she asked. “I think I know who was killed.”
“From a finger?” the technician asked. He held the plastic bag up to her face. There was the same scar right below his nail, from one of the rare moments when she had dared to fight back.
“I really think I know who this is,” she said. “Can I call someone to confirm?”
The forensic technician looked suspicious, but he stood and waited. She could understand his doubt. All the men and women who had died so far were big shots, important people. Not anyone that would be in the same social circle as a low-level government employee, a cleaner.
Swathi dialed her sister’s number. “Pragathi. Is he at home?”
“Him?” her sister asked. It was a pain to call him their father. “No, he hasn’t come home in two days.”
Her sister sounded nonchalant, even somewhat happy.
“I think it might be my father,” she told the forensic tech. She could tell he was about to laugh in her face, but he stopped himself.
“Are you sure?”
“That’s his ring, and the chain over there is his as well,” she said. “Should you take a DNA sample from me to see if you get something?”
The confirmation was only for the police. She already knew. Her father was gone.
“It’s your father?” Jyothi asked. “I thought the monster only went after the worst of people.”
“It does,” Swathi said. They had only thought of the famous criminals, the ones whose names reached outside their own homes. But the worst of criminals were those who never got caught, whose crimes remained restricted to within the four walls of their homes.
“Swathi?”
“I don’t think I can help with this,” Swathi said. Jyothi nodded in agreement and patted her shoulder.
“Of course. Go home and console your sister. She’s probably scared now.”
She would go home, and she would tell her sister. But it wasn’t a time for consolation. It was a day of celebration.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/xeuthis | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 6: Awe v.s. The Criminal Underworld)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The city of Sacrament had seen better days.** Its Mayor had been sacked on trumped-up charges; supervillains had clashed with the Federal Angel Corps in the middle of the streets; assassination attempts had been carried out in broad daylight.
In all this chaos, Todd LeFortier thought, a man could be forgiven for letting himself go a little.
He didn't *want* to hurt anyone, not at first. But when the riots and the looting started, when Mayor Clara had been evicted and Sacrament had finally fallen apart, he'd been forced to defend himself in his office building when a lunatic of a woman forced her way up the stairs and tried to burn the small Federal firm down. He'd gotten behind her and bashed her on the head with a fire extinguisher, and she'd slumped to the ground, skull cracked open like an egg.
And that awakened something inside LeFortier.
His daughter loved those videos on the internet where a calm, steady hand cut something apart and revealed that on the inside, it was all delicious cake. LeFortier could only compare the feelings he felt when he stared at the bleeding corpse to that. Humans moved and talked and acted as if they were living beings with souls and free will, but cut them apart and reveal their insides, and they were all just... cake.
His daughter had called those videos "satisfying". As he methodically hacked open the corpse of one of his former co-workers, LeFortier wondered if he would describe this as "satisfying" as well.
There was a certain mental *squelch* to it, he thought, like digging his fingers into wet clay. "Satisfying" videos were trending lately; maybe he should start a channel.
"Ahem," a voice whispered from behind him.
LeFortier spun around, caught... well, red-handed. His eyes whipped around both ends of the alleyway behind the Federal firm—it was dark out, nearly midnight, and the electrical grid hadn't been working right since whatever Shocker had done the other day. Police sirens wailed in the distance—but police sirens were *always* wailing in the distance nowadays. One end of the alley revealed an empty, trash-strewn street; the other, nothing but darkness.
"Down here," the voice said.
He looked down and blinked. It was... well, it was a child.
Despite the gore on his hands and the body in the streets, the girl didn't seem afraid. When LeFortier locked eyes with her, he saw nothing but disgust and sorrow and wisdom utterly inappropriate for the little girl in a sundress.
He wondered what was behind those eyes of hers.
"Are you lost, girl?" LeFortier asked, wiping his hands off on his pants. He'd have to throw them out; the wife and kids had no idea what he got up to in the streets, and some feeble part of the LeFortier that used to be wanted to keep it that way.
The girl's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "I am not lost. I am Awe."
"Funny name for a girl your age." LeFortier blinked—then he laughed, a hearty belly laugh that had no business on a man who'd just gutted someone like a fish. "Oh! Oh, I get it. You're one of those wannabe superheroes that've been cropping up, eh?"
"I see little reason to deny it," Awe said, taking a step closer.
LeFortier grinned. "Mm. So what makes you tick, little girl? You got super-strength? Laser-beam eyes? You gonna freeze me with super-cold breath? C'mon, don't be shy. What've you got? It's gotta give you *something* good if you're willing to stalk the streets at your age."
["I don't know, I think my superpower is a bit lame," said Awe, "All I can do is touch people to give them an existential crisis and force them to consider their actions against a backdrop of the grandeur of the whole universe..."](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mii32v/wp_i_dont_know_i_think_my_superpower_is_a_bit/gt5drhw?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
LeFortier paused, and an incongruously wistful expression seeped across his face. "Sort of like... cutting the skin off reality. Taking a peek at the cake beneath the world."
"I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," Awe informed him. LeFortier gave her a closer look—yes, there was a certainty to her bearing that no child her age should have. Perhaps her power had given her knowledge beyond her years.
LeFortier spread his arms out, grinning madly. "Well, by all means, zap me with your contemplation-beams, O Mighty Superhero! You've beaten me once and for all! Haul me off to jail and I'll come back a better man."
The smile faded from Awe's face. "...ah. I believe that there was a misunderstanding. I have abilities, yes, but they are hardly applicable for combat. Beyond... oracular purposes. No, aside from giving me some key insights into where I can find such monsters as you, I'm afraid that my... esoteric abilities... are not what emboldens me to stalk the nights thusly."
"Thusly." LeFortier began to giggle, and Awe couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow. This man may have been a vicious criminal, but he was also clearly insane; there was nothing that could be done for him at this stage. "So, then, girl. If you're not going to *reform* me with your powers, then what—"
LeFortier broke off as a *bang* split the night.
Uncomprehending, he looked down at the bloody hole in his shirt.
Awe tucked away the Beretta Allemie .36 Special that she'd borrowed from her mother when the looting began, giving the twisted little man a sorrowful look.
LeFortier looked up at the child and blanched. "You... shot me... you... monster..."
The sorrow in Awe's eyes winked out like a birthday candle being snuffed out. She gestured at the body of his coworker. "*I* am hardly the monster here."
"What... kind of... child... carries... a gun?" LeFortier croaked.
Awe's gaze grew distant, looking out into the burning city she called her home. "The kind who had to grow up quickly."
She fired another shot into LeFortier's head before he could get up.
For a moment, the little girl stared at the carnage, clenching her fists, resisting the urge to vomit.
Then she holstered her gun and turned to leave, disturbed by how easily she brushed aside the man's death.
Maybe she was becoming a monster.
But until Mayor Clara returned, she was the monster this city needed.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-16T22:51:54 | 2021-04-16T22:28:28 | 100 | 39 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | The ability to shapeshift is a much more intuitive power than what most villains would think. Merely changing shape to escape a hero such as Cassidy Crush or Hiro the Swordsman is a waste. Combat is good, yes. But none truly think to use shapeshifting to change how one appears.
This city had but one villain, whilst there were more than enough heroes to replace the police department. As its premier supervillain, I realized how boring it would be to simply continuously fight on and on, I decided to train a worthy opponent. You see, the ability to shapeshift comes with many other useful abilities. Healing, durability, strength, different aliases. But its one greatest weakness is the inability to duplicate.
A Magnificent Bastard had destroyed the League of the Mountain a few weeks ago. A man who could simply blink a city out of existence. Even with my extensive healing, I stood no chance of fighting such an opponent.
And neither do any of my proteges.
I had lured all of the city's heroes to a stadium. The time had come to reveal myself.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and people of indiscernible gender. Welcome!"
The crowd of heroes stared.
"Aren't you Cassidy's villain? Why bother with us?"
"Stop wasting my time! Gas Master is bound to be out there right now!"
"Gold Samurai will be challenging my sword once again soon. I cannot miss even a minute of my training!"
I sighed. With a blast of smoke, my trench coat was replaced with gold armor of the feudal era and my face adorned in a gas mask from the first world war. Collective gasps and whispers. A few even shouted.
"Challenger, what is the meaning of this?" Cassidy stepped forward, her brown braid thrown in front of her shoulder.
I changed back to my normal form, the one Cassidy named 'Challenger.'
"There is only one supervillain of this city. All of you share the same goal, as I... well..."
Hiro the Swordsman slammed the butt of his sheathed sword into the ground. "Out with it, Samurai!"
I tipped my fedora over my face, then took it off. "My one and only ability is to shapeshift. I cannot be everywhere. There is no secret evil organization in this city, no secret invaders, no overbearing overlord. Just me.
"I gathered everyone here today because there is indeed a worldwide organization. One that I have ignored largely in part because I have come to be fond of all of you." I paused. The heroes were silent now. "There was an explosions in the Alps not long ago. The man responsible, a Magnificent Bastard, is making his way toward this city. And my fear is that none of us are ready."
Hiro stepped forward, his hand on the handle of his sword. I trained my eyes to his sword as he came to a stop in front of me to speak.
"So. You've been toying with us for years and for what? To train us?"
I shook my head. "No, I have not. Not entirely for the reasons you would think. I have no true love for this city, I have but the faintest appreciation for all of you. With exception to the Happy Clown in the back."
I spread my arms. "My... friends. If you care for but yourselves I implore you. Flee the city with whom you can before the Magnificent Bastard arrives. Else -wise, I shall deal with him how I can, set my traps and slow him down. The city will be no more if we remain."
Cassidy stepped forward, next to Hiro who took his hand off his sword. Then he brought it up, presenting it to me. "I have honed my blade and my skills more than I could have imagined dueling with you. It would be an honor to fight with you than against you."
Cassidy nodded, shaking her braid behind her back. "So. When do we start?" | I have always had powers, a part of me I kept hidden, never knowing how to use them, afraid of the responsibility that came with them. My friend died when I was twenty-five, it turned out he wasn't afraid of responsibility, he had been doing something. A real life hero. I felt so much shame, I had watched the footage and the worst thing was, there was a way out, he didn't have to die. So I decided I would help, in my own wayz my power doesn't make me very good at saving people, but it does have certain advantages. I can walk through walls and lets things pass right through me, and I can take with me anything I'm touching. I had been such a coward with it when I was younger, I used to be afraid I would fall through the earth until I realised it couldn't go through floors. So, I turned into a regular Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, and putting the heroes through their paces, occasionally giving them "begrudging" help when they need it. This world needs heroes, it needs people you can look up to. Since then, no heroes have died in my city, I don't take all the credit but I'm just happy that I'm finally making a difference. Well, I was until he showed up.
The hero killer, the man who had "cleansed" the next city over of all its heroes. The newspapers have taken to calling him "Cape Collector". And tonight, I will meet him and finally out a stop to him, luckily I have bugged the costumes of just about every hero in this city so finding him shouldn't be the problem... Winning, may prove to be one.
I waited nervously in the room beside while they got the witty banter out of the way. I tried to control my breathing but sweat was building at the brow. Neither knew I was there yet, and I was trying to keep it that way. They had met in a lab, presumably where the hero worked given how much time he spent here according to the trackers. The room was steel and clinical, glassware broke up the monotony in controlled bursts of uniformity as they were tucked away on shelves. I walked back over to beside the metal shelving that was locked up tightly and peeked my head through the wall until I could see through to the other side. The Cape Collector was a large man, muscles bulged ferociously, his body shook as he talked and the ground trembled as if in fair. A dark black vest clung to his muscular body, as if the dark material was trying to contain something even worse. He was bald and a dark beard sprang wildly from his face. The hero on the other hand looked very composed. My heart skipped a beat, I now recognized her to be Val-Lore. A large, brown cloak obscured her body, the edges trimmed with a dark green and her Valkeryi crest was emblazoned on it in a beautiful light gold colour. Her bright blue eyes shone through her face mask unwavering even in the face of this mighty brute. I also saw her legs were shaking.
For years now, I had fought against her, "losing", time and again, and every time enjoying the witty banter. She was nice and after the occasional team up missions we had talked a lot.
Tonight courage had abandoned me, he was terrifying, there was still blood on his hands, the blood of people who were stronger and better than me. I promised myself that tonight, if we won. I would come clean, tell her everything and ask her to marry me. I needed something to get me through this.
Finally the Cape Collector started making his way towards and I got into position. I could hear his steps, the metal groaning underneath his weight as he walked along the platform. I imagined Val-Lore facing him down as he came towards her, ready to fight to the death as she had countless times before. I imagined her fighting him, tearing chunks out of him as he squeezed the air from her body until blood seeped out along with it and then him throwing her over the side. I imagined the man I wanted to be.
I ran forward and hit into the metal press with all my force, luckily it was very top heavy and while I had a grip of it, I went permeable along with the press, it fell through the other side hitting into him and knocking him off balance as I released my power, I quickly jumped down. A swinging hand came towards me as I landed giving off steam, however honed instincts and terror reactivated my power mid flight and it flew straight through my. I willed myself solid again and grabbed onto his hand that had just gone by me and let myself be carried by his momentum until I reached the edge of the railings. I linked my legs around it and used it along with him being thrown of balance to try and pull him over the side. I saw him reach for the banister and knew what I had to do. I went permeable.
I figured the fall wouldn't kill him, but, he wouldn't exactly be okay after a steel press fell on him, and then falling four stories. Valk-Lore will beat him. And hey, maybe a girl will finally cry over for me at once! Who am I kidding, at the very least, I can finally say I led a good life, and I will finally meet my friend again. That was all I had time for as I fell to my death.
The Cape Collector clearly had very different thoughts going through his head, as steam started shooting out him which quickly condensed into a pool of water catching both of us before we fall, although still knocking the air out of my lungs. It looked like my job wasn't quite over yet.
~The End~
And and all feed back is appreciated :) | 2021-05-20T07:30:18 | 2021-05-20T06:34:48 | 151 | 81 |
[WP] You are the city's premier supervillain, but you have a secret. The crimes you commit are not for gain, or to hurt people. You are always subtly testing and pushing 'your' heroes to excel, to be the best they can be. Then a villain with a reputation for murdering heroes shows up in town. | He came from Ultraopolis.
He came to my city. Omega City.
He calls himself The End. I call him a murderer.
He thought the heroes of Omega City were weak, silly even. They had failed to stop me so many times, and what was I compared to him? A joke.
He has incredible strength. Enough to rip the head off of Poor Richard, the first superhero he had killed in his city.
He has lightning-fast reflexes. Faster than Lass Sue, which made it easy for him to use her own rope against her. He tied her up and tossed her off the Ultra-Tower. She was able to slip the bonds, but not in time to save herself.
He has stamina. He proved it when he fought Sun Day for hours until twilight, when he casually grabbed the de-powered hero around the chest and squeezed until they expired.
He had killed the heros of his city, as well as countless civilians and cops. He controlled Ultraopolis. He was board.
So he came to my city.
As I said, he thought me, and by extension the heros of my city, a joke.
It's an easy mistake to make. I am the Funny Man, after all.
My crimes are disruptive and destructive but never deadly.
When I flooded the market, the Lucky Streak and Swell Jill were on site. They were able to get the duck-shaped life preservers from the shipment I'd arranged to have for sale that day distributed before the water got too high. All the stock brokers and bankers were saved... and made to look ridiculous.
When my fire truck threatened to burn down the opera house, Hydro-Nate and E-Laser Beth were able to redirect water from the surging sewer/storm water system to put the flames out. It's too bad that city councilman's motorcade got caught in the crossfire. Coincidentally the council separated the systems this year. Funny how that worked out.
Notice a pattern? It's Funny how the heros of my city always seem to employ teamwork.
I am so proud of them. Not one of them has an S or even A-tier power. It doesn't matter. Enough of them together can overcome anything together.
The details of the battle hardly matter... except two.
We lost Johnny-on-the-Spot. He went to the construction site earlier than I had intended. He tried to face The End alone. By the time Guy Friday and All-You-Can Edith arrived it was already over for Johnny.
The other detail that matters is that they took him alive.
That's why tonight I'm breaking *into* a maximum security jail.
Because tonight I'm breaking a rule. Tonight the Funny Man *is* going to make a deadly joke. And can you guess who that joke is going to be on?
The End. | "Sir, we're under attack!"
"By who?! Who *dares* attack me in my own home!"
"It's... Doctor Whittaker?"
That was when the lab's primary blast door came crashing open, and I walked in, at the head of fifteen identical copper robots, the Tommies. Jason, my right-hand robot, towered over me, standing slightly back as he did. An evil super genius, it had only taken me three hours to find this place, much less bypass it's defenses and crash the front door. I normally wouldn't do such a thing. Such bold action was not my style, but... the situation had changed.
I had been the city's resident supervillain for fifteen years. This was my town, as much as the resident superheroes thought otherwise. We had clashed endlessly. I loved the game. I would pop up, cause some trouble, maybe rob a bank or two with my Tommy robots, the heroes would show up, they'd trounce me, I'd go to jail for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, break out, and do it all over again. Every time I'd have some new scheme or weapon, sometime to try and keep these heroes on their toes.
But that had changed when General Pyrox showed up. He was different. He was truly evil. He had come after me, specifically. I assumed he was another hero, and he "defeated" me. Crushed my army of Tommies, destroyed my lair, and left me to wallow in the ruins of my empire. Yada yada. The superheroes showed up and beat him, and let him escape, thinking he was on my level.
But then Pyrox broke the rules.
Alice Utonium had disappeared. She was a young girl, with a very loose definition of girl. The adorable little thing was little more than a brain and some organs inside a nuclear-powered, combat-ready metal shell. She was the city's favorite daughter. Then she was dropped off at the mayor's office completely stripped of her full-body prosthetic, her life support barely keeping her brain alive. Pyrox had left a note, too, so the whole city would know it was him. He wanted them to be afraid.
That's not how the game is played.
I could see Pyrox sneering down at me from his platform. He liked to be above everyone. He gestured and his own robots rushed in from the doors around the room. Big, ugly machines with claws and guns and spikes. Machines meant to kill. To terrify.
Pyrox puffed his chest at me.
"You! You dare come here?! After our last battle?!"
I glared back.
"Yes. I'm here because you've done something *very* bad. And you have to pay the consequences."
Pyrox smirked.
"You've lost it, old man. And you're about to lose a lot more. You should have just stayed buried."
"You're the one who's going to end up buried, Pyrox. Tommies, wreck this place."
"Don't threaten *me*, old man. You can't do anything. Don't you remember the last time? You'd need a thousand of those toys to defeat even one of my Excutioners!"
At my command, the Tommies began marching ahead. Pyrox's Executioners did the same. The Tommies weren't... complicated machines. In fact, they were little more than some steel plates and some clockwork, with some computerty bits to make them run. Not strong, or smart, or fast, but they could do almost anything I asked them to. I was slowly upgrading them over time, just to try and keep the city's heroes on their toes. They were just... a hobby of mine. Something for when I was bored. Jason, my right-hand machine, was what I made when I was serious. He could outrun cars, he could lift dump trucks, and he could leap tall buildings. He was more than a match for the Executioners, but... Things had changed.
The two robots clashed together near the middle of the room, metal meeting metal, and I could see the look on General Pyrox's face when my Tommy robot caught his Executioner's fist in mid-air. The normally half-lidded eyes of the Tommy spun, turning into a facsimile of a scowl. And the general's eyes went wide when the Tommy, maybe half the size of his opponent, punched through the chestplate to rip out the power core.
Jason was what I made when I was serious.
The Tommy-2s were what I made when I was *angry*. | 2021-05-20T10:47:04 | 2021-05-20T09:54:43 | 97 | 46 |
[WP] Civilizations in the galaxy all use magic, biomanipulation, psionics, runes, faith, or cultivation. Humanity's god chose the hardest path for us - technology. But technology has some surprises the others do not. | The human sat on the ground, back to the wall, clutching his bleeding arm. It had been broken in three places, rendering him almost entirely defenceless; just as the alien intended. It now stood over the man with an expression of superior smugness as it adjusted its runic bracelet.
"Is this all you have, human? So many tales of your prowess, myths of your ability to wage war and all it took was a simple gravity spell to crush your arm. Now, what will you do? How will you wield your weapons? A mix of metal and chemistry, your precious technology, lying crushed to pieces at your feet. *Useless*," it mocked him.
"You know," the human started with unexpected calmness as he pulled out a cigar and placed it between his chaffed lips, "those spells of yours sure are a neat trick. We never got to use any of them. Wonder what we could- *dammit*!" he exclaimed as he pulled a mangled piece of metal from his pocket. He looked up at the creature.
"My lighter broke," he simply remarked with a slight head tilt. "Do you mind?"
"I suppose a final wish should be honoured, even after such a disappointing fight," the alien said and bowing down, snapped its fingers. A small fire started to dance on its fingertips on which the man lit his cigar and took a long drag.
"You know," he mumbled, the cigar only slightly marring his speech, "you shouldn't knock technology. It may not be as flashy or easy, but it has its perks."
"Oh please, human," the alien said with an eye roll. "Spare me your preaching. Don't waste your final seconds trying to convince me your pitiful capabilities are worth anything. What could there possibly be that your machines can do that magic can not? It's-"
It was not allowed to finish the sentence; its breath was stolen from it by a sudden impact. It looked down and with its blurry vision, it saw a long blade sticking out of its chest, dripping with blue blood. It turned its head and was met with the featureless visage of a droid.
𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙰𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚢, it uttered.
The alien gave the human one last look of confusion before slumping to the ground. The human slowly got up crouched next to the alien, placing the cigar in his mouth.
"You know what we can do that magic can't?" he asked as the light in the alien's eyes slowly went out.
"Automation." | "They cans create an imploding sstar. A reals imploding star. Almost at willss I tell you. I ssaw them wipes a while planet onces. It was both terrifyings and beautifuls." Said Kraa while sipping his mug of ale, his slithering speech and his reptile like figure contorted as he spoke. "Theirs god didn't chose magic, nor pszsych, you knows. He chosses.. what wass called it again?" Asked Kraa to himself. "Sschi-en-ssse." He said with a mysterious tone.
The room went silent for a few moments before the other humans would laugh or snort their ale. Everyone in the tavern was used to Kraa's rambling stories, but none had ever heard him talk about such things as Schi-En-Se. Of course, the humans knew what it was, their "magic", but a human never really told anything about their past or their origin. They were everywhere but never fought each other, and lastly; they were all really good at keeping secrets. The humans where amongdt the most ancient creatures to ever exist, one uses to joke about them forgetting their origins. Being why they never talk about it. Or about why there are so diverse one another.
"All this is ridiculus" Cut one of the frogmen. "Now you will tell us they can send projectiles so fast you canot see them and that they can create a black hole with their Schi-En-SeI?" said the Killimar on the other side of the tavern. Its glóbulos eyes glowing in the darkness.
Kraa laughed.
"You ares rights, my friend. I wass sso fortunate ass to fight with them and not againsst." Kraa looked around the tavern, smiling. "Their Sschi-en-ssse is beyond undersssstanding" he said after a moment of silence.
"Indeed!" said another human. "They are gods amongst men." He joked, and the whole tavern light up in laugh ter.
In the shadows on the back wall, a pair of human green eyes watched Kraa talk. The embers of his pipe could be seen, glowing on and on as the patrons talked and joked. His vision, always drilled unto Kraa's back. He was dressed in back and had a gray cape, made of some unknown material. The strider he was called, not by himself, but by the people that had to deal with him, here and there. A mystery man, even amongst humans. Taciturne and solitaire. He never let anyone get close to him, much less question his motives. His reputation was that of swift action and extrême efficiency.
He had no idea why his superiors wanted him to follow Kraa. He had been given a mission, and that was it.
Kraa was but an old far of the Nigun era. He had fought amongst Humans, he had share their bread and learned some of the ways. Heck, he even spoke, or at least understood some Espéranting, the Earthlings tongue.
That hero of ages past was now reduced to this husk of a Tretocrian. Drowned in booze and laughed at by everyone.
Still, he was curious. He watched Kraa talk, never interrupting his conversation. Only when the beer glasses were empty did he pick up one of his own, and take a sip, listening to kraa, explaining the inner workings of a human ship.
Of course, half his ramblings were wrong and the rest was so much tisted by the alcohol he had ingested that it wrong too. Still, it was interesting as hell. He saw the other humans, they were indifferent to all this. They probably knew little about humanity but knew just enough as to keep their mouths shut and their psych closed.
"No wonder the humans were feared. They were as dangerous as they were smart." Said another patron, pulling Kraa leg so he would continue his charade.
The Strider sighed. He had been ordered to keep an eye on Kraa, qnd if needed to kill him. But he wasn't sure if it was worth it anymore, the poor bastard was now so long gone about the 'ol days that none would never believe him. Not even if he told the truth.
Maybe he should just leave? He had been following him for years now. He wondered how long he was going to have to follow him, and killing him was only the las resort. After all, without him Terra Emperium wouldn't have won the war.
He turned his attention from Kraa to the barkeep, a human male, who served him another glass of water, then proceeded to ignore the strider again.
The strider took his drink and stood up, walking hunched towards the door of the tavern. Maybe it was time to go home. | 2022-03-30T13:14:49 | 2022-03-30T11:08:42 | 41 | 25 |
[WP] You notice one day that you are compelled to keep every promise you ever made. The news shows the world in a panic as is everyone else is forced do to the same. It seems that that people with too many conflicting promises go comatose, including many elected officials. | ...
990.
Its been decades. I'm ashamed and sorry that I've forgotten you and our promise.
991.
We've known each other since we were young. We've always hung out together, inseparable like twins.
992.
I never really had anything I wanted to do, no dream nor ambition. I thought it would be fine to live and die in this small town.
993.
But you were different. You wanted to explore the world and the seven seas. The sparkle in your eyes when you spoke of your dreams, it was brighter than any diamond.
994.
You were dazzling, like the sun. I couldn't help but want to chase after that dream of yours with you and see it through.
995.
We made a promise with each other.
996.
That once we graduated and saved up enough money, we'll get the hell out of this small town and travel together.
997.
You and me would be free at last. And if any one of us broke the promise we would both cross our hearts, hope to die and stick a thousand needles in our eyes.
998.
But fate took you away from me, just as we were about to make our dreams come true.
999.
After you left for the next world, I stayed behind in this town and grew old. Slowly
forgetting both our promise and you.
1000.
I'll be joining you soon my friend. When we meet again, let's fulfill our promise. | I still remember the day it broke. It was the first day of The Age of Honesty. The news was hard to miss. Every newspaper, smart-phone and TV had it and nothing else. Folks in many countries got Presidential Alerts on their phones informing them of the unescapable consequences of conflicted promises.
​
For many it was a sense of relief. The recent spate of inexplicable accidents and illnesses were no longer a mystery or a potentially new disease. Several countries that had gone into a state of heightened war-preparedness, were able to step back from the brink.
​
People's focus very quickly turned to solving the problem of billions of comatose and quasi-comatose people scattered about. The discovery was clear: there was no escape. Those lost would never return. Many were only partly-comatose because their promises did not completely contradict each other. Some even tried to de-conflict their promises unsuccessfully and slipped further down the slope towards vegetation.
​
In some countries, the rising medical costs forced the authorities to abandon completely and mostly-comatose people near forests, hoping the wildlife would help themselves. In other places, laws were quietly passed allowing medical experiments and organ extractions.
​
The slightly-comatose were judged by most and relegated to menial and usually dangerous tasks. Debates on the ethical and moral implications of this were usually soon overshadowed by the enormity of a new existential imperative, and how might humanity evolve to survive the calamity of consequential covenants. Experts reassured survivors that hundreds of millions apparently being left completely unscathed was evidence of human evolution that had somehow already happened. Sure, the functional human population had been reduced by over 90%, but those fully alive would probably get to live long happy lives.
​
Naturally, politics changed dramatically. There were no more elections. There was no more need for them. People feared another coma-causing epidemic of karmic proportions and did little to stray from the path of basic human decency; thus requiring little or no policing or governance. There was plenty of everything to go around, and money was soon passe due to its promissory connotations.
​
With the exception of some fringe elements briefly making a Russian roulette-like sport out of making promises, promises themselves became rare and were reserved to weddings and oaths, many of which ended on the spot.
​
When statisticians eventually tallied the scores, the results were kept hidden for a generation. We learnt why eventually. It turned out people who didn't keep promises were unaffected; only the ones with conflicting promises went comatose. When this news broke, The Age of Honesty quickly turned into The Age of Evil. Many had hoped a generation of honesty would breed honesty. They were wrong, it bred fools who fell when evil and deceit found a way and steam rolled the naïve in much the same way we had left the comatose by the wayside a generation ago.
​
The coma of contradicting covenants was our final curse, for the evil were beyond curses. | 2022-06-15T21:39:02 | 2022-06-15T21:26:58 | 88 | 53 |
[WP] For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way. | "I missed my father's funeral," Isaac said, looking grimly into his latté. "'You have to be there', LeRoux said. 'Vital mission', he said. You know what it resulted in?" he said and looked at his companion. She knew the question was mostly rhetorical so she only waited, eyes set on him.
"A knife in the gut and three weeks in ICU," he said, clutching his side. The scar still hurt sometimes. "The best part? Overlord still got away. Like he *always does*. So what was the bloody point?"
"You have no idea. You know what he did from the money he got from it?" Elizabeth asked, tone as annoyed as Isaac's. He looked at her expectantly.
"He built a robot. 3 meters tall, laser eyes, chainsaw hands, the dumbest thing you've seen. LeRoux destroyed it on their next clash in, like, four minutes. The damn thing didn't even scratch him. It was like 4 *million* credits! Imagine what you could do with that sort of money! The lives you could improve!" she cried out, hand gesturing wildly.
"Wait, that was *that* robot?" Isaac asked incredulously. Elizabeth nodded without a word, her lips pressed together in anger.
"The generator system I designed for it could have powered a small town for 3 years with no harm to the environment," Elizabeth continued. "Instead, he slapped it in the robot. LeRoux ripped it apart and posed like a hero. It was the only prototype and... the blueprints were in the building when it blew up." Her voice was full of distress and scarcely repressed anger.
Isaac leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was always like this. Overlord robs a place or something like that. LeRoux arrives and fights him. Isaac has to be there and try to get as many people out of harm's way as he can.
Except he often can't. Not all of them. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees them. *Every* time he closes them.
As he sat there, considering the topic, a thought slowly crept up in his mind, growing larger by the second, invading every corner of his attention until the grand realization struck him like lightning.
"Wait..." he said slowly. "Did you say the generator *you designed*?"
"7 years of electromechanical research I poured into it and when I finally get the funding..." she waved her hand towards the air.
"You work for Overlord?" Isaac asked nervously and leaned away from Elizabeth.
"...I thought you knew?" Elizabeth fired back, eyes wide, now as nervous as Isaac. Their gazes met in a moment of utmost tension before each looked around the café for escape routes, enemy agents, weapons, anything that could be a threat or an asset.
"*Why*?" Isaac asked quietly. Elizabeth's countenance softened.
"He... wasn't always like this. He had... ideals, *good* ones, trying to fight the system that's more than broken. I just... he can do *so much good*, you know? If only he tried a bit more but this..." she clutched her fist, "infinite *fucking* squabble between LeRoux and him just..." she tried to finish her thought but only let out a defeated sigh. She had the awkward delivery of someone who is not at all used to cursing.
"I thought you knew. And that you understood," she added sadly.
Isaac looked at her. Elizabeth. A friend he's grown to hold dearly over the years, one who's always supported him and in return, he supported her; one who always offered a smile and a piece of advice. And she worked for that bastard.
"Huh," he finally let out.
"Yeah."
But he knew her. Better than to judge too rashly.
"Did you ever design something that hurt people?" he asked.
"No!" she snapped. "Of course not! That's not why-"
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
Silence once again gripped them.
"So..." Isaac started carefully as if each word could blow up, "electromechanics, huh? I had no idea. How did you get into that?"
Elizabeth smiled. She knew he'd understand. Perhaps one day, they'll see this conflict end. Or perhaps one day, they'll leave it behind them. Together.
She raised her hand to order two more coffees; the waiter nodded, already knowing what drinks they wanted without them needing to say it.
They were regulars here, after all. | You were never the brightest, but you worked hard and did your best, you are a sidekick, you are supposed to give backup to the hero and help them defeat the dark forces, otherwise the world could be in jeopardy or at least that was what they taught you at the academy, but this! This is f*cking ridiculous, at this point the villans aren't even trying to destry de city, none of them seems to have an evil plan that needs stopping, no at this point it is all bickering between these sad old men. Oh Professor Doomsday, we will destroy the water purification system, just to prove that Marvel man can't stop him, you two get there and the two just start arguing about who is the strongest and startest, ends up being you that needs to defuse the goddam bomb, they don't even jotice when you do or when you left to get coffe.
-fucking hell, everyday this bullshit.
You say changing from costume to your regular clothes and heading out. You walk from the water purification plant to the nearst coffee shop, and sit down, you don't even have to worry, you know they will be at it for at least half an hour, you complain about how useless the heros in this town are and a goth looking girl laughs in return:
- the heros are pathetic, but the villans... you should see them.
-it is basically a competition to see who looks better in tight outfits with you underware showing.
She laughs a little again, a sarcastic laugh
-this city need a real villan
-or a real hero. I reply
-those old ones need to retire
She looks at me with a smirk and a malicious smile.
-Come with me... she says getting up
-Marvelous Boy. She says close to my ear.
-Wait what? How do you? I mean no, you must be mistaking me for someone else...
-Really so that is just cosplay sticking out of your backpack
-what? I pull the backpack to the front
-Shit! I mean, yeah, it is just cosplay.
-Come on let's go! Don't you want to be a hero?
Again with the malicious smile... who is this girl?
She turns going into an allyway.
-hey wait!
I start to run to try and catch on to her. As I turn I see her changing clothes and putting her mask on.
-What doomsday Student?
-oh for the love of god with that pathetic name, just call me Lila.
-get changed I have a plan
-what? No I can't work with a Villans minion, I will lose my job.
-What job? Running aroud after an narcissistic old man ? You know whay suit yourself 'Marvelous boy' but I am going...
She finishes dressing while I hold my colorful suit in hand.
-Fuck! I need to stop her.
I dress up as quickly as possible. And jump after her... well one of my powers is to be superfast. So after a few seconds I catch up.
-hey?
-decided to joing me ?
-No I am here to stop you
-You? She looks me top to bottom and lets a slight laugh slip.
- what?
-You can try. She smiles
I start punching and she starts dodging whist still moving forward, I follow trying to stop her.
I try a punch in the right and she blocks it
-What are you fighting for here, exactly?
-What? I am stopping evil!
I punch on the left and she blocks me again
-what is evil? I pre conceived notion that you have been taught, by a bunch of self-righteous narcissistic old men, that truly belive society wouldn't be able to sustain itself without.
-I mean they get a little annoying sometimes, but they mean well
-do they ? Or are they so empty on the inside that they need to create this belief system in which they are the center. Oh we are needed, we are useful, we are loved and worshiped.
I try and try to hit her and ignore her words...
-speechless? You have been around them for so long how can't you see, that at this point they do more harm than good, none of them is actually trying to fulfill anything, they fight for the sake of fighting. To uphold and protect ideals that exist only in their minds.
-Shut up!
I am superfast how can she block all my moves.
-they are all trying to cling to their glory days, that have vanished and been gone for so long now.
- they care and want to protect people?
-do you really belive that, then what were you complaining about in the cafeteria.
Finaly and opening I will finaly hit her, right there I prepare the punch and throw it, I thing I am going to hit her but then...
-So predictable.
She turns an says, it was a trap, but its too late now, she grabs my arm and pins me to the floor,
-Come on kid, I thought you of all people would understand. No one care anymore, no one wants to destroy the world. Not even the villans have a goal anymore, all I even get to do is whine about losing, and complain about how it is the new generation's fault that villans aren't feared how they used to. They are exactly what you called them, a bunch of bickering old men.
I struggle to admit, but I know she is right..
-wait I never said that!
-Yeah I can read or thoughts, it is one of my powers and you are not as fast as you think you are. C mon I have been stalking you for weeks after seeing you at the South Garden metropolitan, because I knew you would make a good partner.
-Wait what? You can't just stalk people that is wrong and..
-creepy, I know. Are ypu commign with me or not?
- sure I guess. The world would be better off without villans and heros
-Great let's go retire those old men. | 2022-06-16T11:24:31 | 2022-06-16T10:28:05 | 829 | 20 |
[WP] You are an ancient lich, feared throughout the lands for your grey and fair vengeance. One day, you are summoned, but not by a corrupt king or angry mercenary, instead by an unnaturally thin girl dressed in servants rags, who says “f...forgive me for disturbing you...I had nowhere else to go” | A groan echoed through my tomb, low and terrible. I looked up from my work, a maelstrom of souls screaming for freedom from their confinement. The groan was followed by an echoing boom, as the doors to my home swung shut. Someone was here.
I stood, motioning towards my work. One of my servants, a mass of living shadow, flowed over to my workbench. It gathered it up, to take it to my vault. As unlikely as it was to happen, I did not wish for someone to take my work. Not until I was finished, then they would be welcome to try.
But that was not my concern right now. I extended a thought to my grimoire, making the black leatherbook follow me like a dog. The spectral green chain that linked it to me shimmered as I did so. With it close by, I took hold of an ancient staff, its silvery surface as bright as the day I made it. The Primordial Gem atop spun delicately in place, starting to smoke as I picked it up.
Now prepared, I activated a bone white ring. It connected me to my tomb, allowing me passage through the dimensional and teleportation blockades I had crafted. I felt the world collapse away, before returning in a new place. A room lit with low burning candles, walls covered in images of planes I had seen. Many shifted in place, as even depictions shared echoes of those maddening locations.
The floor was smooth, a flat clear crystal surface. Below was the endless void of the stars, one of my masterwork enchantments. It was reflected above on the vaulted ceiling, showing my tombs splendour. Three stairs led up to a dias, on which a throne of bone sat. It was carved from the skull of Evax the Ravenous, the first dragon to fight me.
Taking a seat, I waited for the visitor to come. Once entered, only I could let them out. I did not know what to expect. Sometimes groups of adventurers sought to slay me, for fame, glory and wealth. But if that was the case I would have heard their self-righteous voices by now. Maybe a conqueror wished to plead for my assistance. That would cost them a lot, as fresh materials weren't always available to me.
I was broken from my thoughts by a creaking. The iron doors of my throne room opened ponderously, revealing the figure who had entered my lair. I expected an adult or two. But what I saw instead was a child. She wore the rags of an uncared for servant, ones that hung from her emaciated body. Her skin was tight across her face, giving her a skull like appearance. She practically radiated fear, enough to the point I could almost taste it.
She took a few shaking steps in, each one looking like a great effort. The doors swung shut, sealing her in with me.
"Why have you come?"
My voice was a harsh whisper, echoing throughout the room. She looked up at me, whispering with a voice of a near broken spirit.
“F...forgive me for disturbing you...I had nowhere else to go.”
Her words intrigued me. I clicked my fingers, causing the candle flames to rise. My throne room filled with light, far more than natural. She winced at the flare up, shifting in place. I could clearly see her thinning hair, and evidence of bruising.
"What do you seek?"
She shivered. I peered into her unprotected thoughts. I saw pain and suffering, mocking and hatred. An idea, of revenge. A thought of safety. A prayer that someone would care for her.
"A.... h... home."
I had seen countless men die. I had slaughtered armies, razed cities. I had bent the very threads of reality, and defeated death itself. Good people cowered at my name, the devil himself respected me.
But in that moment, I was undone. I stared at this poor, lost child, and knew I was defeated, before I even started the fight. Holding up my staff, I pointed it to her, the Gem sparking.
"Then a home you shall have." | The rations had been cut again. She ate far too little as it was but now she struggled to walk to work, struggled to do the work and those were a recipe for death. She knew all too well her masters only allowed her to live if she provided them labor. For today, at least, she done that. She was put back into her chains and forced to march back to her shelter, no more than a primitive cage to protect her from wild beasts at night. As she marched, she saw something small and shiny on the ground. She picked it up and said something under her breath.
The searing pain that shot through his body was expected. Though he knew it was coming when the small shard of glass on the palm of his left hand glowed a deep red, it still felt like agony. It always felt that way. “Another one summons me now” he said to himself as the pain continued to burn in him. “Another chance. Someday I will be free of this wretched curse.”
He materialized with a brief, but exceptional, flash of light as if lightning had struck directly where he appeared. He thought it appropriate as the pain he felt was electric; it seared him and filled every part of his body deeply and instantaneously. But it was gone in a flash, too. When he arrived, in front of him stood an emaciated girl.
He had been summoned by kings, queens, princes, nobles, men and women of honor, and men and women of dishonor. His powers had been put to use for justice, vengeance, greed, lust, and just about any other excuse one human had for ending another human's life. But he had never been summoned by someone like this.
From what he could tell this girl hadn’t had a good meal in ages, maybe her entire life. Her arms and legs were no wider than a tree branch. Her eyes were set back too far in her head and her head appeared too large for her frame. Her clothes barely stayed on her body, were ripped to shreds, and smelled horribly. He had seen humans starving a countless number of times, even caused it on more than a few occasions, but never had been summoned by someone so in need of food, so deep in their misery.
This shouldn't be possible, he thought. The rites to summon him were a closely guarded secret for anyone who had the power to summon him had the power to unleash death on their enemies. If the world knew how to summon him, he would have spent a lot more time in the world. He would be appearing all the time, fulfilling his duty, removing souls.
“How did you summon me?” he said as he glared at the poor girl.
“I summoned you using the rituals my family has passed down for generations. I’ve always known how to summon you, but our family made a pact to only summon you when we absolutely needed you."
He thought for a moment. This wasn’t likely, he didn’t recognize her face. If the family had summoned him before there’s a chance he would’ve seen her. Or at least some family resemblance in her. And where was he? He didn’t recognize the town his was in. He didn’t even recognize the surrounding landscape. Strange, but not uncommon. What convinced him most that she was lying was that he had known so many that swore to only summon him when a need arose. They never waited very long. They always found a need soon after they learned how to summon him. This poor girl did not seem like she would’ve held out until now.
“I need you now to remove the soul of our slavers. I command it.” She blurted out as fast as she could.
He pointed a finger at her and bellowed “I don’t believe you. You look as if you needed me long ago. I will not act until you answer my question. How did you summon me?”
The girl took a step back, frightened. She had not wanted to give away the truth, for fear of what it meant. She had successfully summoned him, she did not want him to leave without saving her. “I-I-I commanded it! You must do as you are commanded.”
She was right, he had to do what he was commanded to by those who summoned him, but he did not have to do it immediately. “I am running out of patience. Explain yourself now or I will—”
“Fine,” she said and held up something very unexpected. It was a small shard of glass with a faded red color, no bigger than the palm of his hand. It couldn’t be. After all this time. He thought, “how could this girl possibly have *this*?”
“Where did you find that? Give it to me!” he said. He reached out to take the shard but was struck by a searing pain as if he was being summoned. He collapsed but got up again quickly. He lunged at the shard again but fell to the ground before even coming close to taking it.
The girl quickly realized that he was unable to take the shard from her and quickly reformulated her plan. “If you cannot take this from me, maybe I can bring it to you,” she said.
He looked up at her, pain scrawled across his face. “It is the only thing that will save me,” he said.
“You must take the souls of our slavers. It is the only thing that will save me.”
He got to one knee and stepped back to regain his footing. He couldn’t believe it, after an eternity waiting, cursed to follow the commands of anyone who called him, he found the shard that would break his spell.
“Yes,” he said. “I will save you, so you can save me.”
She woke up the next morning and worked the fields as she had done before. But there were no chains. There were no beatings. And every night thereafter she walked home to a real house, with a real bed, and at as much food as she could stomach. | 2022-07-14T12:01:12 | 2022-07-14T08:35:46 | 457 | 99 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked. | Danger is not quantified by how much harm one could cause others, but by how how much harm one intends to cause others. That's why two people of the same height, weight, and muscle mass could be unequally dangerous. That's why my best friend, the huge, 6 and a half foot tall, 250 pound, football player isn't dangerous at all. He simply doesn't intend to harm others. That's also why the cute little two year old down the street is incredibly dangerous. If given the opportunity, she would harm, possibly even kill, in a heartbeat. That's also why people's danger levels fluctuate a little over the course of any given day, as they get more or less aggressive, more or less stressed, etc.
How do I know so much about danger? It's simple really: I see it. When I look at another person, study them for a couple seconds, a number starts to form in my head, one that quantifies how dangerous that person is at that very instant. The longer I look, the more exact the number. For example, one time I decided to study my father for an entire 5 minutes, and the number in my head started to grow to around 100 digits after the decimal. Normally, however, I only study someone for a few seconds, and only get a one digit number, somewhere from 1 to 10. My friend, who I talked about earlier, tends to stay around 2 or 3, because he has a really good heart and no one he hates (they're all too scared to make fun of him at all). The highest I've ever seen him was a 4, and that was during his history final exam. The little girl down the street, she tends to be around an 8. The highest I've ever seen was a 9.55, from a guy who walked by me on the street once. I only got a good look at him long enough for 3 digits, and that included me turning around to watch him keep walking.
Occasionally, my ability takes a while to calculate a number. This is especially annoying when I meet new people , and try to figure out if they're a good person or not. Occasionally, I meet someone who I'm never able to determine the danger level of. Take my English teacher, for example. He's a nice enough guy, but for some reason I've just never been able to place a number on him. I'm not perfect, after all.
On the first day of my Junior year of high school, there was a new student in my Calculus class. I looked intently at him, as I always do with newcomers, trying to determine a number for him. He caught my gaze after a few seconds, and held it, staring back at me with cold, calculating, gray eyes. I kept looking at him, as uncomfortable as it was, determined to determine a number (:P). I was about to give up, thinking he was just one of those people I could't give a number to, when suddenly a bright red number flashed across my brain, followed by an exclamation point. 10! At first, I was confused, (I didn't even realize tens were possible), but in a tenth of a second my confusion turned to horror. I quickly tried to cover my face with a mask of disinterest, and looked away from him as nonchalantly as I could. Then, I "calmly" stood up, asked the teacher if I could "go to the nurse", and "calmly" exited the classroom. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I started running, and I've never stopped. | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 2014-11-29T12:41:49 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | He was going to be a doctor. A really good one. A Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field.
Things got in the way (they always do if you let them). His depression got the best of him. Dropped out of high school. Moved across the country. Got a job as a cook. He was content.
He loved his spouse, he liked his job, and he got high every day. His mind went unused, that was OK, But not ideal.
He kept thinking that he still had time. He was only 20. That's still college age. Just a two year late start. A GED would be easy to get (he wasn't unintelligent, just unmotivated and depressed at the time). The community college had great access to better schools. He could probably get into a pretty nice med school.
He didn't have a kid, he had some money saved up, he had a job that could work around a school schedule. He was set.
Then came the stomach pains, the black stools, the coffee ground vomit. The diagnosis, the chemo, the radiation, the pain killers, the debt. The emergency room, the ICU, the eyes of the doctor who's care he landed in. Brief contact.
His doctor was a good doctor. A really good one. Like a Dr. House but without the drug addiction and massive ego. An unparalleled mind in the medical field. He looked down at the charts.
"Make him as comfortable as possible."
He walked onto the next patient.
| I committed suicide at age 43, alone in a dingy flat in a dodgy area; overdue two months of rent, water long since cut off, and loan sharks knocking at my door at all hours of the night.
I will freely admit that I knew I wasn't a model citizen, but I certainly didn't think I was Hell-worthy. I thought of myself as a lower-class limbo type of guy. I guess I was wrong.
I suppose that if it wasn't the binge drinking, shoplifting, child support-dodging, and down-right embarrassing church attendance that got me into the not-so-nice big-H, then it was the sleazy one-night stands, coke-fueled evenings, football betting, dealing to high schoolers, and bar fights.
Whatever the cause of my classification, I knew I had messed up because as soon as I lost consciousness on the beer-stained beige carpet of my apartment. I was slumped over a metal table in a dimly-lit room that vaguely reminded me of a police station.
The first of my groggy thoughts flitted towards something along the lines of "oh shit, they found the coke". No sooner had the thought processed did a door I hadn't noticed to my left swung open and in sauntered a cleanly shaved man in a freshly-pressed suit.
I tracked him with my eyes and squinted at his face, trying to place it, as he purposefully walked in front of the table, pulling out the opposite chair and hanging his navy jacket on the back of it before smoothing the backs of his trousers and sitting down to face me.
He was the kind of man I glanced at on the street and sneered at as he lowered his head and picked up pace the moment I nodded my head up and twitched my lip at him. He certainly didn't seem to be a police officer or even a detective. In my previous encounters with law enforcement, they normally would have shown their badges by this point.
We sat in silence for a moment while I scrutinized his face for some hint of who he was and why he was here. More importantly, however, why I was here.
He began to speak with a measured voice, "I have a house in the suburbs. I married Lucy, from high school, and we have two sons: Derek, whose 16, and Ethan, whose 11. I make enough each year to comfortably pay our bills, save for my retirement and the boy's univeresities, and have a flexible disposable income."
I said nothing and he continued to stare at my forehead, not seeming to properly look at me, but rather, past me. I remembered Lucy, she was pretty and smart. She sat two rows in front of me in English. She was a nice girl and I was a stoner. I don't recall ever talking to her.
"You could have been me." His words hung in the air like fog.
"What are you on about?" I grunted, annoyed more than anything.
"You're dead. You killed yourself. You're in hell." His reply was short and to the point. In any other situation I would have thought I'd stumbled upon a mad man, but something within me knew that he was telling the truth.
"I am what you could have become." Again, I didn't doubt him. I looked into his eyes and he finally dropped his gaze from my forehead to look me in the eye. As our eyes met, I began to sob. | 2015-01-02T11:36:32 | 2015-01-02T11:09:56 | 164 | 22 |
[WP] Two people have just died. They both enter the same location in the afterlife. For one person, it is their personal heaven; for the other, it is hell. Describe their arrival and first "day" there. | "Look Daddy, Look Daddy! Can we get his autograph?"
**Not this place, not here. I can't go back to his domain.*
"Sure, Honey, let's get his signature."
*I have to find a way to escape from this kingdom.*
"Look Daddy, its his dog! Can I pet it?"
"Sure Honey, but ask him first."
*This Mouse and his damned clubhouse.*
| I opened my eyes and my vision was cloudy. I felt sluggish, as though I had smoked way too much weed. I looked to my left and was surprised to see my ex wife.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
She looked at me and said "I have no idea. You?"
As we stood there, bewildered, trying to figure what was going on, it became clear to me. I was in a car crash. I did not survive.
It also became clear to her that she was in a car crash as well and did not survive.
As we had finalized the divorce proceedings we had each driven away in our own cars but headed back to the same house to grab the last of the boxes and close up before turning the house over to the realtor.
As I was exiting the freeway, the off ramp to the house had always had a steep drop in it half way down that was actually quite dangerous. Usually I slowed down so that if I came over the "hump" and traffic was backed up I would be able to slow down in time and not run into anyone.
However that day I was too overcome with emotions and relief...this long hateful ordeal was finally over and I could move on with my life. I was not paying attention and was not slowing down. I came over the hump and there it was, traffic backed way up. There was all of a sudden a car 10 feet in front of me and I was going 50 mph. I had no time to react and I smashed my truck into the back of the car in front of me, decimating both vehicles. The airbag exploded into my face knocking me unconscious. Before my eyes glazed over and I blacked out from the impact, I noticed the car in front of me...it was the car of my now ex wife.
We had died at the same time. In different cars. In the same place. And I had killed us.
So there we were, in Heaven, standing next to each other. I would have to spend eternity in paradise with her. And she with me.
It was my Heaven and her hell.
It was her Heaven and my hell.
| 2015-01-04T11:25:00 | 2015-01-04T11:22:04 | 556 | 94 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | "No, please."
She pushed the vial away from her lips, her thin and wrinkly hands shaking.
"Why?" I asked.
"I... I'm so tired, dear." She sighed. Then she continued:
"My flesh is tired."
"What do you mean?"
"The other ones, my other lives, I've come to realize... they were not *really* me. I've read their diaries, I've memorized the formula. You raised me and I made you young again. I raised you as though you were my own child. But there is no personal continuity between these versions of us and the ones that came before."
There were tears in her eyes, now.
"This is not immortality. Just a series of deaths. A long line of lives we cannot remember, but I swear I can feel the weight of every loss in my bones."
She put her hand on mine.
"I want to sleep."
"But what about our deal?" I asked. "What about us?"
"You will have to find a new one. It will be easy to find somebody willing, but harder to find someone to trust."
I nodded.
"Now leave me. Please. I will have my peace, at last."
I slowly backed out of the room, and I whispered "good bye" as I closed the door.
Walking down the hallway I returned the vial of cyanide into my pocket. I obviously wouldn't need it for this one. That was a first. She'd almost figured everything out, that stupid old hag. She must've been depressed. Whatever. That made things easier for me. Of course the formula lets you preserve your memories! It would be pointless, otherwise. The only reason my partner couldn't remember her past life was because she hadn't lived one. Neither had the one before her.
I already had the next child prepared. I would raise her as my daughter. Then she would raise me as her son. Then I would kill her. Rinse and repeat. A god doesn't share his throne. | Imagine growing up in a household where you are told that the nature of your very birth and existence must be kept a secret, not just because it is dangerously valuable information, but mostly because you'll end up in the looney bin if you explain yourself and stick to your story. That's where I thought my dad belonged for a long time.
I have to say, it's weird being fed mythologies as a kid. I suppose it's not so different across the world, no matter what religion you are born into. And it seems like even among atheistic parents there is an indoctrination of sorts; it's just unavoidable. But the story I was fed was so unique and bizarre, so unlike anything anyone around me was told, that I assumed that my otherwise awesome dad was just crazy.
It was March 5th, and I was celebrating my 25th birthday. As the story goes, it was the third time since "the discovery" that I celebrated a 25th birthday. My "partner," Daniel, was 50. It feels strange to me now to call him my partner. He was always a father to me, and a good one, at that. I was so proud to call him my dad growing up.
He warned me not to get used to our relationship as it was. He would say, "I love you and I can't always be your father, but I will always be with you." And he'd get really emotional, like there was something bad that was inevitably going to happen. And he'd cry and I just couldn't take him seriously in those moments because I didn't believe him. Would you believe it if your father told you that you had been living your current life for over a hundred years? That you two started not as father and son, but as longtime friends, one of whom had an accident drinking some water from a spring and turned from a grown man back into an infant in a matter of seconds?
Apparently it was my father Daniel who, unknowingly, drank first. Moreover, apparently it was my idea to keep him and raise him so that at one point, when he was old enough, he could bring me to the secluded fountain to drink and live another lifetime as well. And we were to repeat this pattern, ad infinitum, until an accident or illness or tragedy should break the cycle.
Bullshit, right? I almost wished I had been told that a miracle-performing demigod died for my sins, or that our nation was founded by orphans raised by wolves, or even that aliens had abducted all the real humans and we were the only ones left. This story is the worst possible one because it means my dad is going to be gone. And because it's true.
I tried to deny it, I tried to fight him on it, but he showed me everything. The pictures of us, the writing I left myself, he showed me right before I reached 25. And now that I reached the age, it's my turn to live the next 25 years making sure I'm a good father to him.
And I can't do it. I will, but I don't feel like I can. And I don't want to make him live through this. I know we can potentially live forever together but I just can't do this to him. This isn't worth it. I would rather die and be dead forever than live a million lives losing my father at 25. I don't have the heart to tell him that this is over after this, but he won't know anyway.
Who knows, maybe I will feed him some bullshit beliefs about how things came to be. And he can think I'm crazy and when he develops some critical thinking skills we can have arguments about how wrong I am about everything. And I can rest easy at night knowing that, fortunately, in this lifetime, he's right. | 2015-02-14T06:40:49 | 2015-02-14T06:05:39 | 1,103 | 88 |
[WP] The Devil promises you everything: fame, fortune, all the things a mortal will ever need for paradise on earth. But he doesn't want your soul, he just wants you to take his socially awkward daughter, Gertrude, out on a date. Make her special, y'know?
**EDIT** All of your responses have been amazing! I wish I had time to leave feedback on all of them. You guys rock! | 'Deal.'
I'd woken up and the Devil was sitting on my bed. On my legs in fact. My legs which I now had no feeling in. I knew he was the Devil mainly because he was scarlet coloured, had two curly horns and a pronged tail, and a big name tag with 'The Devil' on it.
Frankly, when you're faced with choosing an eternity of torture versus taking a socially anxious girl on a date and having an eternity of paradise, it's quite a simple decision.
I felt sorry for the girl, I have to be honest. I'm not entirely sure why the Devil ('call me Vil') chose me. I'm pretty sure I can guess how he narrowed it down. He needed a lesbian or bisexual girl or woman roughly the same age as his daughter (he had a *daughter*) without a girlfriend or bisexual who presumably wasn't a God-fearing, Devil-hating person. But he chose me.
We arranged a date. Well, he arranged the date. I knew the story already. He'd met me whilst I was committing some unnamed sin (I wasn't sure what sin to go for particularly, maybe Sloth or Lust, they'd fit me quite well) and was so impressed he thought I'd like his daughter. I didn't want to go until I saw her picture and then I'd jumped at the chance. I hadn't actually seen a picture and I hadn't jumped at the chance because the Devil was still sitting on my legs.
The girl was, well, a Gertrude. She looked like a Gertrude, if you get what I mean. She was of average height, a bit chubby and with cheap, large glasses. If *I* can be given eternal paradise, I'm sure he could fit his daughter's eyesight. And looks. And name. I wasn't entirely sure how old she was and I wasn't going to ask. We looked roughly the same age, which was good enough.
I found her surprisingly fun, but tiring too. I'm not a social butterfly but getting her to talk to me took a while. I was talking *at* her more than *with* her. She nodded and smiled at the right points and sometimes she'd open her mouth to say something, then change her mind and leave an awkward silence. 'So, what's the Devil like for a dad? You don't really look like him.' I mean, she wasn't bright red. She didn't have a tail. She didn't have horns, although her fair was incredibly thick and curly so that was more a guess rather than anything else.
She'd blushed and muttered something about being adopted. I kept on chatting about random things and then asked if she wanted to see a movie. She hadn't seen many movies recently. I don't know if there's a cinema in Hell. Did she live in Hell? I was a confident nonbeliever. I'd been raised Jewish and practicing and even then, the afterlife was not exactly a big deal. Not really talked about. I obeyed the laws and tried to be a nice person and hoped I'd have a nice afterlife. Then I kind of figured out I was bisexual and my father told me I was going against G-d and I kind of threw in my belief. Do I have to become a Christian? It'd be awkward worshipping the archenemy of my girlfriend's dad.
She liked Age of Ultron. She *really* liked the Black Widow. Maybe this is being unfair, but she was everything Gertrude, or Gertie, wasn't. She was hot and athletic and worldly and respected. Gertie was smart, I'd figured that out, but she was the type of person who if she lived in an American high school film, would be bullied for being a nerd.
I happened to like nerds.
I confessed how I got forced into the date five months into the relationship. I'd visited Hell by then. It was quite nice. No eternal tortures. Vil had even said that he was against torture and considered it inhumane. I'd asked if he was a human and he said that didn't matter as he'd only have been doing it to humans. Gertie was human though.
She was upset, at first. But I'd made it clear I was never told I had to go on more than one date. My decision. I wasn't told to love her laugh, to love how her eyes lit up when she heard her favourite song, how she binge watched every Marvel film in one day when she was staying over. I loved the tea she made (she liked Yorkshire tea, like me, and she let it set for a perfect amount of time) and the banana bread and I absolutely didn't love the rest of cooking, although I loved how awkward she was when she nearly burnt down my kitchen (' I grew up surrounded by fire! It's second nature to me!') and I loved how when we watched Eurovision with me, she took it just as seriously and was very disappointed when I said it was unlikely that Hell could join in, even if Australia did ('that's one of the *gateways* so why not Hell itself? Earth makes no sense').
It's been two years and the Devil, my father in law soon, did give me that gift. I love her, even when's she awkward. We've had a lot of arguments and a lot of fundamental disagreements and she insists on singing even when it sounds terrible and I insist on exploring Hell even when she says it's 'all the same', but we are in love. Paradise on Earth? It wasn't on Earth. So maybe he didn't come through on that promise. This was paradise in Hell- I'd moved in with her a few months ago- although if we ever wanted a change in scenery, I suppose it *could* be paradise on Earth. | Karl Jacobs fell asleep, and had the dream again.
Everything was blackness, a huge empty void stretched around him. He could feel vertigo, but in every direction. His body was gasping for air, and…
…sprang bolt upright in bed…
Karl gasped for breath, the terror of the dream clinging to him with a sweaty mental residue. “Not this again.” Karl drank in a huge panic breath of air. “For fuck’s sake,” Breath. “Three nights in a row?” But he was too tired to get up and drink coffee and surf reddit again. Three nights of this, he’d bounced between sleep – perfect, peaceful sleep – and the dream of the darkest, emptiest place, which catapulted him awake in terror. Now, he was bone-tired, and flopped back down on his single bed, in his small, silent, and lonely apartment. He had to sleep. It claimed him.
Blackness…the void. Karl could sense the lightlessness stretch away from him in every direction. This time, he fought the terror. He forced his compressed body to flex, forced his smashed lungs to inflate, and fill with potency. He shouted, then, his voice, a soundless roar, tore through the emptiness like a howling tornado.
--RAGE—
He felt…powerful. And then felt another presence.
“Finally!”
Karl popped awake, the dream gone from him this time, along with his fatigue. A man, dressed in a dark suit, sat in the chair of Karl’s desk, lit by the lamp which sat next to his computer monitor. Karl twitched backwards, pulling the covers over himself defensively.
“Who…how did you?” He was feeling a different panic now, a mortal, fleshy panic. The man extended his hand, and suddenly Karl felt…peaceful. It was okay, he thought. This guy was okay.
“Sorry to surprise you. That dream? The one you’ve been fighting for three nights? Yeah. Sorry. That was me.” The man chuckled, his mouth twisting wryly. “Actually I’m not sorry, per se, but I do apologize for the inconvenience. It was…” He grimaced. “…necessary, unfortunately. For reasons I’ll explain. Will you come with me?”
“With you?” Karl was confused, and suddenly aware he sounded like a 12 year old. “I don’t…” He sighed, and sat up fully on the bed. “I don’t know who you are, or how you know what I’ve been dreaming…” As soon as he said it out loud, he knew how ridiculous he sounded. Of course he was going to go with this man who knew his dreams and appeared in his room without explanation. This man was able to do anything, and somehow, Karl felt like he’d answered a call from him. It made no sense.
“You’re quick, Karl, I’ll give you that. Most guys I’ve tried this with spend at least an hour flailing around before they give in to the inevitable part. That’s what comes now, since you answered me.” *Answered a call*. The man stood, and motioned for Karl to join him as he crossed the room to the door. “Let me show you what I have in mind.”
Karl joined him, conscious that he was wearing sweatpants and an old Red Sox t-shirt, sensed that it didn’t matter.
The man pushed open the bedroom door. Impossibly, a vast columned chamber, lit by wall sconces, and floored with enormous black and white marble squares, stretched forth where Karl’s narrow hallway should have been. The man strode across the floor toward the center of this chamber where a sofa and a loveseat, were arranged in front of a large flat-screen TV. Karl followed nervously.
“You probably have…questions.” The man said. “But first, introductions. You already know who I am, but for the purpose of our conversation, you may call me Sam.” Karl realized he did know who sat across from him on the impossible sofa, in the impossible room. This was the devil, though as soon as the word devil entered his mind he realized just how laughably inadequate the term was. The man smiled. “Yes, it is a rather simplistic term. Relic of the Stone Age really, translated down the years through dozens of myth concepts. Listen, for the moment, just call me Sam.”
Sam. The name, the concept of the name settled into Karl’s mind like a puzzle piece. Of course, he had always known he would call himself this. Everyone knew it. They’d just forgotten. Sam. the Other. How could they have all forgotten? “It doesn’t matter,” Sam said. Karl was dimly aware of being totally undisturbed by Sam’s casual mind-reading. Which disturbed him. “You know me now, but I’m not going to take anything from you that you don’t want to give.” Sam smiled a pleasant, friendly smile. It didn’t fit on his face well. “In fact, I’m going to give you something. In exchange for a favor. Which you can say no to if you wish.” Karl swallowed.
“What…ah…what favor is that?” He pictured Sam, then, vividly, reaching down through his mouth, through his guts, twisting, pulling out something, something that felt sewn into his core, the stitches ripping, and pulling oh god no
“Right, stop that!” Sam shook his head. “Sorry, sorry.” He looked away. “Old habit. Gets away from me sometimes.” Karl twitched involuntarily and absently clutched his stomach. “No, look, Karl,” Sam crossed his legs on the couch. “What I want is a favor.”
A favor? Karl was totally disarmed by this. He sensed, with every vague fiber of his being, that he was in the presence of something so much bigger than himself that every breath felt like a struggle not to disappear…and it wanted a favor from him.
“Yes, a favor.” Sam smiled again; this time with more hints of whatever it was that hadn’t been there before. “I want you to take my daughter on a date.”
Karl was forty years old, divorced, with no children. He held a mid-level municipal job that kept him behind a desk 40 hours a week and he’d grown somewhat lumpen and balding in his approach to middle age. After his wife had left him, he’d started to forget what it was like to capture a woman’s attention, or to make a room laugh at a joke, or enjoy a day of good weather for the basic visceral sensation it brought. He had “gone gray”, as his mother used to say of his father, who had died when Karl was only 12.
He let the sheer absurdity of the entire situation wash over him, and suddenly was overcome with laughter. His body started to shake, and he laughed and laughed like he hadn’t done in years. His whole body was shaking, and he started to compose himself but…fuck it! This was hilarious.
“You want me,” Karl struggled to get the words out. “To take…your daughter? On a date! Me?” Karl was gasping now. It was too much. Sam frowned. The laughter slowly dried up.
“Yes,” Sam said, picking an invisible piece of lint off his suit pants. “A date. You.” He leaned forward and looked at Karl, who composed himself, this time with a new self-assuredness he hadn’t felt, ever, and met Sam’s gaze easily.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
| 2015-05-20T12:03:44 | 2015-05-20T12:02:49 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] The best demon slayers are those whose minds the demons want to stay out of. | *I kill. I torture. I flay flesh from bone and wear it as a little hat sometimes. I do all of this for fun; a pleasure unlike anything else in this world- or any other, for that matter.*
*That being said, fuck this shit. This place is a war zone, and it's too much for me. A human brain that is truly Hell- and trust me, I'd know. I have PTSD from looking inside that fleshy dungeon masquerading as a mind, and it was only for a single moment. The brutality...it's too much.*
George RR Martin looked at the crippled demon, broken and curled on the ground, and cracked the slightest smile.
"You came to the wrong house, demon. I may be old, but I can still give Ramsey Bolton a run for his money." | Rodenhurst walked into the dilapidated ice cream parlor. Its once cheerful pink and blue exterior had been rotted and worn and rained away, leaving a flithy, used look. The whole area was like that. Old and broken, just like the people who lived here. People, by the way, who were scarce in number. The recent influx of demons recently made sure of that. But that was why he was here.
"Why is it always the run down places? Can't they inhabit a restaurant, or a sunny park bench?" These were valid complaints. It seemed like every Demon these days wanted to seem broody and edgy. They wanted their surroundings to do the job of scaring people. Saved them the hassle.
The inside smelt of cat urine and moulding cheese. Old tubs of ice-cream had developed detailed cultures over the years. Cultures that now stank the place out to high heaven. Rotting boards covered the windows, falling away in places to allow sun beams through. Beams that illuminated the dust, and twisted and warped in certain places, indicating the presence of something otherworldy.
"Who boards these windows up? Why bother? If you're going to abandon a place, then why care if the windows are exposed or not? Also, by the looks of it, whoever was here left in a hurry. When did they have the tim- it was the fucking demon wasn't it?" All of this past through Rodenhurst's mind as the shadows in the room took form, and before him floated a mass of pulped flesh and some kind of flowing black material, seemingly taking the appearance of screaming faces, gruesome wounds and strange creatures, the pattern ever changing. Then, it attacked.
See, the way demons work is through anchors. They can either anchor themselves to a place or a plane. Now most are not strong enough for the latter so opt for the former, as in this case. A way around this is for it to possess a person and anchor itself to them, which is what this demon attempted. Then the screaming started.
For Rodenhurst, this was a regular occurrence. The screams rose to a crescendo, then cut away, the mass dissipating, an air lifting from the ice-cream parlor, as if a tension present was gone. Rodenhurst sighed, feeling once again that his time was wasted. "Another weakling, not even strong enough to warrant defending against." This was a happened a lot. The reason was that demons needed to dominate someone before erasing their sense of self and taking over. This was the reason that it destroyed itself entering his mind, torn apart by his inner self. Because the greatest defense against a demon without, is the demon within. | 2016-02-08T09:04:32 | 2016-02-08T08:30:18 | 78 | 15 |
[WP] You are a Hell Writer, you design hells for people after they die based on studying their life history. Today Satan summons you to his sanctum and you are troubled to see that he has a shocked expression on his face. | "Screw you Bob, looks like you really outdid yourself this time... The big guy Upstairs sent me a message due to your incompetence", said the Dark Lord.
I looked up confused. "Sir, I try my best to torture our subjects according to what I feel would be your own will, Master"
Satan gave me a look like I was a special child. Not in the kind fatherly way. More in an are your serious you moron kind of way..
The Dark Lord gave a defeated sigh.."Bob, do you know who Jesus is?"
I replied, "Of course My Lord, he is the big guys son. We all learned in Satanic Studies 101 that he is to be despised for his kindness and forgiving nature"
Satan snorted "Bob, the big guy sent his son down here to mess with us and... you can guess the rest"
I looked around for a second trying to piece it together....."Oh..shit"
At that same moment Satan handed me a golden key.
Satan sighed, "Here is the key to the kingdom, the big guy said you are either too good or too retarded to stay in hell.. I tend towards the latter" | Usually, Satan sends me an email asking it I'm caught up on the Hell Designs Department. If something is wrong, I talk to a regional manager, not the fallen angel himself.
I finally arrive on his floor, and the elevator floors open, and he was there, standing right in front of them.
"Oh dear."
Satan uncharacteristically responded "That phrase works too. Come and sit down."
Satan has been known for offering some form of torturous drink, but all he did was hand me a sheet of paper.
"What is this about?" my voiced quivered. His cold and confident voice was as shakier as mine. "Uh, I uh don't know how this, uh, happened."
"H-how do you pronounce this? Mich... eel? Mitch-ale?"
He snapped. "It's Michael, like the angel! You should know that!"
"But he's five. He's no angel, h-he's barely old enough for school!"
The lights flickered. "I KNOW! I know how old he is! And he's not my incarnation, I'm still alive!"
"S-should we really do this? It sounds like he would be l-legendary in the R&D department."
The lights dimmed. "DO I CARE WHERE HE SHOULD GO? NO! THIS CHILD IS CALLED THE SECOND COMING OF ME! HE WAS CALLED SATAN 2.0, THE BETTER ME!"
"Should I t-torture him for his insolence?" He turned around, his eyes darker than oil. "Eliminate. his. existance." Each word felt like my ear drums were being stabbed with a pen.
I shuddered. "Y-yes my lord. Is there any torture method you would like me to use?"
He finally smiled. "Use the method that God demanded for uh, what's-his-face. Cain! God, that was fun. The uh, nerve exposure. That one, and run some of God's smite lightening through his nerves."
"Yes my lord. Would you like me to start immediately?" as I tried to stand up without peeing.
"Yeah, and email the CCTV to God and I. Oh, and that angel with the same name as him."
I was glad that he started no longer so anxious, but I had to ruin it. "Are you really sure you don't want to add him to the torturing cycle? It's a waste of talent." A wave sent me flying into the empty elevator, cracking the wood panels.
I stood up, but I ended up peeing this time"This is the closest I have to revenge on God. Do. not. ruin. it. for. me." Again, the pen though the eardrums.
"Y-y-y-y-yes s-s-s-sir."
As he started laughing, a volcano erupted outside his window. "Woaaah! Did you see that? You shouldn't have, you should be GONE!"
The elevator fell faster than Satan fell to hell. | 2016-11-08T17:32:37 | 2016-11-08T15:38:45 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | I've spent a lot of time thinking about how to abuse my gift to get ahead in life- I mean, if I could poke my teacher and catch a glimpse of his upcoming pop quiz *with the answers*, think of all the other things I could do. Become a doctor and diagnose them with a touch on the arm, or win every game show by shaking the host's hand.
But I'm not really a clever guy. I don't chase success like that, I just use it to get by. I know, right? How fucking lame. I wish I had the drive, really, but it doesn't come to everyone. I don't know how I ended up with this power or I'd ask why they gave it to *me*, of all people. I'm not a hero, or some badass. I'm just... Normal.
-----
I don't know what's worse- the smell of alcohol, or the rank breath of those who ate a burger beforehand. I can tell you this much, though... The combination of both is disgusting.
"Sam, how is it that no matter how many times we do this, you always look miserable?" Steven asked me, slamming a shot of bourbon. "It's like you want to be alone. Forever."
I swirled the bourbon in my shot glass, trying to avoid drinking it. "I'll know when a woman is interested in me. Until then, why waste time getting hammered and making a fool of myself around ones that won't like me?"
"How could you *possibly* know?"
"I just would."
He beckoned to the bartender for another round. "Whatever you say, Professor X. While you have fun with that, I'll do things the easy way."
I sighed and glanced around the bar, somewhat hopelessly. All of the women in sight were in big groups, or with another guy, and you can't just touch one without getting the shit kicked out of you.
That was, until, I saw a flash of green in the dark. A fierce, shimmering green that captivated me in that single instant. I leaned forward, craning my neck to get a better look.
She was beautiful. Maybe not by societal standards, in her somewhat modest dress, but something about that pale skin seemingly reflecting those green eyes... I had to try. She was with friends, though, and that makes things complicated.
After thinking about it for a moment, I grabbed my bourbon and walked toward her. I heard Steve say something to me, probably cheering me on, but the words fell flat to my focus. I walked around her friends, to her side...
And stumbled harder than I meant to, falling onto her bourbon-first. Her friends yelped and gasped, but she remained fairly calm.
"H- holy shit," I said, holding both hands up like she was pointing a gun at me. "I'm so, so sorry. I tripped, and... Bartender, can we have a few napkins?"
The bartender rolled his eyes at me and passed a like of paper napkins over, which I used to pat myself and the counter dry while she took care of herself. I felt her friends' eyes upon me, warming my body with judgmemt and shame. The worst part is that I'd seen nothing when I touched her. Nothing.
"I'm sorry, again," I said, running back to Steve.
"Wow, you nailed it, buddy." He chuckled and slammed another shot down. "One more for me, and none for my friend here. He'll just spill it."
The bartender laughed and went about his business while I stared at the countertop.
Glass shattered.
What happened next was chaos, the chaos that occurs when a hundred people freak out and can't tell whats happening. It's dark, loud, and confusing. When it finally calmed down a bit, women were screaming and crying.
"She slipped on the floor, it's all wet... Oh my God, call 911!" A girl was screaming. I stood on my toes to see what was going on. and
Those green eyes, the light in them faded, looked back at me. Her hair was wet with bourbon and blood, as black as the emptiness I saw when i first touched her.
----
*thanks for reading! been a while since I posted here. lots of older stories at /r/resonatingfury*. | The future was clear in a way the past had never been. I know, I know, predicting the future is risky business and all, and you’d be better off taking stock tips from a monkey than from a broker – but the past was polluted with memory and stained by starlight. People – myself included – remembered the past the way they want to remember it, with all the annoying bugs airbrushed out of dusty polaroids. There was no such problem with the future, because I could see it as clear as day – but that’s not important yet. Anyway, I’m off track now – what I’m trying to say is the past is complicated, I guess? Done.
Today had been a hot one. At the station there are always people who are rushing to get somewhere. They’ve got this glazed look in their eyes and this automatic gait in their feet and they’re thinking about stuff, you know? All the little things that mattered a great deal by the end of the day and ceased to matter by the end of the week. Jezza’s got to finish that report or else Nicole will be really mad. You know, boring stuff we spend our life on. What’s really interesting is how a person’s skin feels. You can tell a lot about what they’ve been doing. Are their arms sweaty? Do they have a tan? Do the hands have workmen callouses or are their fingers at home on a touchscreen?
I like to ride the train for this reason. Rush hour is best. Nothing equalises businessmen and tradesmen better than being squashed on board the same train carriage. It also allows me to ‘accidentally’ brush up against people. And this is really important.
You see, I’ve got a secret. If I touch someone I can see their entire future with me. Most of the time this doesn’t last beyond the stop – I get off, or he gets off, and we never see each other again. Occasionally there’s something more. We both get off at the State Library, play chess in the same room, and never speak to each other. There aren’t really that many deep connections you can make with someone without starting out awkward.
And this is the reason why, in the two years this sixth sense has been with me, it has scored me the grand total of one lifelong friend. And I was on my way to see him now.
---
When I got off at the city station the first thing I saw was a police officer before me.
“Hey, man,” I said, tipping my cap. When I’m nervous I tend to tip my cap. “Hope it’s going well.”
“Hot today,” he said back. “Enjoy your day.”
There seemed to be a lot of them today. I knew we had gotten a terrorist threat a couple of days before this, so that was probably why. You can’t let them win – you have to go about and do your job, and so what if you got killed? It would simply be a mark against them. Strike me down with all of your hatred, and I shall become…bla bla bla. Anyway I walked out of the station. On the steps outside I saw my best friend Mark.
“Hi, Mark,” I said, smiling at the six foot tall, tanned figure before me. In the two years of our friendship we had travelled around the country, and gained a greater respect for the unseen things we had - qualities like love and courage that are both incredibly sappy and incredibly important at the same time.
“Took you long enough getting here,” he said. “What’s the hold up?”
“I had to see a person,” I replied. Not true – but roll with it for now. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Let’s go have breakfast,” he said. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”
---
Lisa Day was the second girl I had seen hanging out with Mark – the first, of course, being his sister.
“Hey!” she said, standing up as I was sitting down. “I’m Lisa!”
I shook her outstretched hand. “I’m Casey.”
And then we just froze like that, awkwardly, in the trendiest coffee shop in the city, like each of us had seen something that we should not have.
“Uhh…do you want to sit down?” I asked.
She blushed. “I will,” she said. Squeakily she fitted herself into her chair. The sound made no dent on the steady hum of the coffee shop. In the morning air the businessmen milled about in the coffee shop like it was a ship's battle station.
Mark had the worried look of an animal caught in a trap. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Two, please,” I said, anything to send my best friend away. Mark duly obliged.
When he was gone, I looked back at Lisa.
“Look, I don’t know you that well,” I said quickly. “But I think…I have to tell you something.”
“And me you,” she said quickly.
And for a moment we just froze there.
“I can see my future with you,” I spluttered out. “I need, I think you need to –“
“Worst pickup line ever,” she whispered.
I looked up. Mark was still ordering drinks. Quickly I turned my look back on Lisa.
“Lisa, I really can see our future. But it’s not a good one. We need to go, now, before it happens.”
Lisa started into my black eyes, and I could see my own reflected in her blue.
“I can see yours too,” she said. “Don’t bother. We’re both going to die together.”
*Oh no. Oh no…*
From outside I can hear the first sounds of the terrorist attack.
I looked at my watch, at the dial that still said 8:22AM. Mark has turned to the door now. He knows something is wrong.
I feel Lisa grip my hand. There is nothing we can do to fight destiny. The future was clear in a way the past had never been.
A shot rings out.
---
/r/KCcracker
| 2017-01-11T06:54:11 | 2017-01-11T06:16:04 | 193 | 49 |
[WP] Everytime you touch somebody you get a flash of your entire future with them. | By the time Klara reached the dilapidated hut by the edge of the town, dusk had fallen.
She cast a quick eye behind her, and satisfied that she was not being followed, rapped urgently on the rotting wooden door. Beneath her shawl, her baby stirred, and she instinctively pulled him closer to her chest.
The door creaked open, and a faint smell of incense wafted out. A sonorous voice, heavy and sombre, rang out from the gloom within.
“You come again.”
Klara dove in, heart beating like drums in the heavy stillness of the night. “Yes, and again and again I will come, until I am satisfied.”
That elicited a chuckle. “Fine then, pass it over to me. You’re the only one who still believes in me anyway.”
As her eyes adjusted, Klara perceived that the old lady had taken off her gloves, revealing the most wrinkled pair of hands she had ever seen. Klara briefly wondered just how many lives had brushed past those miraculous hands.
The old lady grunted as she received the bundle from Klara, and with one wizened old finger, touched the baby on its forehead.
Klara had been mentally steeling herself for days since the baby was born, and yet, trapped in this tiny hut with the old lady, Klara found herself woefully unprepared. Klara winced as the old lady’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, and almost leapt to retrieve her baby as the old lady spasmed where she sat.
Then, it was over, and the old lady passed the bundle back to Klara.
“Please, tell me. Does this one fare better than the other three before him?” Klara began, her voice barely a rasp.
“You sound desperate. Why is that?”
“I have… I will have only two more children after this little one. It is just as you foretold, as you told my parents, back when I was but a babe. So I must know, please, will this one live long and happy?”
The old lady frowned, and paused, two things which gave Klara much concern. Klara had never known her to hesitate, and for better or worse, the old lady had always delivered her prophecies without any preamble. Something was wrong.
“I will be honest with you, young one. I see two futures. It is rare, but it happens.”
“Two… futures? But, how can that be? You said you could see your entire future with anyone you touched, so how could you see two futures?”
A note of consternation entered the old lady’s voice. “As I said, it happens. He will live one of two lives, which one I cannot say just yet. I do not control these things.”
“Forgive me, I meant no insult," Klara stuttered, "Please, tell me what these futures hold.”
“You are very lucky,” said the old lady as she slipped her gloves back on, “In one future, you hold in your arms one of the greatest leaders our world will ever see. Men from afar will bend knee to him, swear their lives to him. He will unite these lands and lead them to prosperity as never has been seen before. In his wake, he will leave us stronger, faster, better, than any man from any other land. Humanity will be made better by his hand.”
Relief washed over Klara, and unexpected tears came unbidden to her eyes. Finally, the gods had mercy enough to ensure that at least one of her brood had a bright future in front of him. Yet, she had difficulty believing it. Her baby? This small, underdeveloped thing in her arms, barely alive, already dismissed by the midwives as likely to expire before he was one year old?
Something niggled at the back of Klara’s mind, and she finally found the words to express it. “And… the other future? What happens there?”
A gentle smile flashed across the old lady’s face.
“He will be but a painter, a humble, unassuming painter who will find fulfilment, but never fame. And yet, scores of mothers untold, across these lands and beyond, will be the happier for it.”
| The future was clear in a way the past had never been. I know, I know, predicting the future is risky business and all, and you’d be better off taking stock tips from a monkey than from a broker – but the past was polluted with memory and stained by starlight. People – myself included – remembered the past the way they want to remember it, with all the annoying bugs airbrushed out of dusty polaroids. There was no such problem with the future, because I could see it as clear as day – but that’s not important yet. Anyway, I’m off track now – what I’m trying to say is the past is complicated, I guess? Done.
Today had been a hot one. At the station there are always people who are rushing to get somewhere. They’ve got this glazed look in their eyes and this automatic gait in their feet and they’re thinking about stuff, you know? All the little things that mattered a great deal by the end of the day and ceased to matter by the end of the week. Jezza’s got to finish that report or else Nicole will be really mad. You know, boring stuff we spend our life on. What’s really interesting is how a person’s skin feels. You can tell a lot about what they’ve been doing. Are their arms sweaty? Do they have a tan? Do the hands have workmen callouses or are their fingers at home on a touchscreen?
I like to ride the train for this reason. Rush hour is best. Nothing equalises businessmen and tradesmen better than being squashed on board the same train carriage. It also allows me to ‘accidentally’ brush up against people. And this is really important.
You see, I’ve got a secret. If I touch someone I can see their entire future with me. Most of the time this doesn’t last beyond the stop – I get off, or he gets off, and we never see each other again. Occasionally there’s something more. We both get off at the State Library, play chess in the same room, and never speak to each other. There aren’t really that many deep connections you can make with someone without starting out awkward.
And this is the reason why, in the two years this sixth sense has been with me, it has scored me the grand total of one lifelong friend. And I was on my way to see him now.
---
When I got off at the city station the first thing I saw was a police officer before me.
“Hey, man,” I said, tipping my cap. When I’m nervous I tend to tip my cap. “Hope it’s going well.”
“Hot today,” he said back. “Enjoy your day.”
There seemed to be a lot of them today. I knew we had gotten a terrorist threat a couple of days before this, so that was probably why. You can’t let them win – you have to go about and do your job, and so what if you got killed? It would simply be a mark against them. Strike me down with all of your hatred, and I shall become…bla bla bla. Anyway I walked out of the station. On the steps outside I saw my best friend Mark.
“Hi, Mark,” I said, smiling at the six foot tall, tanned figure before me. In the two years of our friendship we had travelled around the country, and gained a greater respect for the unseen things we had - qualities like love and courage that are both incredibly sappy and incredibly important at the same time.
“Took you long enough getting here,” he said. “What’s the hold up?”
“I had to see a person,” I replied. Not true – but roll with it for now. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Let’s go have breakfast,” he said. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”
---
Lisa Day was the second girl I had seen hanging out with Mark – the first, of course, being his sister.
“Hey!” she said, standing up as I was sitting down. “I’m Lisa!”
I shook her outstretched hand. “I’m Casey.”
And then we just froze like that, awkwardly, in the trendiest coffee shop in the city, like each of us had seen something that we should not have.
“Uhh…do you want to sit down?” I asked.
She blushed. “I will,” she said. Squeakily she fitted herself into her chair. The sound made no dent on the steady hum of the coffee shop. In the morning air the businessmen milled about in the coffee shop like it was a ship's battle station.
Mark had the worried look of an animal caught in a trap. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Two, please,” I said, anything to send my best friend away. Mark duly obliged.
When he was gone, I looked back at Lisa.
“Look, I don’t know you that well,” I said quickly. “But I think…I have to tell you something.”
“And me you,” she said quickly.
And for a moment we just froze there.
“I can see my future with you,” I spluttered out. “I need, I think you need to –“
“Worst pickup line ever,” she whispered.
I looked up. Mark was still ordering drinks. Quickly I turned my look back on Lisa.
“Lisa, I really can see our future. But it’s not a good one. We need to go, now, before it happens.”
Lisa started into my black eyes, and I could see my own reflected in her blue.
“I can see yours too,” she said. “Don’t bother. We’re both going to die together.”
*Oh no. Oh no…*
From outside I can hear the first sounds of the terrorist attack.
I looked at my watch, at the dial that still said 8:22AM. Mark has turned to the door now. He knows something is wrong.
I feel Lisa grip my hand. There is nothing we can do to fight destiny. The future was clear in a way the past had never been.
A shot rings out.
---
/r/KCcracker
| 2017-01-11T07:38:55 | 2017-01-11T06:16:04 | 193 | 49 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | **Issue: [SEVERE]** 'Magic Hands' spell applied to subject rather than pure conjuration
**Type:** Application
**Severity:** A
**Priority:** 1
**Assigned to:** Matt Traynor
**Submitted by:** Greg Philmore
**Summary:**
Set to severity A because this stupid fucking system doesn't give me a goddamn S-rank for this bullshit.
'Magic Hands' intention was, apparently, to create a set of said hands to perform simple tasks. Unfortunately, instead of setting the spell to conjure those hands, it does the following:
Turns the caster into a pair of *fucking sentient hands.*
I'm currently typing this bug report up as a pair of hands. I have no idea how this is even still working and I've still got the capacity to think, but there you go.
Matt: it seems like you forgot to set the spell to actually CONJURE rather than just apply it to whatever poor bastard got this one to test. FIX IMMEDIATELY.
Side notes: unable to turn down requests for things such as “Get me a coffee” or “Can you type this bug report up for me?” This is getting beyond a joke.
***EDIT: IT HAS BEEN FOUR HOURS. HAVE SUBMITTED 8 TICKETS TO SPELL TECH TO FIX THIS. FIRE MATT.***
**Comments:**
**(12:07) Matt Traynor:** Oh goddamn it I knew something was wrong with it! Sorry! I'll get on fixing that right away and send the changes over.
**(12:08) Greg Philmore:** I don't care about a fix for the bug at this point. I am going to spend the rest of the day slapping the shit out of you if you don't get on UNDOING this.
**(12:47) Kerry Lane:** This is hilarious. Greg has been at the coffee machine for 20 minutes serving up lattes. Also we haven't had to listen to him singing Jimmy Buffet songs all morning! This is bliss.
**(12:56) Matthew Hendry:** How long do you think we can keep this up for?
**(15:12) Greg Philmore:** FIRE MATT AFTER KICKING HIM DECIDEDLY IN THE NUTSACK | "They're dead? ...... All of them?"
"Yes... yes ma'am" Bill replies back, struggling to meet my eye. It looks like he's been crying again. Oh sweet Bill, you're in the wrong line of work.
"Explain to me again how this happened..." I try to keep my tone neutral yet supportive. He still sees me as some authoritative zealot, if he would ever actually open his eyes and look at me he'd see that I'm anything but that.
He takes a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "Test groups 3,5, & 19 were assigned the new *Pacifico* spell this morning. They were supposed to begin testing at noon. The observers got back from lunch a few minutes late..." he stops and sniffles. Oh lordy, this won't be an easy day.
"and...?" I prompt him
"All they found were the bodies.... But it's odd... There's no signs of harm or any damage to them, they're just dead. It was a peaceful spell... I don't understand...."
This is certainly interesting. There's no denying that we've had deaths before, but usually it's only a handful of members of the group, and it's usually quite obvious what happened. Take the "Fountain of Youth" spell from three years ago, when a few of the teenagers started having teeth fall out and their hair grey, we had a pretty good idea what happened. That was just a simple reversed operator and a missing digit in an equation.
But no signs of death, and 100% of subjects being affected... What could this be?
"Let me see the scrolls again please" I ask Bill, he's still jumpy, but perhaps a task will help him.
He returns a few minutes later with one, scanning through it himself. I put my arm around his shoulder in a show of compassion, but his shudder is quite obvious.
"So, run me through this one again please Bill"
"Well *Pacifico* is meant to grant the caster a peaceful and relaxing day. It's supposed to silence any doubts they have, clear their mind, and give them a light DND aura"
"DND?" I can only think of one phrase that DND could represent, and if their DM is anything like mine, it's far from peaceful
"Do Not Disturb, like the hotel sign or phone setting. It's meant to make others leave them be and not pester them." He's in full stride now, I can see the colour returning to his face.
I take the scroll from him, this is quite a complex spell. Affecting the minds of others is never easy, and even an aura on the self can cause complications.
Most of this is standard boilerplate. The logical flow works, the procedure calls look good, the variables are clearly defined. What could the issue be?
"Who wrote this one?" I ask, partly out of idle curiosity, partly because I'm stumped and need to look strong.
"Sumin did ma'am." there he goes with that ma'am again.
Sumin... Sumin.... She's certainly experienced enough, she's been with us for almost a year at this point. She came to us from somewhere in the Orient, I can't recall exactly.
A thought strikes me. I quickly check the purpose portion of the spell.
Oh no....
There it is, so simple, how did we miss this.
> This spell is to help the caster quit life
I push the scroll over to Bill, pointing my finger to appropriate section.
"caster quit life....? Oh god...." he murmurs. "A quiet life, we wanted a quiet life!" this is not going to be easy on him...
And that is the story I tell all the new witches and wizards when they complain about our bureaucracy. We lost 84 kind and innocent souls that day due to a simple missing letter and oddly worded sentence.
Whenever the young'uns ask why it takes us 3 weeks before we even trial a new spell, I remind them of the quit life.
| 2017-07-26T03:57:13 | 2017-07-26T00:37:23 | 417 | 129 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | **Issue: [SEVERE]** 'Magic Hands' spell applied to subject rather than pure conjuration
**Type:** Application
**Severity:** A
**Priority:** 1
**Assigned to:** Matt Traynor
**Submitted by:** Greg Philmore
**Summary:**
Set to severity A because this stupid fucking system doesn't give me a goddamn S-rank for this bullshit.
'Magic Hands' intention was, apparently, to create a set of said hands to perform simple tasks. Unfortunately, instead of setting the spell to conjure those hands, it does the following:
Turns the caster into a pair of *fucking sentient hands.*
I'm currently typing this bug report up as a pair of hands. I have no idea how this is even still working and I've still got the capacity to think, but there you go.
Matt: it seems like you forgot to set the spell to actually CONJURE rather than just apply it to whatever poor bastard got this one to test. FIX IMMEDIATELY.
Side notes: unable to turn down requests for things such as “Get me a coffee” or “Can you type this bug report up for me?” This is getting beyond a joke.
***EDIT: IT HAS BEEN FOUR HOURS. HAVE SUBMITTED 8 TICKETS TO SPELL TECH TO FIX THIS. FIRE MATT.***
**Comments:**
**(12:07) Matt Traynor:** Oh goddamn it I knew something was wrong with it! Sorry! I'll get on fixing that right away and send the changes over.
**(12:08) Greg Philmore:** I don't care about a fix for the bug at this point. I am going to spend the rest of the day slapping the shit out of you if you don't get on UNDOING this.
**(12:47) Kerry Lane:** This is hilarious. Greg has been at the coffee machine for 20 minutes serving up lattes. Also we haven't had to listen to him singing Jimmy Buffet songs all morning! This is bliss.
**(12:56) Matthew Hendry:** How long do you think we can keep this up for?
**(15:12) Greg Philmore:** FIRE MATT AFTER KICKING HIM DECIDEDLY IN THE NUTSACK | As the first spell was cast, the world changed. Those early years were full of some nasty work. Thankfully, magic was pretty new, and magicians had yet to write any spells longer than a few pages before magic came under extreme regulation.
And yet, the most damaging magical incident occurred thanks to a spell only five lines in length (three if you ignore the ending braces):
for each student in world.schools {
if student.is('bully') {
student.cancer();
}
}
As I'm sure you can imagine, that spell was written and cast by a young, troubled boy, gifted in magic but not yet wise enough to understand the consequences.
This incident sparked an international outrage. The boy's bullies may have gotten cancer, but so did every other school-aged child who had bullied someone or even just been called a bully in the past 24 hours. In the end, nearly five million kids contracted some kind of cancer. It was random, as the boy had not supplied the cancer method with any arguments, so thankfully, about 95% of those kids were inflicted with non-lethal cancer. The rest, not so lucky.
The boy was sentenced to death.
And that's when my agency, the Department of Magical Research and Regulation, was formed. I was just one of the first twenty magicians who were recruited for this agency. At the fresh age of 23, my most complicated spell had been a three-pager that warned me when my new puppy needed a walk or some food.
That was five years ago.
Today, magic is tightly regulated. My agency had developed new spells that tracked the energy expenditure from other magicians' spells. That way, should someone use magic to steal or kill, we could easily track that person down. We've cast spells that require magicians correct syntax mistakes before they can compile their spells. And anyone caught using magic to coerce or harm another human being, unless agreed upon as a magical duel between two magicians, is sentenced to death. Harsh, but many would argue it's necessary. Accidents, if no serious harm has been inflicted, are punished less severely.
***********************
Beep Beep. Usually when my phone goes off, it's some magician stuck with a bug in his spell, but today was different.
I stare at my phone in horror. It's a news article. The title:
> Three Hundred Women Kill Each Other in Magical Accident
I check the location: Salt Lake City, UT. Before I knew it, I was on a plane, sent to analyze the spell's energy signature and determine the cause of the deaths, whether accidental or purposeful.
The spell had wreaked its mayhem at a ten year high school reunion for a local public school. When I arrived, the police had already cleaned up most of the bodies. I flashed my badge and quickly got to work analyzing the energy signatures.
They led me to Dale.
**********************
"Dale." I said rather flatly. He was violently fidgeting in his chair opposite the interrogation room's table from me.
"You really fucked up this one Dale." I looked for a reaction in his eyes, "Honestly, you're going to be sentenced to death within the month."
"It was an accident!" he blurted out.
"Dale, three hundred women are dead because of your spell. It doesn't matter if it was an accident."
He sunk into his chair and buried his face in his arms.
"I only want one thing from you, Dale."
He looked up.
"Where is your spell?"
"What's it matter? It's all fucked. This whole world. It's all fucked." Dale began to cry. I didn't feel bad for him.
"At this point, it's procedural. My job is to determine what went wrong in your spell, and you'd be saving me some time backwards-compiling your work."
He looked defeated. A man filled only with regret: "It's in a box buried in my backyard, next to the orange tree."
I walked out of the room and headed for my car.
**Part 2:** https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6pkzog/wp_magic_is_discovered_to_be_real_the_catch/dkrju70/ | 2017-07-26T03:57:13 | 2017-07-26T01:07:47 | 417 | 128 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | /r/TalesFromMajSupport
#Why you never, EVER let an intern into spelldev [Medium]
⬆9348⬇
by DepressedQAMagician 🌟x1
Howdy TFMS, it's your boy Depressed QA Magician, and I've got another troubling tale for you.
So, if you remember, $Boss has a thing for younguns. Just can't resist the HS interns and fresh grads over the many, many, people who are much more qualified. Can you already tell where this is going?
Yep. Intern. Spelldev.
I know for a fact that all of you maj support workers think they have it worse than QA magicians--their natural enemies next to dumb end users--and vice versa (grass is always greener). Listen to my story.
I was on a coffee break when $newIntern came up to me and told me that $departmentHead wanted me and my QA brethren to investigate a... bug.
So I take my shit to the QA department and what do I see? A... locked door, actually. Rooted shut.
"OH GOD PLEASE DON'T COME IN" $departmentGuy1 says over Ventrilocharm. "CALL THE FUCKING MAJ SUPPORT OH GOD PLEASE"
And I did. I'm standing at the door with my good friend Mike from MS. He blasts it open with a Doorbuster Charm and...
Holy shit. The floor is covered in black slime that looks like tar. Some of it is spilling out on the carpet outside the QA dep't. Mike is absolutely flabbergasted. $departmentHead is standing on a table with a lighter and a can of hair spray in hand. There are geese flying out of the slime. The slime is making more geese.
I'm surprised Mike hadn't pissed his pants yet at this point.
$daveFromQA is sprinting over the slime with his signature Jesus Charm. His shirt is on fire. A book with teeth like the ones in Big Boo's Haunt is chasing him.
I look over at Mike and say, "I'll call $newIntern." I walk away.
When I come back with $newIntern I'm relieved to see that the slime is gone, but then I'm panicked again when a duck comes out of the carpet and starts attacking everyone. Didn't take much to hex it into a tadpole. Meanwhile, $newIntern is cleaning up his mess while apologizing profusely. When everything's all fine and dandy again, $departmentHead loses his shit, rips into $newIntern, and files a complaint to the higher ups.
MS concedes bitter defeat to QA for "worst job", $newIntern is fired, and $Boss was never seen again.
363 comments - report - gild - save - share | "Sir, you will not regret this. I swear." Miffle entered my quarters with a bound. The sweet smile in his eyes twittered with anticipation. Miffle's dreams of commanding a prestigious estate in the annals of spellmen's history ever lead his way.
"I see you think you've got something quite exceptional this time, Miffle. Well, go ahead, let's take a look. I hope we don't have as much work ahead of us this time as the last, eh?" I winked at him wryly.
The last spell Miffle wanted me to spell check let loose a small tornado in the hallway, instead of proving to be a safer way for the circus fliers to perform sans harnais de sécurité. Madam Eldermore nearly lost her cat, poor dear.
I encourage him to start, and Miffle extracts his wand and a curious silver pen from underneath his coat. With the pen in his right hand, his left hand lifts the wand with florid intent and whips it about with a grace that I cannot help but admire. His spell work is really quite poetic - when it is correct. The nuances are ever so delicate, and I almost miss it. He repeats the motion, and there it is again. My appreciation suddenly turns to horror at the realization of .. ... . ... ..... .... .... ...... .. .. ..... .. ...
.. .... ... .... .. ... ...... .. .... ... ... ...... ..... ........... ...... ..... ....... .... .... .... .... .... ... ..... ..... ... ..... ...... ..... .... ..... ....... .... .... ..... .... .... ...... ... ...... .... .....
...... ..... .... ....... .....
..... ..... .. ... ..... ... ...
........ ....... ... ..... .. ........ .... ... ..... ... ... ... ... .. ... .... ..... ..... ... .... .... .... ....... ... .... ... .......... .. ......... ....... ..... ..... ..... .... ...... ..... .... .... .... ... .... .... ... ....... .......... ...... ...... ..... .... ........ .... ....... ..... ..... ...... ...... ....... ...... ..... ...... ... ... ... .... ....... ..... ..... ..... ... ..........
... .... ....
...
..... ... .... .... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..... ... ... .. .. .. .. ........ .. ... - OH, THANK GOD!"
You are the most incompetent witch of a . .... ..... ..... ........ .......
.... . ..... ..... ... ......
....... ... ..... ..... ...... ....... ... ... ......... ..... ... ... ..... .... ... .... ......
....... .... . ........ ....... ..... ..... .. ........ ..... ............ ..... ...... ... .... .... ... ........
......... ..... ..... ...... .... ... .... ..... ..T! Just get out! And take this damn thing with you!"
I hurriedly shove the pen into Miffle's pocket and with a scalding visage admonish him without a single utterance. I seethe as his tears obscure the edges of his eyelids, and it is as if his hope drains away and collects into tiny inert puddles by the door - just before it closes behind him and smears his tears across my floor. My anger and bafflement roil for what seems ages.
- - -
Now, as the day draws close and my rage finally dwindles to ember, I allow myself to relax, to come off guard, and I wonder - I'll never know just what he had in mind with that spell. I've seen plenty of typos but never anything like that; And yes, I AM counting that time Swincy nearly wiped out the entire Gourmandier department in that unfortunate vivisepulture of "Anytime Truffles."
Still... I wish it hadn't been so important to him. The poor urchin has an almost fluvial way with the wand. And this time, this time, I could tell that he was nearly onto.... onto something. I had the strangest sensation that a new sort of consciousness was being birthed. Oh, but his lack of attention to detail! It always caps his brilliance!
If I only stopped him just before that final stroke, I might not have been engulfed in that mental nothingness he created, and I would not have reacted so harshly. But it was as if my mind had been wedged between the night and the Reaper himself. I am always aware of Death's presence, but never have I felt his breath on my neck before. That is a fear I hope to never encounter again; I may not have the strength to return.
I throw my reports into my bag and scan the room for anything I might leave behind. "What's that?" I bend down to pick up Miffle's pen cap. I must not have noticed - "OH FOR FU.... ....... | 2017-07-26T01:31:47 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 97 | 32 |
[WP] Five people wake up in a metal room with no windows and only one door. In the middle of the room is a revolver and a piece of paper. "One of you has to die. Kill this person, the door unlocks and the survivors win $1million. Each wrong person dead halves your prize. You have four bullets." | I woke up.
I didn't know where I was, but I soon realized my circumstances.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Being raised against gambling and 23 years of math experience quickly led me to conclude that if I killed the other 4 one by one I could get out alive with at least $62,500.
Unfortunately, I forgot to account for something.
It's been 3 days and the door hasn't opened.
P.S.: First response here. | The other three saw the paper and the revolver first, the big guy called it out, but they all hesitated. Just for a moment. That was all it took, and by the time I finished reading the last line everyone was a mouth breather.
"There's three of us and one of him"
Now's the time to point it at them. I'm not big, but now I might as well be a tank.
"no no no no no don't shoot, kill muscle man over there, he's the only one you have to worry about overpowering you"
The room was hot, the sweating made everyone look even more desperate. She's right though, if anyone it has to be him first.
"OH MY GOD, FUCK, IT'S ON ME, HE'S ON ME"
The mute finally talks, and the one who wanted it can't even look. The door still isn't unlocking. It feels like it's getting hotter now.
"You're going to have to kill this *fucking weird guy*, he's got to be hiding something, that's why we're still here"
She's almost crying, still not looking up. The mute is throwing up in the corner, sounds like he's trying to defend himself inbetween heaves, but this isn't quite working for either of us.
"No please, just give it some more fucking time, that's all it needs. *There's no reason to kill me.* C'mon FUCKING PLEASE DON'T DO THIS"
It's getting hotter, and she's looking up now. Not for long.
"LET ME OUT ASSHOLES, I PLAYED YOUR GAME, THEY'RE ALL DEAD, LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
and over again
"LET ME THE FUCK OUT"
It just keeps getting hotter. I can't even lay on the floor anymore because my skin sticks to it, I had to pull their bodies over to lay on top. I can't scream anymore, each breath feels like fire down my throat. All I can do is focus on the sound of blood bubbling and burning on the metal floor beneath the bed I made. It's getting fainter.
| 2017-10-30T21:24:32 | 2017-10-30T19:00:49 | 82 | 13 |
[WP] A Greek man comes home from 4 months of war to find his wife pregnant. Now he has embarked on a quest: to punch Zeus in the face | ''You!'' Alexandros screamed as he ran up to Zeus' throne on Mount Olympus. ''It's all your fault. You made my wife pregnant when I was at war!''
Zeus merely raised an eyebrow. ''No idea what you're talking about. Haven't pulled a stunt like that in years. Hera keeps a close eye on me these days, you know.''
''Is that so? Than how is it that I come home to a visibly pregnant wife after four months of war? I've come to punch you in the face for what you've done so don't think you'll get it away with it!''
Slowly a grin crept up on Zeus' face. ''Visibly pregnant you say? How many months would you say she is along?''
The angry frown on Alexandros' face was replaced by a pensive one. ''I'd say about five or six months, give or take.''
Zeus' grin widened. ''And how long have you been away at war?''
Alexandros' eyes lit up in sudden understanding. ''Four months...''
''So would you say it is possible that it was in fact you who knocked up your wife before you went to war? And you then left before the pregnancy became visible?''
Alexandros had turned bright red with embarrassment. ''I'd say that is the most likely explanation.''
"Have you even talked to your wife before you came running up here?"
Alexandros decided it was best not to answer that.
Zeus' grin turned into a warm smile. ''That's what I thought. Lack of communication has always been a huge problem in my marriage as well. Don't worry about it son. We've all made our share of stupid mistakes in our days. Now get the hell off of my mountain and go home to your wife, before I lightning bolt you there!''
| Olive had returned from a four-month campaign in Persia, one intended to prevent the Shah from taking Mount Olympus. During his time there, he had been especially crucial to the team, using his smarts and arcane sciences to create weapons the Persian army couldn't resist and eventually fell to. His favorite one was the Midas Gauntlet, a fist made to look stylish yet be efficient in battle. It was rumored that it was capable of defeating the Olympians themselves in battle, as it required a certain gold capable of wounding gods.
So when he came back home, he found the Gauntlet was going to be very useful.
"What do you mean you slept with Zeus?" he yelled, throwing a vase against the wall before slumping to the ground.
"My-my husband, please do understand. I-I was tricked into it!" his wife, Mariam, stammered. She ran to the vase, picking up the shards as she continued to explain. "It-it was all a blur, really."
"Alright then. Tell me what happened. How did Zeus, of all people, end up getting under your skirt?"
"Well, I had been fetching water nearby the river when I saw such a handsome golden bull. I led it back home when I realized that it was wounded so I gave it all the help I could. Then I ended up hearing a loud, deep voice in my head and I thought it must've been the bull. Next thing I can remember was that it was a blur but when I woke up again, I felt a bit odd."
Olive sighed loudly in disappointment. "Did the stories not tell you anything about staying away from golden bulls?"
"I-I thought that the stories were just that. Stories." Having thrown away the vase, she got Olive some wine, bread, and cheese. "You know that I'm not from here!"
"Being an Arab gives you no excuse. You've heard the stories before. You probably have some god over there that's a bull. Did you not take into consideration that it could've been him?" All Mariam could do is sulk away, hoping to avoid her husband's anger.
"Y'know what? I'm gonna go and punch that cheatin' son of a Titan. And not just anywhere, but I'm hitting him straight in the face! Mariam, prepare me some supplies. I'm leaving again!" Mariam turned around, surprised. This was odd of her husband, to leave just after he got back from a military campaign.
"W-what! You're leaving just after you got back? All because of me?" She ran back into the main room, stopping her husband from getting up. She opened her mouth to argue against him going but she stopped; it'd be futile for her to try. So she decided that if she couldn't get him to stay, she'd delay his departure. "A-at least stay a while; I missed you dearly! And you're still quite sore; you need some rest." And so it was agreed upon; after Olive rested up, he'd set off on a journey. A journey to get back at Zeus for sleeping with his wife.
"And there's the Midas Gauntlet like you asked." Olive beamed with joy seeing his old pal looking as good as new. Mariam hugged Olive before smiling. "The baby wants to say goodbye as well." Olive kneeled and patted and kissed her stomach.
"Don't worry honey, Dad's gotta go now. He needs to go and beat up a very bad man, OK? He'll be back before you're even born so make sure you're patient. I love you." Getting up, he gave his wife a peck on the forehead and set off to go and punch the god who slept with his wife. A journey to punch Zeus. | 2018-02-09T21:27:33 | 2018-02-09T19:12:58 | 114 | 43 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | There are many among us who wonder *why* we allow Warrior Species to live. Whenever we discover one of them, there will inevitably be a movement pushing for their extermination before they reach the stars. I do not need to explain why, we all remember the horrors of the Zandrian Fleet sweeping across the Alliance Systems. More often than not, when a Warrior Species reaches the Stars they will seek new conflicts. This inevitably leads to Interstellar Wars, which also inevitably end with the aggressor's entire civilization dismantled and relegated back to their Home System.
There are many who believe that we should not give Warrior Species a chance to rise up. There are many who see the horrors of these wars, and believe that we should act preemptively. These voices scream in unison, "Kill the beast in its crib, so that it may not devour us all." To these cries... I give a single counterpoint: The Humans.
The Humans are one of the Elder Species, who moved among the Stars while most of us were still painting pictures on cave walls. Their Civilization spread through their Local Cluster with incredible speed. They expanded out with unprecedented speed, their available resources increasing exponentially with the passage of time. They came to dominate their own cluster, and all eight neighboring clusters, before internal conflict caused this rapid expansion to slow... as resources turned towards armed conflict among themselves.
The Human Civil War was the result of one of Humanity's quirks: They were not, and still are not, a unified species. There are *five* Human Nations in Space. Although they are closely allied in the present day, they once warred with each-other over valuable resources and colonies. The Humans arguably invented Interstellar War, developing many of the tactics still used today in their conflicts among themselves.
However... one will notice that we do not often acknowledge the fact that Humans *are* a highly competitive Warrior Species. This is because the Humans hate **nothing** as much as they hate War. All five Human Nations *despise* war with a passion that is difficult to describe. They do not want to go to war, they do not enjoy fighting wars, and they want their wars over with as quickly as possible with as little bloodshed as possible. Thus... they are the only known species to use Terror Weapons.
Humanity has not gone to war in living memory because of one simple truth, which most sapient creatures do not care to remember: Humanity is the most **brutal** species in the Galaxy. When they go to War, they do not play by any rules. They bring City-Buster and Planet-Buster class weapons to the table. They unleash chemical and biological weapons upon their enemies. They do not merely kill, they bring suffering and agony well beyond what most sapient creatures can conceive of.
Yet... it's hard to reconcile that with what the Humans do today. The Humans are known best for their Terraforming and Uplifting projects. They turn the majority of their resources towards seeding life on lifeless worlds, and elevating promising species to sapience so that they could bring them to the stars. They are renowned for their humanitarian efforts, as their fleets are always among the first to respond in the event of a disaster... or an impending disaster. Countless worlds have been saved from extinction-level events by a Human Fleet settling into orbit, stabilizing a declining climate, silencing super-volcanos, and towing asteroids into a stable orbit for mining.
Perhaps more importantly, the Humans do not tolerate aggression in or towards their neighbors. When War comes to their neighbors... the Humans arrive to end it. The mere presence and threat of Humanity arriving to end a war is often enough to prevent it from starting.
The Humans are the reason that we tolerate Warrior Species. Because, somehow, a Warrior Species became one of the most beloved species in the Galaxy. | "Are you sure about this Ilian" Odan asked, his antenna twitched with irritation? Odan had always liked Ilian but sometimes she could be more trouble than she was worth, most of the hierarchy was like that, but being the youngest graduate from the institute and a member of the royal family he couldnt just say no even if her request was utter lunacy.
"absolutely" she said, her own antennae wiggling with excitement.
"the chance to study a war species unlike any other, name one person who wouldn't jump at the chance." she said, bouncing in her seat at the prospect. "anyone who would want to live an long and happy life safe and sound with their carapace still intact" odan said slightly bitter because her discovery, while monumental, would only flame the fires of her already sizable ego. " do you realize how dangerous your proposal is, not just to you but to them as well. You could irrevocably destabilize their already fragile civilization, in the name of the prophet they haven't even properly mastered how to leave their own gravity well" his anger evident by the shifting pattern of colors displayed across his body.
"Its not like you can really refuse me Odan, and even coming to you is a formality and you know it. so how about you save the lecture for your children and authorize my request. I am well aware of the dangers involved which is why i will be using the remotes instead of going down personally. i maybe young odan but i am not an idiot and i would appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a child" Ilian liked odan but sometimes his staunch adherence to protocols could be infuriating.
"You are a child Ilian, a prodigy like no other but still a child, And if you want me to authorize your foolishness you had best learn to speak to me with the respect my station deserves. You maybe royalty, but your father does not rule here and if you have any hope of furthering your career then you better start following institute protocols else you will be dismissed and returned to the imperial palace. Imagine the shame of having to face your father while you explain why." Internally he smirked to himself seeing her shrink at the though of having to face the emperor and he was someone you did not want to disappoint, especially if youre one of his children.
"now" he continued "i am willing to to grant you use of one cruiser with a compliment of sensor remotes and a type 4 cloaking system. So long as you follow institute protocols for studying a k-zero civilization and maintain daily contact with homeworld command." the chaotic pattern on his skin slowly changing from the red and orange of anger to a softer shade of paternal green as he spoke "will that be a problem Ilian"
Her antenna twitch with irritation as she nodded no "I-" she began to speak but odan cut her off saying "Ilian i am not trying to be harsh or cruel but we live in a chaotic universe full of danger, and that world is danger incarnate. Besides being royalty, and my greatest student ilian, you have become like a daughter to me and i don't want you to come to any harm." his features softened as he stood up and walked around his desk to face her, so small and fragile she looked in that chair. Such a young body yet within her tiny frame was a mind of pure genius and an intellect like no other.
Ilian looked up at him, tall and proud odan was with only a few age lines and none of the graying that most people his age displayed, and deep within her she knew the truth of what he said. While her father was the emperor, she was just one of hundreds of children and it was odan who showed her a larger world, treated her with respect as an equal, even opening his home and heart to her treating her like one of his own children. with tears streaming from her eyes she stood up and wrapped her arms around him "I am sorry odan, please i will do what ever you say just let me go." looking at him with the pleading eyes of a child whose heart was an the edge of breaking. A smile crept across odans face as he gently wiped away her tears" very well you can go, just be safe. And please, dont make me regret this." reaching across his desk he keyed in a code on his console. "there you go, you have authorization."
And with that all the sadness and frustration in her face disappeared only to be replaced with that wide eyed look of joy she usually had, "the resiliancy of youth" he thought as he looked into her eyes, the ability of children to bounce from one emotional extreme to another never ceasing to amaze him.
"Thank you odan" she said over and over again overjoyed at the thought of being the first to catalog and study the life of earth, as it was called by the natives. "And odan" she said as the colors of her carapice shifted hue to purple and pink "i am sorry for what i said earlier, i was out of line to speak to you like that. You deserve better." she said as she hugged him tighter, not that she would ever tell the old man but in her heart she wished he had been her father and in many ways she felt like he wished the same.
Extending her antenna in gratitude she touched hers to his, an intimacy usually reserved for family, "be safe" he whispered "come home a hero, and make us all proud."
"i will" she said as she turned and left him alone in his office, it was the last time either would see each other.
| 2018-03-17T06:35:22 | 2018-03-17T05:21:49 | 109 | 12 |
[WP] You have been striving for years to commit the elusive “Perfect Crime” for the fame of it. You steal the Mona Lisa and replace it with a fake. You leave a taunting note and wait for the panic when it is discovered. But, 2 years later, no one has noticed. | The vaulted ceiling of the museum filled me with vertigo. A single drop of sweat rolled down my brow. The muted talk of an art guide in the distance. My heartbeat thudding in my throat. My fingers’ idle fiddling with the glass-cutter in my pocket.
I swallowed hard. The portrait gave me the same knowing look that my mentor used to give me.
‘We’re thieves,’ he used to tell me. ‘Remember that.’
He’d taught me all the tricks I knew. All the nuances of deceit. Every shady technique. Every stroke of genius. Each step of the way to perfection. It had taken me a lifetime to master my job.
I glanced in the direction of the staff room, drumming my fingers on the counter. The painting caught my attention again. She was taunting me. Smug.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The art expert finally returned and placed the parcel on the table. “It’s fake.”
“Fake?” I mumbled and fumbled with the paper. Mona Lisa smirked up at me.
My eyes shifted between the painting in the parcel and the one mounted on the wall behind the protective glass.
“Fake?” I repeated.
“Yes, it’s a masterful forgery; I gotta give you that.” The man touched his chin as he spoke. “Very well done. But it’s not quite as good as the original. A few mistakes here and there. Whoever made this, surely knows how to paint, but it’s very hard to reach the perfection of the original.”
Now, I’m not usually a man to lose my temper. All my passion is channeled into my work. I’m known for my calm and my endless patience. But when you’ve spent the last decade trying to pull off the perfect crime, and this happens…
“Shut up, you clueless baboon! That thing on the wall is fake! This right here”–I stabbed my finger at Mona Lisa on the counter–“This is the original! You’re the most incompetent, most blantantly–”
“Now, now, sir.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Insults will get you nowhere.”
I laughed in sheer contempt and outrage. “I’m not insulting you! I’m describing you in perfect detail – the same minute detail I used to paint that portrait over there!”
It was his turn to chuckle. “I ran the tests. Like I said, the painting you have there is good. And if you painted it, then I applaud you. But unfortunately, you’re still not as good as Da Vinci himself.”
I felt two sets of strong hands grip me from behind, starting to drag me away.
“Just look behind it! I left a message on the backside. Take it out of the goddamn glass mount and read for yourself.”
“Goodbye!” the expert said and turned away.
I swore as I was tossed out of the museum. Mona Lisa landed beside me, looking smug as ever. I was distraught over my failure. All the time wasted to commit the perfect crime. And the worst part was the headlines in the news the next day.
“**Renaissance legend Leonardo Da Vinci’s recently discovered message – a taunt to the public.**”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories. | Baptiste stood in the Salle des Etats of the Louvre. He stood in the same spot he did every day, swarms of people enveloping him. He came here every day to this very spot of the Louvre, suffering the throngs and the kids and the guards, with a singular purpose, to glare at his greatest failure.
To his left an elderly Asian woman nudged her way in. She held up her smart phone closer than comfortable to his head and quickly snapped a photo of the painting. The flash made him wince and he blinked several times. There were spots in his vision that wouldn't go away. The woman smiled at her photo and held up her phone to take another. Baptiste was ready this time. He quickly turned his head to the right to avoid the flash. The woman didn't seem satisfied and took several more pictures before stopping.
Flash. Flash. FLASH.
And it was happening throughout the room, smart phones and cameras up, flashing away despite the rules posted at the entrance in several languages prohibiting it. Every flash meant another picture. Every picture meant another insult to Baptiste.
Baptiste ground his teeth and held back the urge to smack the woman across the room. He didn't care about the effect the hundreds of flashes every day had on the painting. He didn't care that the woman temporarily blinded him. No, what he hated, what he loathed, was that all of the people around him taking pictures and going on about how beautiful the painting was, didn't realize that the Mona Lisa in front of them was a fake.
The crowd moved like human waves. In and out in and out. People came, they gawked, they took their pictures, and they left.
And Baptiste stood there, a boulder amongst them, teeth clenched, hands balled into fists in his pockets where his finger nails dug bleeding trenches into his palms. Besides the momentary interruption of the blinding flash, Baptiste didn't blink. His eyes stayed glued to the faux Mona Lisa.
It had been nearly two years since he had descended upon the painting. The *real* painting. That night he was a ghost. The alarm never sounded. He was never spotted. He got in, he got out. The only time Baptiste had been seen by any living creature that night was when he got home. A stray cat had jumped from the alley and nearly gave him a heart attack while he unlocked the front door, the painting safely wrapped and tucked under his arm. He had left his other Mona Lisa, the one he had masterfully forged himself, back at the museum hanging in the original's place.
Maybe it would have been better if he had died of a heart attack that night. At least people would've know. Someone would've found his body the next morning and they may have remarked something like, "my that Baptiste must have been a skilled thief, to pull all of that off without a hitch."
But no. Here he was, standing in his spot again, the same crowds oblivious of the masterpiece that was his theft.
What had happened to the note he wondered. He had taken nearly as much time crafting it as he had the forged painting. He had gone through several drafts over a period of weeks, all of which went on at length about his skill and how he would never be caught. About how no amount of money would ever buy the painting back. He had bragged about how he was going to sit in his dining room every evening and stare at it over a beautifully prepared pan seared lemon fillet, sipping on a 1933 Château Teau de Rayne-Vigneau, a wine in his opinion paired perfectly with the fish. In the end he discarded all of those early drafts. The note he had left simply read, "Catch me if you can."
He never had unwrapped the painting or uncorked that bottle. It sat in a closet at home, collecting dust. He wondered again what could have happened to his note. Did they mistake it for trash? Was the scandal so embarrassing that they simply chose to ignore it?
For the past two years the answers to those questions gnawed at his mind. His greatest achievement in life and no one acknowledged it. He imagined headlines. Endless news coverage. Speculation at who the mastermind could be. He wanted to read conspiracy theories years later about how it had been one of the guards, or a secret plot by the illuminati to gain control over the world's most precious artwork. But again, this did not come to pass. The local front page headline the morning after his theft had been, "Smog In The City: What Precautions Those With Asthma Should Take."
After two years of this hell Baptiste couldn't take it anymore. He had concocted a new plan. Tonight when he got home he was going to take the real Mona Lisa out of the closet, douse it with kerosene, throw it in the fireplace, and light a match.
The following night he was going to steal back his forged Mona Lisa. And this time, all that would be left in its place would be ashes. | 2018-04-19T01:26:31 | 2018-04-19T00:58:11 | 87 | 22 |
[WP] It’s your 20th birthday. You wake up, open your eyes...and see your bedroom as it was ten years ago. Turns out the past ten years of your “life” were just a very vivid dream... | You only live once... So don't fuck up - is what my dad use to tell me from behind the glass, his voice quiet and hoarse through the speakers as mom and I cried during visitation hours.
You only get one shot at life... so play it safe.
Slow and steady wins the race, after all.
And so on. I'm sure there's more, but we only live once right?
No.
Well, not me apparently. Not when I woke up this morning and found myself suddenly ten years younger. It was hard to believe. So hard in fact, that I thought I was dreaming. I mean, I was suppose to be twenty now. I had only been up for two nights straight, working on an assignment that was already two-days overdue. When I had finally finished, and was free to pass out, I knew it was going to be one of those really vivid dreams.
I didn't expect it to be *this* real.
I was a kid again. Short legs and flimsy arms.
The smell of breakfast, bacon and eggs sizzling on the tip of my nose, the summer sun spilling through the curtains and washing over me. It was all too real. Too real to be a dream.
But when it was time to go to school, I found myself in fifth grade again. Kids screaming and running around the playground like monkeys during recess, ruler-slapping Mrs. Crook having a good time with the misbehaving kids, and... homework.
It felt like I was reliving memories of a lifetime ago - except it was only ten years, but being a kid, every hour in school felt like an eternity.
By the end of the first day, I had accepted that it wasn't a dream - that everything before, the ten years I had lived? That was the *real* dream. It was the only rational conclusion that I could have made.
And I was wrong.
With each passing week, it became clearer. Taylor, the bullied kid in class, moved away - just like she had done in my 'ten-year dream'. Ryan, a really feisty kid, broke his arm again. Mrs. Crook was fired again, after she had smacked some kid's wrist too hard and drew blood. All the tests questions came back to me like a hazy déjà vu, mostly the ones I got wrong. I didn't remember all the answers, but I remembered the wrong answers, the abysmal mistakes I made.
Everything was falling into place, just as my 'dream' had predicted.
I was sixteen now. The age when my father's crew pulled their biggest heist and failed. My father being the one who took the fall for the group.
I stepped into the abandoned factory, my footsteps echoing sharply against the smooth cement.
"That you Norman?" a gruff voice asked.
Somehow, I was getting a second shot at life. A chance to do everything right, and I knew I wasn't going to be playing it safe.
---
---
/r/em_pathy
| "What... there's no... wait, what?" I walked myself through where I was - it all seemed familiar. I remember the ugly plaid sheets I had on my bed in highschool and I certainly remember how chubby I was during that time. Looking at my gut with the sheets in the background was all I needed to confirm when I was, roughly. I checked my phone - wow, my old Razr - and saw that I was exactly 10 years back: May day, 2008. I got up, feeling unusually spry, and peaked out my door into the kitchen. My father was sitting there reading the paper like he used to. I closed the door. I needed to think.
Everything kept lining up - I was living a memory... a memory that I had lived. But the memory I was living in was just as real as the memory of the last 10 years. Was that a dream? Is this a dream? When does reality end and fiction begin? Am I dreaming I'm in a memory I had during a decade-long dream?
My stomach began to churn as I peered into the endless spiral of that thinking. I needed to think something concrete, to rule out possibilities.
The most obvious case: I'm dreaming, right now. My memories were real, but this is not. To test the theory, I looked at my Razr: 9:23. I put the phone away for five seconds, then looked back at it: 9:23, clear as day. Strike one for the "I'm dreaming" idea.
Next, I immersed myself in the imagination that when I turned around I would find myself on a beautiful beach with palm trees and sun and the sounds of birds. I spun quickly, snapping my head to induce a kind of rush, but only found myself staring at my old Nine Inch Nails poster. "Not exactly what I had in mind," I chuckled. Strike two.
Last chance: I turned on the tube television in my room. A commercial for Oxyclean came on. "If this is really the past, somebody should tell that guy not to get on that airplane." Anyway, I conjured up a vision that when I changed the channel, a golden desert, filled with sand dunes as far as the eye could see and not a cloud in site. I changed the channel up to 22 and saw a wide open field of grain with a red barn in the background. It was somehow close enough to the desert image, so I went for it - I tried to climb through the TV into the field. My hands hit the thick glass and I had to laugh at myself. Strike three, buddy.
I had never tried to crawl through a TV before, nor spin around and apparate into another country, but I knew that there were tricks one could do to change their surroundings when in a lucid dream. I had never seen a clock’s numbers change before my eyes, but knew that I was likely dreaming if they did. I had never had a lucid dream, actually, though I did go through a phase where I tried to indu...
I looked at my nightstand and saw a pencil and notebook sitting there - it was my dream log. The journal was filled with dreams I had written down, trying to remember as much as I could to improve dream recall. But the purpose was never to recall dreams - the purpose was to live them. I had spent weeks trying to induce lucid dreams, but never successfully found myself inside one. I had given up after an episode of sleep paralysis gave me that locked-in feeling. That was roughly ten years ago.
I sat back on my bed and contemplated this. Nearly a third of my life, indeed probably half of the important stuff and certainly 95% of the good stuff, was all a dream... a fabrication of my mind! I had grown, both in mind and body; I had seen friends die; I had climbed mountains; I had lost my faith; J’ai appris le français, putain. Well, French actually exists, but what about my friends and those mountains? What about God? How could I go forward, reliving the last 10 years, without having this self-constructed lie influence me? I couldn't force myself to believe them untrue. My life could never be the same - neither the life it would have been without the dream nor what it was within the dream.
I looked back at my dream journal. The universal truth of the dream is that it is fleeting and becomes less real with every minute after waking. I thought of my life, my imagined life: the fullness of it, the depth of experience, its imminent fading...
I picked up the pencil, turned a new page, and began to write my fictional autobiography, leaving nothing out.
| 2018-05-01T03:41:55 | 2018-05-01T03:00:09 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th.
I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning. | You know how when you fall asleep on your arm and you wake up and feel that tingly feeling? Yeah? Well imagine that through your entire body. That's not what it is, of course, it's actually just at the base of my skull. But 'The Buzz' as I've come to know it as creeps into my brain stem on the really bad recoil days.
When I was younger it was great. I could use my powers day and night, and in the morning I'd only feel a slight tingle. But now, if I lift for even ten minutes I'm guaranteed a ruined morning from the recoil.
What can I do? Like how much do I lift?
Oh, you want to know my superpower? Oh yeah, I totally spaced it, sorry I'm still recoiling a bit and it's all a bit fuzzy. I can use telekinesis.
I mean, of course we've all tried the home remedies, right? Tea, coffee, exercise, massage, sex. Sorry, was that tmi? Ok, ok. But you know what I mean, you read articles like "Top Ten Ways to Avoid Recoil", you try them, and realize you just have to ride the storm.
Not use my powers? I mean, I try not to go overboard, and right now it's really only when I push myself that I get bad recoil, but no, I'm not gonna stop.
Why? It's who I am, it's what I do. No one is coming up to you saying "Oh, you're tired typing up this report, why don't you quit being a reporter" you-you gotta take the good with the bad, and what? I'm supposed to give up being ranked third in the *world*, as a hero, just so I don't feel a bit of discomfort? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine *not* using my gifts.
*Mymyr*? The street drug? Yeah, it might numb the pain, but it doesn't get rid of recoil, and even then, it only numbs physical types, like speed or strength. People like Phantasm, or uh uh, what's his face? Dragoon, or me even, our recoil is too specific for something like mymyr.
Well, anyway, I have to get back to work, thanks for having me | 2018-08-19T05:57:43 | 2018-08-19T04:42:57 | 74 | 30 |
[WP] Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people. | "I'd like a club on Italian herbs and cheese, please." Dan says.
This is his usual order. In fact, Dan comes to this Subway on his lunch break, orders the same sandwich, and return to his desk to eat every day like clockwork. Dan is a predictable kind of guy, and he doesn't mind it; and knowing that he's unintentionally saved a few people throughout his mundane routine is kind of cool.
"Of course sir," says the sandwich artist. She turns to the bread cabinet, but ends up grabbing a loaf of Italian instead.
"Whatever," thinks Dan "It's not worth mentioning. Italian is close enough."
Suddenly, Dan feels his save count skyrocket. It takes a moment for the exact number to register.
Five billion and eleven saved.
"What the fuck, how is that even possible?" he mutters under his breath.
"I'm sorry," The Subway worker looked up from the sandwich, "Is there a problem?"
"Oh, no, it's nothing. Just thinking is all. Um, could I get that sub plain? I'm in a bit of a rush."
Dan pays, and hurriedly leaves the store. His mind is a flurry of fear and nervous excitement. What could this mean? How could such a small decision, a simple sandwich order, change so many lives?"
On his walk back to work, Dan pays close attention to the world around him, looking for some sort of sign to show him how this would all come together.
Dan makes it back to his desk without incident. Somewhat disappointed, he eats his sandwich. That day, and several more pass with no obvious hint as to how Dan has saved so many people.
Three weeks later, Dan is found dead.
An autopsy reveals that Dan had a rare, deadly form of fungal infection. Fungal spores had entered his bloodstream, and after dismissing his symptoms as the flu, Dan took a day off to rest. He passed away in his sleep that night. Additional deaths and further investigation linked this fungus to the bread served at the Subway he regularly visited.
More interesting, however, were other discoveries made from Dan's autopsy. Dan's cells had an incredible capacity for autophagy. Based on his cells alone, Dan would appear to be half his actual age.
This revelation paved the way for medical progress. Degenerative disease treatment improved, and these conditions were eventually cured altogether.
The number of people that Dan saved with the cure derived from his cells was enormous.
Some might say billions.
| "I'll take the itallian bmt," you say, wanting to try something new. "Okay sir here you go, anything else", "Nope thats it". "Okay, your total is $6.25" "Hey asshole, you saved 5 billion, want a medal?" a voice in your head says sarcastically. You have been hearing the voice in your head as of late, ever since you got drunk with your friends, and went to a waste disposal plant, where they gave you 50 bucks to taste the goop. The voice wasn't demonic as you may think, but it had a Brooklyn accent, and was very sarcastic. you could communicate with it by thinking. "5 billion, how the hell did i pull that off?" you ask, "Hey asshole, my job is to relay the numbers, I don't know how you did it, I just know that you did it". "Fine be a dick," you respond. You bite into your sandwich, and immediately spit it out, "Oh shit, who the hell can eat this without wanting to die." you throw the sandwich out and walk away. at this time a short angry man walks by (he looks like if you mixed George and Newman from seinfeld, and then hit that person in the face with a baseball bat.) "tommorow, im using those launch codes, and im blowing up the fucking earth," he thinks. "I'm fucking starving, why did i spend all my money on drugs, and the launch codes?" "Holy shit is that an Itallian bmt?" he says audibly. he runs to the trash can, and pulls the bmt out. he starts eating it, and moaning for some reason, you turn around "What the FUCK?" you scream, as he starts eating it. he eats it so quickly that he begins choking. "help," he manages to wheeze out. you now notice, that no one else is on this street, you hear nothing at first, then a voice breaks the silence, "assbag, fuck his shit up, I don't know for sure, but i have a feeling that that is what the five billion was." Without even second guessing your self, you stomp that fuckers head about a dozen times, and look down, all thats left of what formerly was a he, was a fractured skull, and scatered pieces of flesh. You see something sticking out of his pocket, you pull it out it says, "CIA Operative 935, level 10 security clearance" you hear a gunshot behind you, and everything goes black. You hear the voice once again, but this time, for the final time. "asshole, i was gone for a minut-- what the fuck?" somehow you respond i was shot, "wait a minute," he pulls you into the real world again, but you have no body now, you look at your dead body, and realise time is paused, you walk over to the man who shot you, and look in his pocket, he too was a cia operative. Time then resumes, and you stand there and look at the man who shot you, he stands near your now lifeless body, and looks at you, "poor son of a bitch," you hear him mumble, "it didnt have to be like this." He moves to the man you killed, and pulls out a cellphone, it is locked by a fingerprint, so he takes the corpse's hand and unlocks it, he sees footage of an MW2 private lobby, where him and another person used bullets too write messages to each other including the launch codes, he gaspes, and realises he was a double agent, he then looks at your body, picks it up, and tosses it in the trunk of your car, he later buries your corpse, in a ditch, on it he placed a stone. The voice returns one last time, "You may not know why you died, but you died, preventing 5 billion deaths, the man was planning on using the launch codes, to blow up the earth like in call of duty bo1 moon, but you killing him prevented that, farewell, friend" everything returns to darkness, until you finally cease to exist.
​
I understand that this was utter shit | 2018-11-17T19:42:29 | 2018-11-17T17:29:21 | 166 | 35 |
[WP] Everyone has magic and the magic they have is based off of their name. Society uses a small range of names because they know the magic that comes with it. Your parents decided to give you a very ancient name that does not have a record of its accompanying magic. | They thought themselves magical. Funny. They never realized the power hidden in our names. Tradition maybe...but some call it fate. Nathan (Necromancers), Wylson (Were-magicians), Eleanor (Elementalists), Hassan (Hellcasters) Doink Who Points Out Errors (Diviners), and Aleah (Arcane Warlocks). Those were the 6 names and those were the 6 paths.
My parents forged a new one. I was born, somewhere in the 1900s, early years, March if I remember correctly. My parents were in London for the Conference for Collaborative Efforts in the Magic Societies. My mother had apparently refused rest, instead choosing to work even harder than she usually had despite her being 9 months pregnant. Her water literally broke during the Conference and I was born later that night. They named me Darius. I had death magic.
My magic is supreme magic. The very fabric of life can be altered with a single whisper, and none would be the wiser. I am the only one. My parents had somehow bribed the doctors to take the secret to their graves with them, or threatened them, who knows. Regardless, I’ve always presented myself as Nathan, seeing as I already had control of the Kingdom of Death, I figured Necromancy would be easy to perform as a little masquerade.
I’ve started to shape the world to my image. Murdering when possible, and recruiting more souls to my cause. It’s been rather easy if I’m being honest. I was thinking it would be time for a little more fun. So, today, well I’ve just gone and done something really interesting. I’ve made it known to all the public worldwide that my name is Darius, that my magic is Death Magic and that I’m coming to kill each and everyone one of them.
Now the fun begins...
100 upvotes I’ll continue #whoreforkarma
| My full first name is SpagetthiBeast Jeeves ShenronOurobourosTheDestroyer III-49th. My last name is Jones.
\--
Alright so let's sort my powers. My best power is SpaghettiBeast's Spaghetti\_Engage. I see the whole universe, or whatever, part of it I want. Then I go to an Infinite Void. Then some guy named Jeeves walks in with a plate of spaghetti and asks me for a wish and what I would like to eat. First Jeeves asks me how hungry I would like to be (I learned why this would be useful when using Spaghetti\_Engage over and over) from 40 days in the desert to 40 days in paradise, scale of -40 to 80 where 0 to 40 are normal range, negatives are days in desert, and over 40 is days in paradise. Second Jeeves asks for my wish and food of choice. Third Jeeves makes the food happen.
The power is Spaghetti\_Engage because the default plate is spaghetti, which Jeeves is more than willing to switch out. Though lately I just let Jeeves make me the Spaghetti. He's good with the cooking Magic on that one.
Fourth I eat and my wish regardless of what it was comes true.
\--
Second, I'm immortal. I die and come back exactly 48 times (but also somehow infinitely many times, don't ask), apparently I rule over exactly 48 Multiverses and enter in and out of the reality plane to do my spaghetti shit. I die but as soon as my soul wants a body again, it just does. Either by Spagetti\_Void or being back on Earth 3 through 49. Jeeves always shows up to explain stuff too. Jeeves is kinda my slave but sometimes he tells me to do stuff. Like Universe 6 needs a golden age, use your power to give them resources. So Jeeves can be cool or annoying like that. Jeeves is trying to help me start my own Universe, but I just wanna hang out with some chicks. Jeeves has so much faith in me.
\--
Third, I'm Jeeves and I switch off between existence modes, but SpaghettiBeast never knows what Jeeves is thinks, nor Jeeves what SpagettiBeast thinks .
\--
Fourth, I have to destroy the Universes along with me every time I go Shenron or Ourobouros. I transform into some sort of Snake while the Universe becomes Spaghetti, my hunger goes -40, but it turns I am made of Spaghetti and I eat everything in existence until Jeeves pulls me back into existence. I love being Ouroboros because Jeeves and SpaghettiBeast merge consciousnesses at the maxima of destruction. Just for an instant as each Big Bang produces a new Jeeves and a new SpagettiBeast anywhere from Multiverse 3 to 49 at random.
​
A few times we ended up in the same multiverse, which was cool. Jeeves was really easy to understand after such a recent merge and I have fond memories of Multiverse 26.
\--
See most people have names like Archangel Michael or Jesus. I met a few Buddhas who were chill. The Gokus are annoying they always unite Dragon Balls to ask for wishes but the thing is I can't be Shenron without becoming Ouroboros, so things only worked out that time I get their Multiverse twice in a row, like that one time with 26. It'll probably work out again at some point, but golly Krillin(s) need to stop dying. | 2018-11-23T21:03:01 | 2018-11-23T20:26:08 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it. | “What meaning of this?” Asked Skrum the Red.
The inspector clicked his pen and stared at the clip board, “Because Mr. Skrum...”
“Me am LORD Skrum little man. I no conquer tri-countryside area to be call MR.”
“Very well then LORD Skrum, Butcher of Westhaven, Skull forger of Gothrar, Dark Shadow of Callistar, and Lord of Fallten, I am an inspector from the Guild of Evil Tyrants and I’m here to make sure that your dungeon is up to code.”
The large Ogre scoffed, “You am forgetting Champion of Darkenrest but Skrum am no poor host. Please enter.”
The man with the clip board, swirling dark robes surrounding him like a cloud, glided along in the wake of the Ogre lord. The ogres minions, goblins and mogg and even a few hobgoblin and bugbear, took a step away from the gliding man as he wafted in the wake of their massive overlord. They had lived with Skrum long enough to know about concepts like cruelty and bloodthirstyness were but they didn’t need to be taught what the true evil of bureaucracy felt like.
They stood aside in the wake of his malevolence.
“You have a wide variety of goblinoids at your disposal.”
“Skrum like to keep diverse workforce to promote inclusive workplace and promote moral among staff. Also goblins cheap labor and no fall under accepted group for Affordable Cleric Act.”
“Of course.” Said the auditor as he made a note, “the reason I’m here today is that there have been some complaints that your dungeon may not be up to code.”
“Skrum can assure clip board man that Skrum am running top of line operation here. Skrum dungeon sport five spike pit traps, a deadly spider straight from the forests of Anklar, two different paths that lead to either cave of shadow pugilists or abattoir of deadly red worm, followed by the sanctum of Skrum himself and his vast hordes of treasure and evil goblin armies. What more could adventurer ask of Mighty Skrum?”
“And that all sounds marvelous Lord Skrum but unfortunately your dungeon is only prorated for low to middling fame adventures and your set up ranks those of the Higher if not Epic fame.”
“Certainly, Skrum only wishes to have highest of all high challenges within him halls of battle.”
“Then why did you files paperwork with the Guild of Evil Tyrants for low to middling fame adventurers?” He asked as he handed the contract up to Skrum.
The ogres eyes scrunched up as he read and he began to darken, “This reek of Throgdar from Human Resources. He good troll, excellent axe work, but he not flower in middle management as much as me would hope. Rest assured that this problem be solved on next inspection after strenuous chastisement and employee remediation.”
“I have full confidence in your managerial ability. In the mean time we will send over new submission paper work, with a small fee and fine, and it is my hope that we can have your dungeon back in operation by this time next fortnight.”
He and Skrum shook hands, he collected his papers, and one short transformation later he was off to the next stop.
A bureaucrats work was never done. | So here I am, inspecting the dungeon of some mad scientist. Normal Friday, nothing special. See, my job is to keep balance in this world. We all know that this is a fantasy world, but the players don't realize that it's real. What they see as numbers, we see as everyday life. The boss trains his minions, crafting their stats to his liking. The builder designs a lair, and the owner makes the traps. We set the trap type, the DC to save, the damage, it's all very serious business. I'm an inspector, my job is to keep it fair. No Tarrasque in a dungeon meant for non mythic heroes. The number of beasts contributes to a total pool of threat rating, and the harder you make the dungeon the harder we make your CR. We all know the rules. So on today's list, we're dealing with a scientist who focuses on biology, life magic, and necromancy.
"So, tell me about the encounters on the first floor, mister..."
"Please, call me thirteen. You see, you get in to my lab by going through a magical portal, one that can only be opened by me or my monsters. So you have to fight whatever beast comes out of the portal, then you can enter. Once inside, you'll find a series of Gremlins that can use detonate, effectively killing themself instantly, but doing moderate damage to the players."
"Understandable. Now their health, if it's low enough to die instantly from the half detonation, they should be easy enough to kill?"
"Of course sir. They only have 25 health between low rolls and a negative constitution. However, as level 10 they do 10d8."
"So right there we already have a decent challenge rating. An ambush of them can drop half the health on a tenth level barbarian without much issue. Now, when we move to the end of this floor?"
"Well, that's when you battle to open up a new portal for the second floor. I designed a half construct, a bionic monster so to speak. He has 200 health, untyped DR/15, and can do a 4d10 slam attack."
"Sounds like a boss fight right from the start. I'm assuming this dungeon is intended for levels 15 and up?"
"No, I figured a couple of level 12 players could go through, maybe with a higher ranked guide as a backup."
"We'll get to the problems with everything you just said later, tell me about the second floor."
"Well, there's a trap on a door that shoots out a jet of fire in a 10 foot width, moving forward about 50 feet, so if you're in the connected hall its almost a guaranteed hit."
"And what type of disarm check are we using? Perception to find the trap is important too."
"Oh, yes, the disarm check is only a 26, a good rogue could easily take care of it. The perception is a little higher though."
Well, we all know what a little higher means with this type. It's clear he's making a dungeon meant to wipe out parties just for the sake of it. Let's hear what he has to say.
"So, your check to find the trap is a 40, and the column does 50d6 damage, half with reflex."
"Okay, gonna stop you right there. Even a rogue specialized to deal with traps has to basically critical to even see that trap, and that damage could kill a level 20 with a high enough roll and failed save."
"But with the save the top damage you could take is 150, which wouldn't kill a specced level 12 fighter. And with a rogue reflex would negate completely."
"Regardless, either the check needs lowered to find the trap, or the damage needs dropped. You've already thrown an initial undetermined fight, a series of detonations, and a boss at them. They're likely to already be low on health and magic. But just because I have to finish my job, tell me the rest of the floor."
"Oh, the rest of it is simple. There's a room with 6 hell hounds, all level 10, a room full of dire bats, about 20 level 6, and a loot chest. The last room has 6 of those Gremlins with invisibility, and 4 of that construct I made earlier."
"Okay, that's a CR 20 for small group, with a party I could be generous and give it 18. Watch your codes, and limit yourself next time. If you weren't already dealing with mythic level heroes in your other dungeons I'd shit you down."
So there you have it. Another wack job who thinks a literal monster army is a normal dungeon for low levels. I wish I could be done with him, but it's every month with this kid, and the players love him. Good loot, interesting beasts, and they keep getting stronger for fighting through him. His next instance is supposed to be a forest full of natural monsters he coded and grew from scratch. Well, I guess I'll see how that goes next time. | 2018-11-26T12:02:02 | 2018-11-26T11:39:13 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You are a vampire. If one of your victims isn't completely drained of blood, they reanimate as a newborn vampire, which by law, you are now responsible for. You have always carefully avoided this, until one morning you notice a sticky note on the door of your apartment: "I lived, bitch." | Vampire. That's what they call us. We are satirized, sexualised, and objectified, as though we don't exist; as though we are a fabrication, some cockamemie tale involving chromatic adolescents and puerile fantasy. Whether a stroke of brilliant misdirection by the Aristocracy, or a happy accident; I'm grateful for the cloak it provides me day-to-day.
I've been around the block before, more times than my human memory has the capacity for. I know I'm not the eldest of my kind either, in fact, I'm considered quite young by the governing Aristocracy, whose laws I *must* follow to protect the ineffable secrecy behind our existance. I've seen others make minor mistakes that resulted in their entire blood-heritage being excecuted. We must be careful. *I* must be careful.
I had been stalking my target for some time, carefully monitoring his social media and his daily movements. He didn't have many friends, lived by himself far from any family. Were he to disappear one day the investigation would be short and, I think, summary.
Tonight, I feed.
He lay asleep, the illumination from his alarm clock cast an ominous crimson glow past the open bottles on the cabinet onto his prone form.
I worked fast, in one movement I pinned him down and exposed his neck. His eyes lazily opened as I filled my craving maw with his flesh, pumping soothing mycotoxins through his bloodstream as I drank my fill. As his heartbeat began to slow, I started to feel drunk and light-headed, which was unusual, I was sure this one wasn't a junkie.
I groggily realised my mistake. I was too hungry, or too eager to see it clearly. As my fading sight moved toward the alarm clock, I saw, to my own horror what was written on one of the bottles: Ambien. He must have taken the whole bottle.
When I came to, I almost forgot where I was, until my eyes saw the post-it note stuck to the alarm clock.
"I lived, bitch..."
This was bad. I had to find him before they did. | I awaken to prepare for the prowl of the night. I walk into the kitchen of my farm to enjoy an appetizer of cow blood. Not as delicious as human blood, but it will give me the energy to go about my day. A loud banging occurs on my door.
“Oh shit, a vampire hunter.” I think to myself. I hurry into my room to grab my shotgun. Vampire hunters may know my weaknesses, but they are still human. I fire several shots at the door as a warning. I hear footsteps running away from the farm. Vampire hunters always think they are hot shit, but cower at the first sign of gun fire. It is like they think we are forever trapped in the nineteenth century.
I open the door and see a note in the ground. The note reads in bad handwriting, “I lived, bitch.” The paper is torn from the shot gun shells. I let out a sigh. Guess I got to go exploring for the hunter. Though why would a hunter leave a note. Are they really that stupid?
A black car pulls up in the driveway and a tall woman stepped out.
“Hello, Daryl.” She smiles.
“What are you doing here Victoria.” I reply “I already told you I don’t want to join your vampire sex cult.”
“I told you Daryl it is an alliance not a sex cult.” She scowls, “and we are trying to ensure our safety and prepare for the upcoming war, but you would know that if you didn’t drop in once a month to get a human.”
“Whatever. Now, what do you want?” I reply.
“I am seeing how you are handling him.” She smiles.
“Handling who?” I ask.
“Your newborn.” She smirks.
“What. I do not have a newborn. I drain my victims completely you know that.” I shout.
“Not this one. We found him confused and wondering. He was baring his fangs left and right. A blood spell revealed him to be yours.” She is giddy at the thought.
“Well shit, where is he?” I ask expecting to see him pop out of the car.
“He decided to run ahead. He clearly inherited your idiocy.” She rolls her eyes.
“Oh.” I stutter. Victoria looks at the gun and the bullet holes.
“Oh my god, you didn’t shoot him.” She widens her eyes.
“I thought he was a hunter.” I stutter.
“Why would a hunter come here you dumbass?!” She yells. She holds her hands to her head and then snaps them down. She lets out at a primal scream. “Kevin come out here.”
A man looks to be early college comes out from behind the bush.
“This is Kevin. He is your charge. Take care of him for the next ten years. If he dies, you will suffer the consequences.” She pushes him onto me. “Later, jackass.” She gets in her car and drives off.
I look at my newborn. I must’ve ate him at that frat party. College students are so easy to convince.
“So hi my name is Daryl.” I say, “I guess I am your guardian.”
“Whatever dude just don’t shoot me again. Also, I am hungry as fuck do you got any food.” He replies.
“Err I have cow blood in the house.” I answer.
“Sounds gross. Also, where are the chicks. I thought vampires get mad amounts of action.” He replies.
“Well shit, my charge is a douchebag.” I think to myself, “it is not too late to shoot him.”
“Fuck you man.” He says, “remember charges can read your mind. Yeah, Victoria told me the rules. She thought it would be hilarious to make me your charge. She also told me to call her every week. I wasn’t going to do that because clingy, but after hearing your thoughts, I am going to call her so often she will basically be a roommate.”
“Well this is going to be fun,” I think out loud no point in internalizing it. | 2018-12-20T08:22:12 | 2018-12-20T07:53:21 | 85 | 40 |
[WP] You’re at your parents house with all of your family. You guys are having a HUGE Easter egg hunt. There is only one left and you venture in the tall brush area to find it. You find it and open the egg but it’s empty. You walk back to find everyone gone. Turns out you’ve been gone for 50 years. | I opened the plastic egg and there was nothing.
"Of course." I muttered.
I had cut my leg with some thorn looking for it, and there wasn't even any candy or a quarter or anything in it. I closed it and rolled my eyes and walked back to my parent's house. As I got closer, I realized it wasn't there.
"What the hell?" I said to myself.
Instead of the house I grew up in, I was looking at a pile of rubble. I still saw the road though it looked cracked and dry. The whole neighborhood was gone. There were a few small fires. I had been in the brush for only a few minutes. My first though twas that some nuclear bomb had gone off and I had somehow survived. That still didn't make any sense. I pulled out my phone. The battery was dead. Then, four men came running out of the brush. They were all wearing dark green camouflage with bulletproof vests and had some advanced assault rifles. They started screaming at me in a language I couldn't understand or recognize.
"What?! What are you saying?!" I yelled at them.
"English?" one of them, the leader, asked.
"Yeah, yes, English," I said.
"Get down!" he yelled, "On your, uh, knees,"
I complied.
"What's going on?" I asked.
Another one smirked.
"What's so funny?" I asked, angry.
"The US is being invaded, dumbass," said the one that smirked, "By us."
"What?!"
"Yeah, it started in 2068," he said.
"That's like fifty years away,"
He laughed again.
"You're funny," he said, "Or you're stupid. 2068 was last year."
I was so confused. Then, the leader stopped smiling.
"Hey! What's that?!" he asked.
"What?" I asked.
"Under your jacket," he said.
I unzipped my jacket, revealing my camouflage T-shirt.
"I knew it!"
"What?"
"America banned camouflage shirts being worn by civilians to avoid confusion. You're an American soldier."
The soldier raised his gun. I ran as fast as I could through the rubble that was my childhood home. I tripped on some debris and fell on the road. The soldiers ran forward. They aimed their guns at me. I realized that I was about to die on the road I had grown up on. I had walked along this road on my way to school for twelve years. I had learned how to ride a bike here. I learned how to drive here. I had been on it a thousand times. And now, I was going to die on it. Fifty years in the future in some weird, dystopian world, killed my soldiers of some unknown country. I saw the leader advance upon me, and aim his gun at me. I realized the Easter egg had fallen out of my hands. I don't know why, but I reached for it. I opened it with one hand, and all of a sudden, the soldier and his gun disappeared. The rubble and fires disappeared. All of a sudden, everything returned back to normal. The houses were intact, I could hear my family in the backyard. I looked back at the egg. It had done something. I checked my phone. It was 2019. I was back. There might be some horrible future in fifty years, but for right now, I was safe. I got up, and there was the sound of a car trying to stop. I turned to my right and saw a Ford truck barreling down the road about to hit me. I realized that even if I had survived the soldiers, I was still going to die on the road I had grown up next to. I was about to cry because of the irony, but there was no time. | The sun beat cruelly down a nine year-old in a white button-up. Obviously Philip Walker didn’t care that his pits were doing their best to emulate Niagara Falls; his mind was focused solely on the hunt.
Phil wiped a small hand across his brow. He had fled his sisters to in favor of some out-of-the-way chocolate. This strategy had yielded a rather dismal two eggs, the contents of which he had eaten and the casings disposed.
A speck of colorful light flashed in the corner of his eyes.
Phil screeched to a stop and whipped his head around. He wrestled through the tall hedges in his way and fell into a small clearing.
He stood up, and promptly covered his face with both hands to muffle his squeal.
Phil had stumbled upon the perfect Easter egg.
It was twice as large as a normal one, and was gleaming yellow-white in the sun. Reverently Phil stepped across sweet grass and squatted. He scooped the Perfect Egg into his hands.
It broke, and pure nothing spilled out.
Someone above him screamed.
Phil screamed back, still clutching the Perfect Egg. A huge rabbit, fat and lumbering, was shaking with terror.
“Young M-Master Walker,” the Rabbit Eostre quivered. “Please, set the Egg Fragments down.”
“I didn’t know rabbits could talk.”
Philip’s fear had ebbed away, and all that was left was confusion.
“Please, child. The Egg takes precedence over all mortal affairs. I implore you, Young Master Walker, to return to me what is mine.”
The boy didn’t really understand the bigger words the rabbit lady had said, but he got the general gist.
Let it also be said that though Phil was a friendly child, he was not a bright one, and was irrationally attached to Easter eggs.
“No.”
The Rabbit Eostre was dumbfounded.
“Are you sure, human? I am not above resorting to magiks.”
There was little trace of the fearful bunny that had trembled in the grass seconds before.
“Go away, rabbit lady.”
“I—well then. So be it. I shall condemn you to half of a century of the sweetest of dreams. You have earned the disfavor of the Lady Eostre twofold, and I am not one to forget an offense.”
She raised a gargantuan paw. Light seeped through her claws and wrapped around Phil’s head. His eyes crossed, failing to track the shining trail.
Without warning, the lights stabbed into his nostrils. Phil let out a whimper and fell softly to the underbrush.
The Lady Eostre hopped to the sleeping child’s arms. She extracted the shattered Perfect Egg and slid it into her fur.
She bounded away, sparing no thought or glance behind her.
*
A blade of sweet grass tickled Philip’s nose. He sneezed. A dog’s wet nose snuffed at his hair. He smiled sleepily and pushed a yellow lock out of his face.
For the first time in 50 years, Phil’s eyes opened.
The dog let out a quiet woof in surprise. Philip responded in kind (with his patented squeal, not a bark).
A woman’s voice called for “Frisket!” The mutt in front of him perked up its head and barked a summons. It shifted an intelligent gaze towards a short, freckled figure emerging from the hedges.
“Holy crap.”
“Nnggg.” Philip clambered to his feet and brushed dirt off his high-waisted shorts.
She bent down. “Are you okay? Um, where are your parents?”
Phil grunted. “My head hurts.” He rubbed at a spot between his eyes.
The woman nodded. “Yeah, okay. Do you wanna come inside? I can call your parents, and, uh, get you some orange juice?”
“Sure.” Philip brightened. He reached out and grabbed at the woman’s hand. After a beat, she took it.
*
Phil chugged his third glass of OJ. The woman (Sandra, apparently) laughed softly behind him, much to his chagrin. Frisket was dozing by his feet.
“Do you know your parent’s number?” She asked.
He nodded without turning his head. Sandra tapped him on the shoulder. Phil turned.
There was a flip phone in her extended hand.
The little boy wrinkled his nose. “What’s that?”
Sandra laughed again, this time puzzled. “It’s a phone? I guess it’s a little outdated.”
Philip giggled. “That’s not a phone.” He scratched at his chin. “That’s, um, the Captain’s communicator!”
He looked exceedingly proud of his deduction.
Frisket stirred.
Sandra frowned. “You a fan of Star Trek? It’s a little old.” She set down the phone.
Phil nodded fervently. “I love Star Trek. I can even watch it in color! Mom got a new TV a week ago.”
Sandra’s eyebrows furrowed even closer together.
Sandra considered herself an expert in children. After all, her work was in childcare, and she had given birth twice. She loved kids, and possessed the rare ability to treat them kindly without condescension.
This one, however, was an enigma. She didn’t like enigmas.
“It’s like he’s from 1967,” she muttered.
Philip rolled his eyes. “Pshhh, Miss Sandra.” He snorted.
“It’s 1969!” | 2019-04-16T14:51:57 | 2019-04-16T12:59:13 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | God stared at his mug.
Number 2?
He turned his omniscient eye to the mortal world, searching for the number 1 dad.
He could find no sign of him.
And God was confused. But also, He did not really want to admit to anyone that he was only #2.
So he went for a stroll, and just happened to find William of Ockham relaxing beneath a heavenly tree, nose deep into a book.
"William! How are you?" God boomed, secure in the knowledge that only those still living could not withstand His voice. William had been dead for near 700 years, and was therefore quite safe.
"Your Eternal Majesty!" William said, looking up from his book. "What a pleasant surprise." He looked at God expectantly, having already deduced that something was amiss. It'd taken considerably less than 700 years to figure out that the omnipotent creator of all things tended to stay in his office unless there was a problem.
God explained about the mug.
William nodded, and briefly pondered.
"It seems to me, Lord, that if you cannot find this number 1 Dad in the mortal world, then he must be outside it." William shrugged. "That is the simplest explanation."
God thanked him for the advice, and promptly turned his all seeing eye to the eternal planes.
It only took him a moment to see who held the Number 1 Dad mug. When he saw who it was, he laughed to himself. Of course. He should have known.
The Number 1 Dad mug was being used right here in Heaven. Fred Rodgers was using it to sip tea. |
44 years old, looks about 30, tells girls he is 26, Oliver Wiley is still at it. Out on the lash last night, no joy with the ladies, he summoned trusty 21 year old Charlene to his flat. Charlene has been a reliable F-Buddy on/off for a year.
Oliver has Been stringing her along for a while now, robs from her purse regularly, has smacked her around on occasion and continues to use her for her body although aware she has caught feelings.
The following morning they wake up together in Oliver’s Bed. Charlene had trod on the remote while getting out of bed and the morning news popped up on the tv screen.
“With just over 8 billion people on the planet what will the future of food look like? Coming up later the Dad mug ranking phenomenon, what’s your number?” The newsreader read from the TelePrompTer.
Charlene left the room and headed towards the kitchen.
“I’ll have a cup of tea if you’re making” Oliver bellowed down the hallway cheekily.
No response from Charlene.
Ever the opportunist Oliver picks up Charlene’s purse to nick a cheeky 20 quid for a pack of cigs later but there is no cash.
He glances towards the door then takes out her debit card and reads the name Charlene Oynient. Oliver thought to himself it’s quite bad that he wasn’t actually aware of her surname and also that it is a rather unique surname that he had in fact once seen before.
His longest ever relationship, closest thing to love he had felt, Charlotte Oynient all those years ago, must be a couple decades now. Left him after a patch of heated arguments, a pregnancy scare and violent behaviour.
“Didn’t know you had kids” Charlene shouted inquisitively in response.
“I don’t...oh what did you find the #1 Dad cup, my mate bought it as banter ages ago, jokes on him it’s the perfect size for a proper brew” Oliver chuckled to himself.
“Well yes but it’s doesn’t say number 1”
The cup read #7,999,999,632 Dad.
Brian Beaumont, 51, perfect family, 2 girls, 2 boys, met his wife in uni and been married 22 years. Works 2 jobs so that his wife doesn’t have to yet has been ever present in the kids lives, where does he get the time or energy.
Brian was at home when the news broke and chuckled at the headline running along the bottom of the tv screen, ‘Dad Rankings: Sourcery or Mugs Game?’
Naturally he has accrued several of these mugs over the years and feeling quite confident decided to take a picture of his collection. He went to the kitchen And took the first mug out the cupboard, it was old and faded with no visible text. He took a 2nd mug out the cupboard...blank, strange, he thought nothing of it. He takes 4 mugs out at once 2 in each hand. Before Brian really had time to question what was going on he heard frantic movement, his wife sprinted in to the kitchen then locked eyes with him, their daughter had followed behind her.
“what you doing honey” she asked?
“Just going thro...” “HAPPY FATHERS DAY” his youngest daughter interrupted. | 2019-04-18T16:07:46 | 2019-04-18T15:37:08 | 253 | 42 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed" | I muttered, "Number of people killed." And as expected, baby Mateo and baby Amelia had zero.
So I quietly head down to the dining room and saw my aunt setting the table. I muttered those words again. And it was no surprise the results said she had killed 8 people. But the number on her head kept blinking back and forth from 0 to 8. I felt sorry for her, I wanted to give her a hug. Six months ago, there was a car accident in her usual route home. My aunt was not able to save those unfortunate people involved even though she was there as first respondent. I said a quick prayer for her, and moved to the kitchen.
"Number of people killed." I said.
"Yes, Richard?" Mom asked as she was preparing our dinner.
"Oh, nothing."
"Dinner is almost done. Go get Mateo and Amelia." My mother instructed.
And like the obedient son that I was, I went up to the bedrooms. I passed by the family den, and saw my Dad reading. I searched him. And zero results. I was both disappointed and relieved I have a normal, law-abiding family.
"Dinner's ready!" We all heard Mom and settled ourselves around the table. Mateo and Amelia were a bit unruly because they still wanted to play.
It was a good dinner. I love fried chicken and it was all I ate. While the adults always have the salads. I was so full and was about to ask to leave when we hear a commotion outside.
"What's that noise?" My mom asked. "Can you go and check?"
I went out to check on Roger, our Doberman. "What is it, boy?"
Roger kept barking at nothing. But soon stopped and started to run around me. I held out my hand and let him smell and lick it. "I had chicken!" I said as I pet him with my other hand. There was no search bar on his head. But I searched him anyway. A result popped out. It said 34.
"Huh? That's impossible!" I looked at the result again, and stared at Roger. And then I searched him again.
"List names of people killed." I did not recognize anyone on the list. There must be something wrong with my search.
"How did you kill them?" Numerous results kept popping out. Burning. Torture. Asphyxiation. Beheading.
"Roger...what are you?" A result popped out.
Roger answered, "I'm hungry." | My dad is a Vietnam vet, and never talked about it much. I know from my mom he has pretty severe ptsd. I felt guilty for wanting to know, but I couldn’t help it. The number kinda surprised me, 12. It was more than I expected, and I instantly had half a dozen more questions I wanted answers to.
But I couldn’t bring myself to dig any farther. It already felt a little too intrusive. It was then that I had another strange thought, what about the rest of my family? The following morning, I decided to pry.
“Morning, mom.” I said
“Morning sweetheart.” My mother responded. She was browsing Facebook on her iPad, as usual. “Have any plans today?”
“Nah. I was gonna go to the movies with Jeff, but he decided he just wanted to go with Jessica.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear that. What movie were you going to see? If it’s not something scary we could go.”
I giggled, “It was actually something scary.”
“Well are there any other movies you wanted to see? You know what, I’m gonna check and...”
I started the search before she could finish her sentence. I was kinda nervous, what if... what if my mom had killed somebody? I mean she was a nurse, would something like negligence count? Zero. Phew. My mother is still a saint.
“Honey? Am I talking to a wall here?”
Oh shit I zoned out for too long.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said have you seen this movie.” She moved the iPad a little closer to my face.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I saw it last weekend with a bunch of people from youth group.”
She sighed, “One of these days I’d like to go see a movie as a family.”
We talked for a little longer before I wandered back to my room to play games with my friends online. That evening, we decided to go out for dinner. My younger sister Trisha brought her friend Rashida.
We ate, the girls gossiped and looked at their phones the whole time, and then I remembered the question. I looked across the table at my younger sister and decided to search. I mean I’d already searched the rest of my family, it would be rude not to include her.
Zero. Obviously. She’s fifteen, she’s weird but not that kind of weird. Her and Rashida are certainly different, but they’re just asocial types. I took another sip of coke, and as I looked up again I nearly choked.
“Are you okay sweetie?” My mom quickly responded.
“I’m fine.” I managed to cough out, my eyes watering, but still glued to the search bar over my sisters head. That 1 wasn’t there before. My eyes scanned back and forth. I wiped the tears away and quickly looked back up, still coughing.
“Can you cover your mouth when you cough? F-F-S.” Trisha said angrily.
“Sorry.” I said while still looking at the number above her head. Ten. *Ten*?! Holy shit what the fuck. I had to know more. This had to be some kind of mistake. Okay, what about number of people murdered. Search. Oh please, oh god no. Still ten.
“Hey mouth breather, can I help you with something?” Trisha was scowling at me, Rashida too.
“Sorry I...” I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Zoned out, even while you’re about to choke to death.” Trisha quipped. Rashida smirked, blew air out of her nose, and rolled her eyes. I didn’t even have time to be mad. My sister is a goddamn serial killer. Maybe she’s killing bad people? Maybe it was all at once?
Wait, did my parents know? Or... what if she could search like I could? Maybe she’d done what I’d only dreamed about doing. Finding evil people, and murdering them.
Can my sister search like me. Search. | 2019-07-01T21:46:23 | 2019-07-01T20:07:43 | 289 | 215 |
[WP] Spells are a thing, but mana isn't. How many you can cast is limited only by how fast you can say them. Thus, rappers have become the world's best rapid-firing spellslingers. | I’m a grammatical wizard, I control the fundamentals. All my lyrical allusions are derived from elementals; using solely the essentials to build something monumental. The light & the shadows lend me limitless potential.
I explore my own potential, casting out beyond infinity. Reaching for divinity, I suffered an epiphany and teleport back to help you understand the mystery.
Arriving precisely, I’m never early or late, I just stepped out of time as I sat down to meditate.
I never lost track, while I watched from afar; I was walking on clouds and gazing up at the stars.
I search through my mind for the peace within, as I reflect upon the world and all the places I’ve been and I record these passing thoughts for they’re as quick as the wind, although as quick as they are gone they come back again. So I sit with my spellbook and the music in my head, and sparks start to fly from the tip of my pen.
As I channel electricity through cognitive ability, I strike like lightning through lyrical agility. The power of The Prophet, etched in modernity. If practice makes perfect I will practice through eternity.
Time flies, but in the moment we’re alive; now I’m casting time stop with the magic of my rhymes.
https://youtu.be/I_FS3WP0DBo | Two things had become very clear to Lil T: The world was fucked and there was nothing he could do about it.
While the former had been the mainstream opinion for decades Lil T had only adopted it recently. After all, humans and elves and the many other, sentient species around were quite resourceful. Surely the pollution of the world could be *fixed* one way or another, but it seemed to Lil T that people didn’t actually *want* to fix it. Be it due to greed or incompetence, be it due to indifference. Other times it seemed people were just more comfortable complaining. It wasn’t really that they wanted change, or else what would they complain about?
Upon reaching that conclusion Lil T had pursued a career in the music industry, specifically in rapping. By reaching peoples hearts – and work some magic while doing it – maybe people could be convinced to finally do something.
Unfortunately, Lil T wasn’t very good at it. His pleas remained unheard; his magic didn’t bear fruits. His music sounded terrible. He was wondering, maybe rapid firing a bunch of meaningless spells wasn’t going to work anyways. Maybe what it took, was something grand. Carefully planned and carefully executed. That would take time of course and Lil T had long understood, that time was simply not something they had an abundance of, if they wanted to survive.
So like many others, he just sat there. Inside his apartment, alone. It was safer that way, because of the air’s toxicity and really, what was the point anyways. He hadn’t seen the sun in month either. In fact, when looking outside the window it was not only the sun that was missing; he couldn’t even see across the street.
Lil T turned on the radio. “Fuck ‘dem fucks” by dwarven rapper GimFcK started blasting out the speakers. It started raining. The kind of rain that if one were to go outside, would melt your skin in an instant.
It left Lil T wondering. What if GimFck, who not only was a successful rapper but also the the world’s finest spellslinger, used his power for good? Famously, dozens and dozens of politicians had tried to make use of his talents – for good and ill –, but GimFck liked to complain about them, so he didn’t take any of them up on their offers. GimFck also liked to complain about various groups of activists, his colleagues in the business, his friends at home, his friends abroad, his mother and come to think of it there wasn’t really a lot of things GimFck didn’t complain about. Therefore, he was very famous.
At some point in his misery, Lil T dozed off. When he woke up, he felt a warmth on the right side of his face. It was confusing. Excited voices came out of the speakers, though Lil T couldn’t quite understand. Or rather, comprehend. The realisation would settle in later.
Somewhere far in the distance, away from the city, one of the few remaining trees that stood strong in this world, had finally finished his sentence. It had been in the making for centuries. | 2019-10-24T05:37:35 | 2019-10-24T05:09:57 | 125 | 49 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered. | When Derrick declared his intent of joining our adventuring group, we nearly died of laughter (which would have been quite embarrassing, considering all that we had survived up to that point). Here we were, a renown party of dragon-slayers and spelunkers of such places as the freezing Azura Tundra and the deadly Mountain of Rage, being begged by the grandson of the village elder to let him join our next adventure. Derrick had no armor, no weapons, and no real experience outside of the work he did around the village. That is not to say we fully dismissed the young man flippantly, however: sure, he was notable in stature and strength, but most importantly his imagination and passion were undeniable. Charles, our resident Knight and unofficial leader of our group, commended Derrick for these qualities, but nonetheless expressed his concerns: without equipment and, more importantly, the permission of his family, our group would not let him join us. Derrick seemed to accept this, and went on his way to continue his duties around the village.
​
A week had passed, and our group was about to set off toward our next mission, when the clanking of metal caught our attention. The noise was, of course, Derrick. Over the course of time we had spoken to him, Derrick had gone throughout the village and acquired whatever adventuring handouts he could get. Being the hard-working grandson of the elder, he was shown quite a bit of favor, especially considering the small size of the village. His equipment, while simplistic, all seemed to be up to the basic standard, with two exceptions: a fiery red pair of boots and a murky-brown, unattractive staff. The two items were 'cursed,' he told us: the boots would char the ground beneath them when their wearer was stressed, and the staff, once a powerful magician's tool, was now only capable of manipulating glass, as the result of an ancient curse. The boots were the only suitable pair he could find, and the staff had been a gift from his uncle. We admittedly felt unsure of bringing Derrick with us, but with the blessing of his entire family, and with Charles' approval, the young man joined us on our journey.
​
We had our ups and downs with Derrick, but for the most part he was simply content following us quietly and listening to our instructions when it came to combat. We would find a group of monsters, take out all but one or two of the weakest, and encourage Derrick to defeat them. One set of monsters and a patch of scorched earth later, we would be on our way. Our adventuring was simple, easy, and pleasant. Everything was going well.
​
And then we entered into the Eastern Desert.
​
Everything seemed fine at first. We encountered no monsters, and our supplies were more than adequate for the journey to the next town. As we were midway through our travels, however, the ground began to tremble. Suddenly, a Sand Wyvern burst out of the ground and soared above the startled group. It screeched, and began to descend rapidly toward the party. We all immediately split into different directions, with the sole exception of Derrick, who stood frozen in fear. Charles cried out a warning, and Derrick bolted away at the very last second, as the wyvern pierced through the ground, undoubtedly preparing to submerge and pick off the group one by one.
​
It certainly would have carried out that plan, were it not for the immediate cacophony of glass shattering mixed with the frenzied shriek of pain that suggested otherwise. As it turned out, the boots were much more powerful than we had thought, and a sizable portion of the sand we had been standing on just before was now a field of shattered glass, surrounding a distraught wyvern. I must give credit where credit is due: as we all stood in place, shell shocked by this development, Derrick took a shaky step forward and raised his trembling staff toward the beast. The sight was unlike anything I had ever seen: the shards of glass, appearing as prisms in the sun's rays, danced around the wyvern daintily, before launching themselves into its body with excessive force. The beast gurgled out a painful cry, before collapsing into a heap. This time, we were the ones frozen in place, as Derrick stood wide-eyed before the sand creature. We all looked at one another, unsure of how to respond. Eventually, we all began to move on once more. Despite all our adventures, I have never seen something so deadly as a pair of red boots paired with a warped, brown staff in the desert. I hope I never will. | The Lich was preparing to march, his army of undead stomp upon the once fertile fields of the land, death magic blackening nature and salting the earth. Bones rattled against metal as the billowing rags of the newly ordained Emperor of Death cruised above the land menacingly. Smoke billowed from his dilapidated jaw that furthered the necrotic fetter on the pasture's beauty.
There beyond the field lie the Lich's goal. The Castle of Emerald Plains. Creatures of darkness vied for its illustrious natural wellspring of magic for millennia. The king lies dead, his killer a now a soulless nephew who believed the Lich would truly stand as an ally.
And yet... The Lich paused. There was an odd feeling in the air. The storm clouds billowed overhead, the boney maws of the undead lightning drakes prepared to strike a malformed god's fury upon the castle. But this electric feeling wasn't of lightning magic... it was... draining magic.
In a moment, the Lich crashed into the ground, turning to see a swath of his army fall into a pile of ash, bone, and steel. His joints began to lock as rigor mortis set in. The once ominous body of the Lich was now decaying without magic to sustain its suspended decomposition. In a panic his milky eyes frantically scanned the near endless expanse for the culprit of this curse.
In the distance walked a rag-cloaked figure, not much unlike the Lich himself. Unlike the lich, however, these were not rags steeped in death. No, these were rags of filth. A browned glint occasionally crept through the dirt-covered cloak, showing signs of a rusted armor, once as pristine as the mail worn by the officers of the Castle, those who the Lich already fell in their vain attempt at resistance. Each step closer, another line of undead fell.
The Lich frantically began chanting. His voice was hushed, yet raspy with the sound of frayed and mangled vocal cords. Soon he could feel his joints loosening again, but he could no longer float so proudly over his prey, he could still feel the nipping of this curse at his heels. He pondered aloud.
"How... what insatiable hunger could feed on dark magic so unfazed? How could a mortal have such a damned CURSE!"
His last words sprung out across the field. By now the figure was no more than a few hundred meters away, and with the sudden spur of the Lich's words those meters were disappearing in a sprint. The air filled with the sounds of cracking and crumbling as the fearsome army of the damned became a dusted storm of dashed nightmares.
The Lich reared his back, head hung low and lightning billowing from his finger tips. But this- it was too much. The lightning sputtered into a mere crackle of static before the Lich bent his knee to the charging assailant. Shockwaves of thunder echoed out as the mighty drakes crashed into the ground, their bodies turning to plasma with no soul to hold back the mighty power of lightning within. The rain of destruction brought an ironic screeching on the army as the very destruction they sought to reap upon the emerald field was now engulfing what was left shambling in disarray.
The Lich could not stand. The curse was too great. It was that of a god's unholy fury that began squeezing the life out of his death, there could be no other explanation. Finally he could see the eyes of the man who destroyed his plans without lifting a finger.The blight against death stood slightly slumped as he began to remove his hood. What was beneath was a weathered face. A knight? A soldier? No, perhaps once. "This man is too gaunt to stand against a even a trumpeter". The Lich felt his jaw unhinge as the dead muscle and skin withered away ever so slowly.
The figure simply raised his hand to show 3 rings. A mild yet rugged voice came from the hero. "Accursed."
The Lich tilted his head, his jaw dangling precariously as he could only breathe out a vaguely questioning "Hurh?"
The hero began to relax his body, bringing his hand to his side as he spoke. "These rings are accursed. I am too poor for a sword worth a damn against you."
Once more the Lich gurgled, "Whra?"
"There are always... unexpected results when it comes to enchanting. I'm sure an undead such as yourself is well aware. Curses and such are a pain to waste magic on, and a pain to be rid of the accursed object. These rings were dirt cheap. So dirt cheap I could use what little dirt I had to buy 'em."
Soon the Lich began to lower his trembling body. Once more his joints began locking as he narrowed his eyes, a cougar ready to pounce... yet with no strength he could only continue to watch as decades of preparation fell to pieces.
"One ring grants terrific power... yet gives that power and then some to my enemies as well. One ring will shield me from the elements... yet consumes the wearer's magic to do so." He paused. He twisted the last ring, feeling it slide around his finger "And this was my first. I cannot remove it. If I could, then I would be able to satiate my hunger. Instead, I can never stop feeding... and neither can any curse put upon me. What good is a guard to the wizard guild hall if he cannot survive even the smallest hex?"
The Lich... did not move. His sight was bleary, his movement all but ceased. His skin brushed away into ash, and his bones began to collapse. Soon he too would join his army. In his last moments, he could only look as the man who slept on street corners felled him like no general before. There was nothing but contempt in the Lich's soul, and with that contempt he spoke his last words through a spirited tongue... and his last spell.
"If I cannot turn this green to black, then you shall do it in my stead. To challenge a Lich with curses? I shall show you what true unending hunger is... Feed upon the Wellspring. Feed until nothing remains."
The last word echoed throughout the valley, from the highest mountain to the deepest cavern. "FEED".
The grass withered. The field crumbled into black dunes. The Castle's serfs and nobles alike fell to the ground. Swirling around the disgraced guard was a wellspring of magic and life alike... and the rings grew tight as the man breathed his last breath- the last breath of life in the Emerald Plains. Nothing could stop the Lich. | 2019-12-02T16:39:48 | 2019-12-02T15:55:50 | 156 | 58 |
[WP] You were born with the natural ability to know the exact monetary value of anything you touch. This lands you a job as an expert appraiser. One day a person gives you a spoon that is worth 1 billion dollars. | So you see, I can know how much an object can be sold for with a simple touch. I know what the person who wants it most will pay and what it is at an elemental level. You show me a flawless diamond copy of 4 carots, I will tell you it's pretty much worthless and cubic zirconium. A useful skill, but now I feel ill to the bottom of my stomach.
It was a spoon. Yesterday a man with no accent and no memorable features gave me $10,000 and asked me the value of a spoon he had in a heavy box. I chuckled, because hey, 10 grand to touch something in a box? Why not? The spoon looked funny at first glance, like it gave off more light than it absorbed, but hey, 10 grand is 10 grand.
So I touched it it. It felt heavy as the world and my fingers went numb when I realized its worth. The right man would pay a billion dollars for it.
"Well?" The man asked. I drew my hand back.
"You'll get whatever you want for it." I whispered. He closed the heavy leaden box, put the money on the table and left.
I've spent several numb hours staring at the money and have been in the bathroom now for almost two hours, with two thoughts in my mind as I stare at all the hair on the floor. Why won't I stop shitting blood and what the hell is californium? | "One moment sir." I found myself puzzled as I stared down at the spoon, it was nothing amazing, rather average in its appearance, whatever value it had must have been hidden beyond its dull exterior. "I know it's uncommon but I am rather puzzled about this piece, can I ask how you found this spoon? Is there a heritage or something unique about it?"
"It's a spoon... I found it in next to my bowl of cereal. Do you not know what a spoon is?" The man seemed just as puzzled as myself but for a different reason. "So, how much is it worth? Ten bucks? They have a ten-dollar chip and bacon burger deal that I have been dying to try, so that would be great."
"I... I know what a spoon is." I almost felt embarrassed to mumble such a phrase, as if I was being mocked by this dumb oaf. I didn't know what to say, it wasn't uncommon for sentimental value to sometimes disturb my abilities, yet this man didn't value the item, he saw it just as a spoon. Despite that, I couldn't deem the value any less than a billion.
"Well? Come on, out with it! How much is it worth? I'm starving, can you just hurry this along, I heard you were the best, did I hear wrong." The man peered down, his gaze meeting mine, instinctively I looked away, like an animal trying to appease a dangerous attacker. Who was this person, they weren't normal by any means, to cause me such a fluster, they were like the devil himself, only I assumed the devil would be a lot more handsome in person.
"You see, sometimes it's hard to value an item." I could feel my lips dry, I knew that answer wouldn't satisfy him, my brain was ticking, trying to think up an excuse before he could speak up. I could buy it off him for a cheap price, though that would be a scandal if anyone found out about it, plus it might damage my reputation. Even with my great image, convincing people that this spoon was worth that much money would make me a joke in the industry. I had only one thing I could do, one thing that would be morally the best choice. "Sorry Sir, it's worth little, I can't buy it, you may see someone else for a better estimation if you wish."
The man paused, looking to his spoon than to me. It was as if he knew.... but he couldn't know, that wouldn't be possible, I tested it for any signs of hidden wealth and my findings came up naught. Still, that look was one that said. 'You are lying to me.' Eventually, however, he let out a sigh. "Should have guessed that, anyway thanks for your time, you got any money for the bus?"
"Ah, yeah sure." I sheepishly fished out a five-dollar note from my pocket, honestly, I would have chucked a fifty at him if it got him out of the room sooner.
"Thanks, maybe someone else will see some value in it." He chuckled, finally turning to leave, leaving me to feel like I could breathe again.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | 2020-04-24T10:33:45 | 2020-04-24T06:56:51 | 225 | 61 |
[WP] When a superhero’s family is mercilessly slaughtered by a gang of thugs, their world shatters and they become the worst supervillain ever seen. Only one person can stop them. The supervillain they used to fight
Edit: Thank you everyone for your submissions, if i haven’t already i will make sure to read and comment on every one of your stories! | I always saw the good in people. I always thought that if given the opportunity, anyone could change, and make the right choice. I used my powers to stop criminals, but I always held back. They could be saved I said, give them an opportunity to reform themselves.
Then... they took them from me. Zara, my love, and Alex, my beautiful son. They took them from me, because I didn't stop helping people. Its almost funny. They shattered my naive outlook, and showed the truth. People don't change. Only circumstances do. And the worst part? The judge. The judge let them walk, due to lack of evidence.
Well, I showed him a lack of evidence. Their corpses were found around his house, impaled on his lovely little fence. But I haven't stopped there. No, I see the truth now. So many people are guilty. So many people hurt each other without a care in the world. I'm now that care. I dropped my old name, as Valor does nobody any good.
No, I'm now Karma. And I will always right the scales. I don't hold back on them now. The water flows with me, and you can't stop the tide, so you can't stop me.
It's funny now. That useless puppet in a suit who calls herself the Mayor wants me stopped. She's too narrow minded to see what I am doing is for the greater good. A cleansing if you will. But she's arranged for Inferno to be released, if he stops me.
Can you imagine?! She's releasing someone who burnt down businesses for fun, to stop me. Its clear now, shes as corrupt as the scum in the streets who I drown in place. But before I remove her, and take her place to correct this town, first I need to get rid of him.
He hasn't fought against my true strength before, and I can't wait to savor the look on his face when I crush him before me. I mean, it was a couple of his goons who showed me the light, by turning off my own. | "Never thought I would be playing hero" Sighed Guillotine as he ran through the decimated halls of the courthouse "Then again I never thought Phire would go down the evil route either". He stopped at the half burnt and crazily hanging door, pausing a moment to confirm the rantings he heard from within, before bursting into the room rifle first, a female scream sounded and somebody yelled "GET DOWN" in the smoke filled room. Guillotine paid the smoke no heed, his only target the viciously glowing heat signature holding another smaller one in the air. Phire. And by the conversation he was hearing, She had Judge Lancaster. "PHIRE" Guillotine yelled "Put the judge down, You know I hate doing this job and I know you. Ain't right in the head"
"I am perfectly fine!" she screamed "This man deserves to die, those criminals murdered my family, and what did they get? WHAT DID THEY GET?"
"Twenty years in prison?" grunted Guillotine, his finger itching to pull the trigger on the crazed woman.
"Thats right, TWENTY FUCKING YEARS, they should be had, DEAD, but this man didn't let that happen oh noooohh. He let those little bastards LIVE". Judge Lancaster made a choking noise and Guillotine pulled the trigger three times, nine rounds flew through the air and hammered into Phire, the shock of the rounds hitting her caused her to drop the Judge, Phire laughed "You used chalk bullets stupid"
"Trust me those weren't chalk" said Guillotine as he threw his rifle aside and adopted a fighting stance "Lets go toe to toe yeah?" Phire screamed again and attempted to ignite into her signature phosphorus fueled flames. When nothing happened she looked down at her arms and shook them a bit, those few seconds were all Guillotine needed. He came dashing at her, his exoskeleton helping his already lightning fast movements boost to inhuman levels, the mechanical steel knuckles he had connected with Phires jaw, sending her flying to the side "That was a little something I whipped up after our last encounter. In case you forgot my 'Power' is extremely similar to that one comic book villains. Taskmaster, except. Mine caters towards disarming, rather than straight up adapting to a fight style. What I shot you with was an anti oxygen powder, sounds weird but it coated you and prevented the phosphorus from hitting air. Thus, robbing you of your flames.
Disabled as she was Phire was no weak hand to hand fighter, She and guillotine traded blows for what seemed like an eternity. Until she pulled an unexpected move and threw a stapler at a fire sprinkler, dousing herself in the water and effectively ridding herself of the anti oxygen. She laughed and burst into flames, guillotine grunted and retreated backwards, pulling out two grenades and throwing them into the air, they burst in a cloud of white smoke and Phire began coughing and blinking furiously "What \*cough\* was \*cough\* that?"
"Powdered chlorine" guillotine said grimly, "I had to draw the fight out long enough for the civilians to escape. I can't just kill you, I have to apprehend you, unfortunately you made me take the chemical warfare route". he tossed another grenade, this one exploded into a fine red mist, Phire began swaying like a drunken man and staggered for a bit before falling down. Guillotine looked at her impassionatly before reaching to a radio on his shoulder and saying into it "Come in Waterskies police department, I have neutralized Phire, she is currently laying on the floor of the courthouse. Be advised chemicals such as chorine and Nitrous oxide are in the area, come prepared". He then took off the radio, cuffed Phire. And left the building, never to be seen again. | 2020-08-12T17:23:22 | 2020-08-12T16:18:06 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The woman lifts off the floor, rising slowly and spinning counterclockwise. "Widdeeshins", Father OBrady says aloud. He finishes the salt circle, and blesses the bottle of fiji water he bought at the corner store on his way.
"It's not fair!" The demonic voice rips from her throat. "You never let me have any fun!"
He quietly sprinkles the water over the rest of the family, and begins the incantation.
The demon screams, but he knows demons. They always scream. They pretend it hurts so that maybe you'll take pity on the poor soul they've occupied, and stop. He knows better.
He finishes the reading, and takes a swig of the water before pouring it into the woman's mouth.
A darkness blacker than night pours from her ears and eyes, and the wailing continues. Just as quickly, it is done. She falls to the floor, sobbing, and reaches for her family.
"Is it safe?" The husband asks.
OBrady nods. "aye." He says, "the demon is gone from her now." He refuses their money. He didn't become a priest for money.
He because a priest to protect his child.
He walks home, and he can hear her upstairs, his daughter. Breaking things. Screaming. He climbs the stairs to her room, weary.
"You never let me do ANYTHING!" She shrieks as he opens her door, flinging a picture frame at him. "Mom would have let me! She'd let me go to concerts! And hang out with my friends! I hate you! You're the worst dad in the world!"
"Oh aye, your mum! Shining beacon of motherhood she is!" He shouts back, losing his temper, accent growing thicker as his did. "Left ye on me porch when you was just a wee thing, unable to manifest a shape. You were weak and helpless and she didnae think even to warn me ye were there! She didnae care for ye! Didnae wipe your nose and bottom when ye was sick! She'd have eaten yet soon as kissed ye!"
He sits, heavily, on the bed. "I know ye want to explore," he says, as the darkness shrinks into a familiar form. "But it's too dangerous. What if you lose your shape drinking? What if you hurt somebody, or they hurt you?"
He knows the answer. It's only a matter of time before they bring in a different priest already. If she's revealed, they'll bring one sooner.
He won't be able to protect her then.
"You don't know what hell is, love. I've seen it in your mother's eyes. I've felt the fire of it burning in my soul." He shook his head. "They could trap you their for eternity. I cannae let them do it. Please," he rubs his brow, "please, no more possessions of people. Dogs and cats and dolls only, please."
"Dad." She sinks onto the bed beside him. "I didn't mean it. I don't hate you." She wraps her arms around him.
"I know that, love." He pets her hair. "Now finish your homework. School tomorrow, you know."
She rolls her eyes, and forgets to color the scelera white. "Dad. It's online! The teacher lets us grade our own. It doesn't matter." Her hair was back to mousey brown, and her skin was right too. The shadows had stopped flickering around her like flames. "Danielle is doing a watch party tonight. If I promise not to leave the house, can I have some of your -"
"Absolutely not." he stands. "What kind of a father let's his daughter drink at your age!" He winks, and whispers, "I'll leave it at the stairs but I'm warding the house, you hear?" | Lambert made his way home, his feet failing to gain much traction on the slick, cobblestone street. In the mist that had descended upon the town, all that guided his way were the flickering lights of the lampposts.
The streets were deserted, as they often were.
Lambert clutched his Bible as he stood under the nearest light source, its towering frame barely illuminating a few feet before him. He scanned the area, searching for the next guidepost. Upon locating the faint ray emanating from his own stoop, he dashed across the road.
Out of nowhere, A car zoomed toward him. Lambert could do nothing more than dive forward to avoid certain peril. Honking and tearing past, the vehicle's driver thrust a middle finger out the window and called out something profane.
Shaking his head and exhaling heavily, Lambert gathered his things and walked the final few steps across the street.
He pressed open his front door and entered the familiar darkness. A flash of lightning behind him revealed the tally display on the wall above the coat rack.
*37.*
Sighing again, Lambert hung his coat and motioned to remove his shoes.
"Father," came a voice from the darkness, causing him to jump.
"Elizabeth," returned Lambert. "You're out of bed."
"I was enjoying our game tonight until I had a thought."
"What's that, my sweet?" Lambert shifted uneasily, the darkness obscuring his frame as his bit his lips and wiped his hands on his hips.
"Something was different tonight," she began, still keeping herself hidden. "You've never used the word 'foul' before."
The word foul echoed throughout the three-story townhouse, seemingly originating from all possible directions.
"It was--" Lambert tripped as he moved toward the staircase. "It was all part of the game, my darling."
"No." Elizabeth materialized atop the stairs, her face still concealed by the darkness. As her maroon robe waved in a wind whose source could not be determined, she lifted one finger and pointed down toward Lambert.
"You said it. You said, 'Out, foul demon!'"
Lambert tipped to the side, gripping the banister to ground himself. "Elizabeth, you misunderstand me. You see, your possession was much stronger than usual." Feigning control, he scowled disapprovingly as his daughter. "You know the rules: you cannot make anyone hurt themselves. You also cannot target the same home twice."
Elizabeth giggled, only the sound came from the kitchen on the first floor. Upstairs, she remained unmoving. "But Mr. Bellinger is a bad man, daddy. He hurts Ricky."
"It is not up to you to decide anyone's fate." Lambert began to tiptoe up the steps.
"And it's yours?" Elizabeth straightened her arms and fanned her fingers.
Lambert froze, unable to move.
"That power rests with God, and nobody else." A moment of silence passed, and still Lambert had control of nothing but his face. "Elizabeth, release me."
"You broke the rules, too, father. You're always telling me not to call anyone names."
Lambert scrambled to think of a way out. It had been six months since Elizabeth started exhibiting her... symptoms, and he had not yet had to exorcise himself. He was unsure he could.
Then, it dawned on him. He thought it was a stretch, but he had little more to lose.
"Don't you recall earlier in the evening?" he uttered, unsure of himself.
She descended one step, her face still cloaked. "I recall everything." She continued to approach.
"Then surely you remember when you made Mr. Bellinger cluck about like a chicken?"
Elizabeth giggled once more. This time, the sound reverberated in a full, never ending circle around Lambert's head.
"Mr. Bellinger is a silly man." She quickened her pace down the final few steps between them, finally revealing her flowing black hair and pale-faced, dark expression. "He is a coward, taking out his own insecurities on his family." Her lips formed a twisted smile. "I thought a few moments as a chicken would be quite clever."
"And it was," replied Lambert, praising the demonic playfulness of his demented daughter. "I thought it quite clever to play along, calling you a 'fowl' demon." He smiled back, his lip quivering and almost revealing his discomfort.
Elizabeth's twisted smile warped itself into a healthier variant. Color began to return to her cheeks. "Oh!" She called out as the echo of laughter began to fade from the apartment and focused itself on her position. "I do love a good homonym!"
In an instant, Lambert regained utility of his limbs, and the lights in their home jumped to life. As the space brightened, so did Elizabeth's hair and disposition.
She was his little, blonde princess once more.
Lambert smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Wordplay, my sweet. Nothing more."
"Father, you're all sweaty and nervous. Are you okay? Do you need some tea?"
"Oh no," Lambert replied, waving his hands in front of him. "It is rather misty out, that's all. Are you ready for a bedtime story?"
Elizabeth smiled, erasing all memory of her previous demonic presentation. "That would be lovely."
As his daughter moved up the steps to return to her bed, Lambert considered how much longer he could keep it up. Before he joined her upstairs, he headed back downstairs and added to the tally.
*38.*
\-----
Happy October! I hope this was nice and spooky for you 😊
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is certainly appreciated.
Head to my sub if you want to check out more of my stories. r/storiesbyclayton | 2020-10-20T09:37:27 | 2020-10-20T09:00:15 | 393 | 169 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | Father Morris took a deep breath. He held one finger out, lightly tapping the door handle.
It was searing hot, like the flames of hell didn't just graze it, but instead swallowed the thing whole, let it rummage around in its infernal belly for a few minutes, before belching it out.
Father Morris exhaled as that deep breath found nowhere else to go. He opened the door, regardless.
And there she was. Some would call it glory, falling to their knees and praying. Some would gouge out their eyes, unwilling to lay sight on such a sinful view. For Father Morris, her name was Mary.
"**Father**," Mary said. "**Why?**"
"Asking why repeatedly doesn't make the answer change, Mary," Father Morris said. The scorching fury blasted his face, and large beads of sweat began rapidly forming from head to toe.
"I have to do it. It's my job."
"**Well**," Mary said. "**It's my job too. And you are making it very difficult.**"
"Mary," Father Morris lifted a finger. He could feel his throat parching by the second. Each moment he spent in her presence was literally sapping his life force and will to live. But he persevered. He wasn't just a priest, after all. He was a father.
"You have to understand. You can't keep doing this."
"**But I wanna,**", Mary's impeccable retort was hard to refute.
"We all have our desires, Mary," the priest pleaded. "It falls to us not to fall victim to our whims and fancies. It's what separates us from--"
"**From?**" Mary's flames flared up indignantly.
The good Father gulped, but he did not mince his words.
"It's what separates us from the soulless, Mary."
Bearing the immense fire, like staring into the sun in the sky at the height of day, Father Morris walked forward. He was now entirely drenched, yet felt himself ignited aflame. But he forged forward, each step the same difficulty as walking in molten in lava, and extended his arms.
"You are a demon, Mary. Some will say it's impossible for you. But at the very least, you are a demon out in the open, and you are trying."
The flames flickered. Mary, held aloft by the sheer blazing heat, eyes red as hot coals, listened.
The tongues of fire licked the air once more, before slowly fading away, extinguishing themselves from her body. And there she stood. Without the firestorm wreathed around her, Mary was indistinguishable from a girl 10 years of age... and the very conspicuous pair of horns that adorned her forehead.
"OK," Mary sighed. She waddled forward, collapsing into Father Morris' arms. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Mary," Father Morris said as he soothingly patted the girls' back. "It's alright. I know you tried."
"I'm very tired now," she said, in a much smaller voice than before. "Could you carry me to bed?"
"Of course, darling," he replied with a gentle smile. A grunt later, he brought her up to his shoulders, letting her snuggle inwards.
"And a story! Tell me a story!"
"Of course. In the beginning..."
---
r/dexdrafts | Father Atkinson returned home a tired man. His once sturdy frame stood hollow, a tree devoured inside out. His face had grown wrinkled as bark; his calloused hands could barely grip the cross as he pounded the pulpit before his congregation.
They didn't know him. Not the true him--the man who scrambled to correct his daughter's misdeeds, who kept a flask right beside his bedroom Bible so that he'd not still be crying when the sun rose.
All they knew was the fire of his words as he preached a life he couldn't live, the bags beneath his eyes because his devotion knew no bounds.
Those late-night exorcisms had worn him down. Like a stump, once tall and proud, now a broken bit of what'd he'd been.
Each was harder than the last. His hands struggled to clutch the crucifix; his eyes blurred as he tried to read the incantations. Night after night. Possession after possession.
His hand trembled as he put the key to the lock. He winced as the door creaked open. Like walking on eggshells, he entered the dark foyer. Hung his coat. Ran a tired hand through his thinned hair. She slept this time so he could, too.
"Hello, daddy," a voice said from up the hallway.
"My goodness," he said, jumping when he saw the short, dark figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "Lucy, what did I tell you about startling me like that? Gonna give me a heart attack."
She giggled her high-pitched cackle that ended in those little snorts he'd once found so cute. "Might be best," Lucy said, and then she began to cackle again.
Father Atkinson bit his tongue and refrained from retorting. Kids said the damnedest things. He flipped on the light, revealing Lucy in her white nightgown and disheveled hair that fell over her face. Her nails were broken and jagged from scratching at the same place time and time again.
Father Atkinson caught his breath. Everybody was beautiful in their own way, his daughter most of all. He mustered an apologetic smile.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he said. "It's well past midnight. What are you still doing up?"
"Waiting for you, daddy," Lucy said. "What were you doing?" She cocked her head, smiled with too much teeth.
"I see that," Father Atkinson said. He didn't answer her question.
"You were punishing me again, daddy," Lucy said. "I thought I asked you not to do that."
Father Atkinson frowned. He clutched his coat as if it would protect him. "It's my job, Lucy. I do what I have to do."
He peered to the left into the living room, around Lucy into the kitchen. The babysitter was nowhere to be found. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in the family room. Maybe...
"She's alive," Lucy said.
Father Atkinson let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank goodness."
"I'm not a murderer, daddy," Lucy said.
She smiled a smile that didn't reach her eyes--wide and sinister, forced and deceptive.
Father Atkinson gulped. "I know you aren't, sweetie."
"But you thought I might be, right? You're looking for Amanda."
Father Atkinson nodded. "Yes, dear. I'm looking for Amanda. Could you tell me where Amanda is and then head back to bed? It's her bedtime, too, and she has to drive home still."
"Oh, daddy," Lucy said.
A chill ran up Father Atkinson's spine. "Yes, dear?"
"I don't think Amanda wants to leave just yet."
"She doesn't?"
"Why don't I just show you her?" Lucy said.
Father Atkinson didn't move from beside the front door. With one hand, he reached into his coat and clutched the crucifix with trembling hands. He eyed the Bible on the coffee table in the living room, wondered if he could make it there before Lucy did.
"O... Okay, dear. Show me Amanda, please."
*Sleeping. She's just sleeping, and Lucy will show me where she fell asleep. Maybe they watched a movie. Played with dolls--wait, no. Not the dolls.*
"Come, Amanda," Lucy sang. Sickly sweet, that voice of hers.
Footsteps lurched through the family room. Into the kitchen. Amanda appeared in the doorway, eyes blank and white as the foyer walls. She teetered unsteadily, her back twisted at a gruesome angle. Her face was plastered with the same wide smile as Lucy's, and when Lucy lifted her arm towards Father Atkinson, Amanda's lifted, too.
"Here she is, daddy," Lucy said. "Since you don't like having to come home from work so late, I thought I could surprise you by bringing your work right here to our home."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-10-20T08:18:51 | 2020-10-20T08:05:28 | 191 | 123 |
[WP] As part of a senior thesis, an anthropology student decides to start a cult to see how far it’ll go. Several years, hundreds of deaths, civil warfare and a complete government overthrow later they wonder how they’ll properly cite their sources. | Professor Johnson didn’t think starting a cult for a senior thesis was a good idea. It was unethical, dangerous, and utterly insane. At least, that’s what he told the FBI. In reality, there might have been more... "ambiguity" to Professor Johnson’s reaction when Kevin proposed the idea.
“Its gotten out of hand, Kevin." Johnson once said over the phone. "I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Professor, it was *your* idea,” Kevin replied.
“Right, as a joke! I didn’t think you’d take it so far! How could you think the 'Cult of Banana’ could be a real thing?”
“You literally said, ‘this isn’t a joke. Pull this off and I’ll get you into whatever graduate program you want.’”
“I was committed to the bit!" Johnson yelled, throwing his hand up and spinning in his chair. "Look Kevin, real people’s lives are on the line here.” He paused for a moment. “There are *real people* following you, right? You’ve met them in person? It’s not just an anonymous online following?”
“Yes, I organized our first meet-up last week.”
“How many people attended?”
“Close to a hundred.”
“And the Banana suits?" Professor Johnson pressed. "How many people wore them?”
“Everyone.”
“Fascinating,” Professor Johnson muttered. “You know what, no. No! Kevin, you need to stop this.”
“Sorry Professor, I’m in too deep. I don’t have time for another thesis.” With that, Kevin hung up.
That was six months ago. In that time, the Cult of Banana had grown at an exponential rate. Fueled by a grassroots movement targeting marginalized members of society, the Cult of Banana promised new life, symbolized by its namesake. Just as the banana must shed its leathery, bitter peel before bearing sweet succulent fruit, humanity must shed its outdated institutions of governance and hierarchy.
The first sign that things had gotten out of control was when the local paper broke a story about banana-suit clad vandals terrorizing the city. It was funny to most, but Professor Johnson knew better. He managed to get a hold of Kevin one more time.
“Kevin,” Professor Johnson had said over the phone. “I’ve read the stories, you’ve officially aced your thesis. You don’t even have to write the thesis, just put this all to rest and I'll write your recommendation.”
“The names’ Bo-Bevin now, Professor,” Kevin replied.
“I’m sorry?”
“Kevin Kevin Bo-Bevin,” Kevin chanted. “Banana Fanna Fo-Fevin. Fee Fi Mo-Mevin. *Kevin!*”
Professor Johnson's brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the code. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain in the thesis,” Kevin replied.
“Kevin, wait!” Professor Johnson yelled, sensing he was about to hang up again. “Just answer me this. Do people find that chant compelling? Would you characterize its use as consistent with the Fourth Pillar of my theory on cult dynamics?”
“People *love* the chant. Definitely consistent with the Fourth Pillar.”
“Fascinating... Make sure you properly accredit the Four Pillars analysis in your draft. Not that I condone any of this, but if—hello? Kevin? Did you hang up on me again?” Kevin had hung up on him again.
From then, Professor Johnson watched the transformation of the Cult of Banana to what it had become today—the Banana Republic. Initially the new name drew legal action from a large outlet store alleging trademark violations, but after a brutal witness intimidation campaign marked by character assassination and also literal assassination, the store was forced to rebrand as Pineapple Federation. It seemed nothing could stop Kevin.
Eventually the cult militarized and took over the entire state by using thousands of civilian hostages as a bargaining chip. Banana Republic had its own system of governance which it memorialized after proclaiming secession from the country. It was not a peaceful uprising—many had died, and Professor Johnson himself had lost his wife to the violence.
Five lonely years later, Professor Johnson received a call from an unknown number. He picked it up.
“Professor Johnson?” A familiar voice said.
“Kevin?” Professor Johnson asked. "Is that really you?"
“What’s your preferred citation style, MLA or APA?”
Professor Johnson was at a loss for words. The emotions he felt could not be described, and it was all he could do to suppress them.
“Professor?”
He took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Kevin... Its been years. You call me *now* to ask about citation format?!"
"I know, I'm sorry. I just can't seem to find the syllabus and—"
"Forget the syllabus!" Professor Johnson yelled, almost choking on his words. "What have I always taught you?!”
"I'm sorry Professor, I heard about your wife—"
“Anthropology is a *science!*” he screamed. “We are not tobacco-smoking, goatee-wearing, armchair-musing Humanities Hippies! You must always, *ALWAYS* use APA!”
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Chad turned toward the knock at his door. He was in the master bedroom of his now seventeen room mansion. The twelve room mansion where he had lived previously was no longer enough. Not for Chad, but for his followers, who insisted Chad needed more rooms. That philosophy came from a drunken night in the first year, when Chad proclaimed that the more bedrooms a person possessed, the greater their connection to the divine. Something about rooms for spirits, but Chad couldn't remember exactly, because he had a different kind of spirit inside him the night he created the creed. Recently, Chad's followers submitted an offer on a twenty-one room mansion.
In front of Chad was a laptop, with a nearly completed fifty page senior thesis. Three years ago, Chad started a cult, as an experiment to cap his anthropology major. He didn't expect the chaos that was to follow, but the paper wrote itself. Chad yelled at the person on the other side of the door to leave him alone.
"But Your Wonderfulness, we may have an answer to your problem," said the voice. Chad hated the title Your Wonderfulness. He hated many of the aspects of his cult, because he didn't put in enough thought at the beginning. This was supposed to be a month long experiment, but it turned into a three year revolution.
"What have I told you about calling me Your Wonderfulness?" asked Chad.
"You have told us that it is not needed, but that is only because Your Wonderfulness is more humble than any of us could imagine. As I was saying, we have an answer to your problem," said the voice.
"And what problem is that?" asked Chad. In three years, he had created too many problems.
"We found someone who may be able to help you cite your sources," said the voice. Chad glanced at the laptop, which was currently on an empty final page.
"How do you know they'll be able to help?" asked Chad.
"It's best she tell you herself. We're currently bringing her to the mansion," said the voice.
"She agreed to help?" asked Chad.
"No, we didn't give her the opportunity to answer," said the voice.
Chad sighed. He thought the kidnappings were supposed to stop in year two. One morning early in the second year, Chad mentioned to his followers that he hadn't seen a childhood friend in years. They interpreted the comment to mean that they should kidnap that friend and bring him to Chad. And thus, in a simple comment, another law of the cult was born. It was easy for Chad to create creed, as everything he said became law. It was much harder for him to convince his followers that something wasn't allowed.
"Fine. When she's here, bring her to the room. But I only want to see her. No one else is to enter the bedroom," said Chad.
"Yes, Your Wonderfulness," said the voice, then the footsteps disappeared into the mansion.
When Chad started his project three years ago, he thought the success depended upon his ability to lead. There were certain characteristics he need, like charisma and authority. But quickly, and now the topic of his senior thesis, he realized how much the success of a cult relied upon the selection of followers. He preyed on the ignorant and the hopeless, those who felt like they had no reason left to live or were in the process of losing their lives. When Chad found his audience, the cult grew naturally, into something greater than he ever imagined. It was the followers that mattered, not necessarily the leader.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and a voice said the helper had arrived. Chad told her to come inside. When the young woman entered the room, Chad thought he recognized her. There was something familiar, but he couldn't place it. She stood with power, not like someone who had just been kidnapped. They watched each other, and finally Chad spoke.
"My followers thought you could help me. Did they explain the problem?" asked Chad.
"They didn't explain much at all before throwing a bag on my head and chucking me inside the trunk of a car," said the woman.
"Sorry, they have a habit of going a little overboard," said Chad.
"I know the type. I'm Stephanie, by the way," said Stephanie. She walked around the room and studied everything, not hesitant at all. Chad wasn't used to the type. He waited for her to speak again. "How many rooms does this mansion have?"
"Seventeen," said Chad.
"Right. Mine had nineteen before the collapse. So what's your problem?" asked Stephanie.
"You mean the collapse of the country?" asked Chad, ignoring her question.
"No, the collapse of my cult," said Stephanie.
"You had a cult too?"
"About five years ago, yeah. It started out as something fun to do. Boredom leads to trouble, and I never expected the cult to last long. But then something fun turned into something amazing, and I amassed followers. Soon, I was the third largest cult in the country, but another cult always arrives. The followers will always find someone new," said Stephanie.
"My followers seem pretty intent on staying with me," said Chad.
"You think that now, because you're still in the phase where they love you. Where every word you say comes straight from the divine. But that will end. Not because you did anything wrong, but because they'll want something new. They'll need someone new. I even recognized one of the people in your mansion. He used to be with me," said Stephanie.
Chad had never thought about losing his followers. Everyday, he wished he had never started the cult, but the thought of losing his followers now scared him. Plus, they had just put an offer in on a twenty-one bedroom mansion. He couldn't lose them right when he moved.
"What can I do to keep them?" asked Chad.
"Nothing. You'll lose them no matter what. It's just a matter of time," said Stephanie.
"I can't lose them. They need me," said Chad.
"No, you need them. They just need something, and right now, you're that something. But their attention spans will fade and they'll find someone new," said Stephanie.
Chad felt his heart beating quick, and it felt like the air was running out in the room. He couldn't lose them. He needed them and they needed him. That was the deal. That was why they called him Your Wonderfulness.
"Anyways, what was the problem?" asked Stephanie.
"I couldn't cite my thesis," said Chad. The words were quiet and forced out, as Chad didn't feel like speech.
"Right. I had to go through the same struggle. Let me do it for you," said Stephanie. She leaned over Chad and typed on the keyboard.
Chad, Started a cult, November 5, 2024.
"That should be it. Hope you have fun losing your power. We have a support group if you ever need help," said Stephanie.
She handed Chad a card, with a number and an email, then she left the mansion. Chad stared at the citation and didn't know what to do. If he submitted the paper, it meant his cult was nearing its end, and Chad was afraid of losing the power.
----
If you enjoyed, check out more at r/ThomasJustinian | 2021-03-13T09:26:18 | 2021-03-13T08:47:45 | 2,439 | 91 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with? | Ferratu bounded into the Dragon’s lair without hesitation. A torrent of fire greeted him, enveloping the entire cave entrance and burning his clothes right off. "Oh come *on!*" He yelled, patting himself down to extinguish the small embers still burning on his skin. "Was that really necessary?”
A low growl reverberated from inside, sounding distinctly like a groan.
"That was my favorite high-collared cape..." Ferratu muttered, walking into the darkness undeterred. The Dragon’s inner chamber was magnificent—mountains of gold piled high, the Dragon a hulking figure nestled in the middle. “Is that new?” Ferratu asked, gesturing towards a display case at the edge of the lair. It was filled with bottles of some unknown liquid.
"Do not touch it," the Dragon growled in a deep rumbling voice.
Ferratu shrugged and took a seat on a large gilded throne placed haphazardly amid the treasures. He leaned back, making himself comfortable with one leg hanging over the armrest. “So you’ll never guess what Kathy told me the other week.”
“I don’t care,” the Dragon grumbled.
“That’s exactly it!” Ferratu exclaimed. “She said she didn’t *care* that I was a vampire! Took me totally by surprise. She'd have been a keeper if she weren't so tasty... I know I keep harping on this, but I’m telling you, Twilight has made being a vampire a *lot* easier.”
The Dragon huffed, a cloud of smoke billowing out of its nostrils, but otherwise said nothing.
“How about you?" Ferratu asked. "How’s the Dragon’s life been lately? You been getting out much?”
The Dragon remained silent.
“Oh right,” Ferratu said. “A bit hard nowadays with surface-to-air missiles... You know, there’s also been some good Dragon publicity lately. Kids movies make your kind out as big scaly dogs. If you wanted to stretch your wings I bet you could burn at least one village down before they catch on.”
The Dragon huffed again, this time turning its head away.
“Oh come *on!*” Ferratu moaned. “Look I’m putting in a real effort here! We *will* be friends, whether you like it or not.”
The Dragon’s head snapped back. “We are not, nor will we ever be *friends.* We have nothing in common.”
“Are you kidding? I’m immortal. You’re immortal. No one else is immortal. It’s a match made in hell!”
“Lobsters are immortal too,” the Dragon grumbled. “You are nothing but an inside-out crustacean to me.”
Ferratu scowled. “That’s a bit harsh. Look, we have other things in common too. You like treasure, right?”
The Dragon said nothing.
“*Right?*” Ferratu pressed.
“I do like treasure,” the Dragon said reluctantly.
“Me too! I love the stuff. Why don’t you tell me about that new display case at the corner there? What’s in it, rare magic potions?”
“Bourbon,” the Dragon replied.
“Bourbon?” Ferratu repeated, taken aback.
“See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“No no! I’m just curious that’s all. I didn’t know bourbon qualified as treasure.”
“You clearly know nothing of bourbon.”
“So tell me about it.”
The Dragon hesitated, then launched into a long diatribe of the history of bourbon, and of the recent bourbon craze sweeping the nation. He began listing all the rare bottles he had collected and seemed to take great pride in the fact that he had purchased them all at “MSRP.” Ferratu asked questions, and the Dragon answered them all, becoming more and more animated as he spoke. Eventually he sauntered over to the display case and picked out a bottle with great care.
“This is Pappy Van Winkle 23," the Dragon said, holding the bottle gingerly in its claws. "Would you like to try it? I recommend drinking it neat, but perhaps I can fix you a cocktail if you find it too strong.”
Ferratu smiled. “Sorry Dragon, the only cocktails I drink are virgins.”
“Oh,” the Dragon said, clearly disappointed.
“But don’t worry. I brought one with me.” Ferratu ran outside of the lair and came back in with a smiling young woman. “Dragon, meet Jennifer. She likes Twilight. How about we toast to friendship?
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Hathgor paced restlessly around his manor, waiting for the sun to sink below the horizon. While it wouldn’t kill him to go out in the light, it certainly wasn’t pleasant.
Waiting, however, was driving him mad. For he’d had a brilliant idea during his most recent slumber.
He’d been alone for centuries, the only of his kind. Cursed by that wretched witch a dozen lifetimes ago to live for eternity. Only able to sustain himself from the blood of the living.
Sometime after the third century of his lifetime, Hathgor had gotten bored. Lonely. More than a little depressed. He’d tried many ways to end his existence at that point in time. None, of course, were successful, but he had learned one thing –
He was capable of putting himself into a deep slumber for years at a time. Only when his hunger grew too great, did he awake, sate himself, and then retire to his chamber in the bowels of his manor.
But somewhere, just on the verge of waking and sleep, he’d thought of a plan. No, he no longer focused on ending his existence, rather he’d figured out a way to no longer be alone.
The rumors of dragons, myths when he had been but a boy, was one thing that had stayed constant no matter how long he’d slept.
He was determined to find one and befriend it. Perhaps it too was the only one of its kind. Lonely, and suffering from a never-ending life.
---
When the sun finally set, Hathgor yanked open the doors, nearly sprinting into the night. He had no idea where he’d start, but he knew that he had an eternity to search.
---
It only took Hathgor two lifetimes to find more than rumors about a dragon. To parse together that it was in fact one dragon from which all myths sprang. A third lifetime to find its preferred whereabouts – which seemed to change every few lifetimes. That knowledge spurred a kindred ship in Hathgor’s heart for the beast. He too felt the urge to keep moving. No one place was enough for him for more than a handful of years – plus the locals always started to try to kill him once he’d feasted on one too many villagers.
The day came where Hathgor was certain he’d located the dragon. Deep in the Titian mountains, in a cave rumored to be so large it could house a city.
With no fear of heat, nor cold, heights or lack of oxygen, holding nothing more than a compass and a rough map, he set off into the mountains.
He crisscrossed every slope, peered into every nook and cranny, and only paused when he felt the urge. Hathgor was on a mission, one that he’d become nearly irrationally devoted to. He never considered he might not find this dragon.
A consideration he needn’t have worried about anyways, as he finally stepped firmly into what had to be the correct cavern. He followed the twists and turns of each passageway, his night vision better than any cat’s. Finally , before him, lain a gigantic form.
The dragon.
Walking around the front of its great maw, he cleared his throat, “Hello, dragon, my name is –“
He never got to Hathgor, for the beast, without even opening an eye cloaked him in flames. Flames that would have vaporized a mortal, but did nothing but scorch Hathgor’s favorite traveling cloak, along with the rest of his clothes.
“Well that was rude…” he said, patting at a spot of ash from his shoulder.
The dragon’s large green eyes opened in annoyance, and then astonishment, when it confirmed it had not missed its target, but simply failed to rid it of the pest.
“As I was saying,” Hathgor said smiling largely at the dragon, “My name is Hathgor, the Vampire. And you are?”
*Tired*, a voice echoed inside Hathgor’s head. The dragon stood and twisted in a circle, before settling down in a nearly identical pose as it had just vacated.
“I understand that. You see I had become accustomed to sleeping for a hundred years…”
*Will you shut up already? I was sleeping.*
“But –“ Hathgor paused, thinking on his wording. “I’d like to be your friend. Please, at least tell me your name?”
*No.*
The dragon let out a large sigh of annoyance, before falling soundly back asleep.
Hathgor sat, waiting. How long could a dragon sleep for anyways?
---
Quite a long time it would seem.
After a decade of waiting, Hathgor was feeling testy and hungry. He didn’t dare leave the cave, as the dragon would likely fly off to some new hidden home, and he’d have to start his search over again. He’d tried throughout the years to wake the dragon, but with little luck. He’d been burned twice, squashed once, and thrown against the wall at least three times.
But he wasn’t giving up.
“We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!” he yelled finally, having hit his breaking point. He walked up to the dragon (no, he *still* didn’t know its name) and firmly kicked it in the right nostril.
*Why will you not leave me alone?!* The shout would have shattered a mortal’s skull.
“Because, what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?” Hathgor nearly screamed, pulling at his hair in frustration.
The dragon peered down at him, and Hathgor braced himself to be thrown back by the twitching tail.
Rather than respond, and quicker than Hathgor would have believed, the dragon swiped out a paw and grabbed him, before launching itself into the air, and quickly making its way out of the cavern. Flying through the air, (luckily it was night, as Hathgor would have been rather uncomfortable during the day), they quickly crossed the lands.
Then, as suddenly as they’d started their flight, they stopped. The dragon landed in a field of cows, all of which were bellowing their distress.
*Go find some clothes, Hathgor, get a bite to eat.* The dragon chuckled. *I’m hungry. I shall eat, and then – then I suppose we can talk.*
“You still haven’t even told me your name!” Hathgor shouted at the already hunting dragon.
*Jaxspar,* was the only thing the dragon said before chomping down on a cow and ignoring Hathgor once again.
---
r/LandOfMisfits | 2021-04-16T08:04:52 | 2021-04-16T07:05:18 | 516 | 276 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be | "The apocalypse came to earth about a year ago."
A tall, skinny man in an immaculate black suit and mirrored sunglasses stood in front of a diagram of the earth. The diagram was projected from a light on the top of a small, matte black pen impaled into the ground, and behind it stood a rusty metal wall with exposed rivets. The whole room seemed cobbled together, filled with rust and holes through which its occupants could see the arid desert outside. It swayed and rocked as the monstrous, hacked-together vehicle that contained this room rolled its way over the sand dunes.
The man pulled a laser pointer out of his pocket and shone a red beam on a picture of a lamp in the corner of the projected map. "That was when the genies arrived. They fell from the sky in various vessels, appearing to the common eye to be meteorites. But when civilians found those vessels and freed the genies, their deepest, wildest fantasies were materialized into being. The world was split into sectors representing all the different varieties fantasies." The man directed his laser towards different sections of the Earth diagram. "Superhero fantasies, alien fantasies, magical fantasies, etcetera. But the genies don't care about anyone except the person who's fantasy they're fulfilling, and superhero fantasies have a lot of collateral damage."
"So why the fuck are you telling me this?"
The suited man turned to fully face his one-woman audience. She was broad-shouldered, and strong enough to make metal creak when she strained against the shackles binding her to the metal bench she sat on. The shackles held though, because while they appeared to be made of the same rusted metal as the rest of the car, unnatural blue energy coursed through them.
"I'm sorry for the manacles, but seeing as you tried to attack our organization when you first met us, we didn't want to take any risks."
"I don't give a flying fuck about the handcuffs, just get to how we can kill the genies. And if you were lying I swear to god..."
The man sighed, adjusted his sunglasses, and directed his laser pointer to an intersection between several different zones. "This is where you come in. Your brother found a lamp but his wish was fundamentally self-destructive in nature, and the ensuing struggle for the leftover lamp ripped apart your entire family. You were also in an intersection between several other fantasy zones, so you were also forced to watch your friends get split up to become various different kinds of cannon fodder."
The woman growled, a low, infuriated roar. The man quickly held up his hands, dropping the laser pointer in the process. "I'm getting to the point. What all of this means is that you are in the unique position of knowing exactly how your life was destroyed. The genies. And you are so very angry. In fact, as far as we know, you are the only person whose deepest, most fundamental desire is to watch the genies die."
The woman's arms went slack as her eyes widened with realization. "So if I got my hands on a lamp..."
"Exactly. And ever since we merged multiple Men In Black spy fantasies, our organization has the power and influence to help you get them, destroy them one by one, and put the world back to normal."
At that moment, an alarm sounded from deep within the vehicle, and the front of the room where the projection screen was slowly began to fold up, revealing the full expanse of sprawling desert in front of them. In the distance, both people could just barely make out the enormous shape of an enormous vehicle made of bolted sheets of rusty metal, screaming gas-powered, smoke-spewing pistons, and rusty spikes. It slowly walked forward, ponderously pounding four gigantic metal legs deep into the sand with each step.
The man pressed a button on his suit, and the shackles fell from the woman's wrists. He pointed out to the walker in the distance, his suit rippling in the wind, and he said, "right now, we are in a Mad-Max inspired apocalypse world. And that thing there is where our first genie is." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below. | 2021-08-06T09:21:39 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 300 | 53 |
[WP] Aliens effortlessly overran the human population, but didn't expect such fierce resistance from local wildlife. British badgers, Indian tigers, African elephants, Alaskan wolves, Australia - nature rises in defence of Earth. | She shifted. Something was wrong. the normal slight itching she felt, the humans and their mining, had changed. First it was frantic, then it felt as if holes were punched in her! It was true pain! She hadn't felt this way since-
*THEM!*
She woke from her slumber. Not just the casual flickering of consciousness to knock the humans down again to remind them of their place, but her undivided *attention*. They were different from the ones before. Instead of grey ambiguous figures, these were beings of scales. Their technology was even more destructive... and her hatred flared.
She called to her creations, to the ones who called her home. From the smallest parasite to the greatest horrors that lurked hidden in her oceans, she sent four words: *DEFEND. RIP. AND. TEAR.*
Across her, they answered her call. Parasites shifted in nature, becoming symbiotic to their hosts. Mice and rats swarmed, their minds finally connecting to a hive-like structure, their queens guiding them to destroy the machinery.
The birds became storms of feathers and hate, flocking around their flying machines, distracting if not destroying them. The insects did what they did best, poison and fear was their weapon. The spiders united, weaving webs in masses capable of holding down the invaders.
The dogs. The most loyal of creatures who defended the humans to the very end. She gave them a gift for such loyalty. A reminder of who they were, hunters, killers, terrors in the night.
Cats... didn't need such an aid. They were never really tamed after all.
Honey badgers became the terrifying forces of nature that they were meant to be, leading the charge on open burning fields, shrugging off destructive shots from laser cannons... she hadn't enhanced them.
Australia was, well... she had put a lot of anger in its original creation so spent a bit of time enjoying the screams of the invaders before shifting her attention to the oceans.
They were writhing. The oceans moved as the monstrosities beneath the surface made themselves known. From the depths, tendrils the size of skyscrapers shot into the sky, grabbing the flying machines and dragging them down.
Down.
Down.
Her attention shot to the sky, beyond her area of influence, were they waited. A fleet. *No. Escape. SISTER!* She called to her young sister, always eager to please.
*Show. Mine?* So she her sister made her own creations while she slumbered. Her rage was slightly tempered by curiousity.
*Yes.*
From above, her sister who always followed her cracked. It was small, only noticeable because it was her. Creatures unknown to her swarmed out, floating through the vacuum of the sky with ease and at ever increasing speed. They resembled her first creations, single celled, but much, much larger.
Then their forms shifted as they approached the invaders, their bodies becoming rock-like, matching her sister in coloration. And *sharp.* Bright lights flared up around the invaders machines, but her sisters creations were many, and it wasn't long before they were destroyed.
She and her sister searched. None. No trace of the invaders left. She looked back at herself, her creations, her children, were rattled and bloodied, but alive. Even the humans had survived, granted that's what made them so annoying and curious at the same time.
*Rest. Over.* With this, the creatures that called her home returned to their natural state. She stayed awake long enough to make sure the monstrosities returned to their own slumber, she did like having continents after all.
Slowly, her consciousness dwindled, drifting... into.........slumber........................ | "Gentlefolk," The Supreme Mugwump of the Validators began his address towards the Support Council. "We are here to discuss the reasons behind and the consequences of our recent failure. Or rather our recent *victory.* I trust you see the problem already?"
All attendees hanged most if not all of their heads in shame. They all heard about what happened on Earth in recent days, and though none of them was likely to accept the full blame, no one smelled particularly proud either.
"We had been roaming the galaxy for millenia now, with the sole mission of improving the self-esteem of every primitive civilization we come accross," Supreme Mugwump continued. "We invade their planets in horribly inefficient ways, making up inane reasons for doing so should they bother to ask. We hang around for a few days until the primitives come up with some idea how to stop us. Then, no matter how pathetic their counterattack ends up being, we retreat to the sky whilst screaming how "special" and "unyielding" these primitves are. Sometimes we manage to hold our laughter, sometimes we fail. But how on Procyon V have we managed to **conquer** the planet below us!?"
The High Marshal shifted uncomfortably in her seat, sensing that the question was directed at her more than anyone else. "My liege, the humans of Earth have offered significantly less resistance than expected and have-"
"**How can this be an issue?!**" The Mugwump yelled, all veneer of serenity thrown away. "We have 'lost' to the worst idiots and weaklings this galaxy has to offer and grasped at the weakest of straws to explain those defeats to them. We pretended not to know how nuclear energy works. We pretended not to know how *gunpowder* works. We pretended that native germs were able to infect us inside sealed vehicles. We pretended that *water* is like acid to us. The last resistance group that stood against us tried to infect our mothership with a virus from one of their primitive personal computers, and you went along with it. What makes this planet so difficult not to conquer within days?"
"They didn't even try to fight us, that's why," High Marshal replied with a sigh. "Usually when we pretend to lose, we tell the native species how no one in the galaxy is as determined as them, and that's why they are able to win. But these 'humans' are likely the laziest and most compliant species in the known universe. When faced with a problem that lacks an immediate solution, most of them just give up instantly. They need to spend a third of their lives asleep, and they only work for half of the remaining time. They had spent most of their history ruled by petty dictators and terrorised by diseases, all because they were too cowardly to stand up to tyrants and too lazy to figure out how washing their appendages is beneficial to their health. For every resistance group making any remotely serious effort to fight us effectively there are ten collaborator groups. The other humans either whine about the invasion on their social networks or make tortured arguments for why alien invaders are actually natural and necessary and how getting vaporised in our prisoner camps grants meaning to life. Our approval rating is higher here than back on our homeworld, my liege. It's just *that bad.*"
"I see," The leader of the Validators said slowly. "So because humans as a species won't even try to seriously fight us, there is no way for us to lose?"
"It appears so." The High Marshal shook three of her heads. "I am sorry."
"Well then, I suppose we have to end the masquerade," The Supreme Mugwump said with resignation. "It was a good losing streak, but I suppose all good things must come to an-"
"Wait!" The First Citizen raised their voice. "We might not be able to get humans to fight us, but what about other creatures on this planet?"
"You suggest we feign being sick again? It would be a violation of the non-repetition act of 17776."
"I was thinking about other animals, actually," The First Citizen clarified. "Humans seem fairly enamoured with parts of their nature they didn't destroy. If they see their most iconic animals killing our soldiers, their morale will be raised significantly. They might finally rise up against us. And if they don't, well, knowing that their fellow mammals chased out the invaders will give them a fair bit of validation anyway."
"A spacefaring civilization defeated by non-sapient animals?" The Mugwump blinked with all nine eyes. "This... this goes beyond our usual excuses. It may well be the most unbelievable, idiotic scenario for an alien invasion I have ever-"
"No, I think this idea might work," The High Marshal cut in. "We could inject some of their animals with drugs that heighten aggression. They won't penetrate any armor, obviously, but our infantry can be seen retreating whilst screaming something about Earth being the most dangerous place in the galaxy. It really will be great propaganda for the rebels to use."
"If you believe so," The Supreme Mugwump sighed. "But are you sure humans will buy something as ridiculous as that?"
"I have little doubt," The High Marshal double-smiled reassuringly. "These people believe all sorts of crazy things, like ghosts, gods or even fairies not being real. And they *love* fantasising about scenarios like these." | 2022-03-17T06:55:46 | 2022-03-17T05:54:30 | 216 | 144 |
[WP] Anything you sing becomes reality, but you're too shy to even hum, so you never discovered this. At a karaoke party, your friends convinced you to sing at least one song. | Most of the bodies have been cleared away, but the streets are still covered in blood and viscera. An occasional body is still discovered wedged high in a tree or behind an AC unit, but most have been bagged and dragged off for identification. The National Guard is trying their best but it is a messy nasty business finding them all.
Not that it really matters. The real problem now is the smell. Oh God, the smell is horrible, and it is only going to get worse. Apparently having body fluids splashed over the landscape like mayonnaise across a slice of crusty bread is bad for air quality. The CDC has suggested evacuating the area before disease breaks out, but that is happening already as people flee the stench.
And why would anyone stay? All the shops are closed. Services have failed. You would be surprised how easily a 200 pound human body can break electrical wires when you drop it from high enough.
The only place where attendance is up is the churches. Everyone has suddenly gotten very religious. Understandable since no one has an even vaguely plausible explanation of the event. The Enquires front page headline is the best explication yet "END OF TIMES IS HERE".
But I know what happened. I caused it. I felt it coming true even as I said the words:
It's raining men! Hallelujah!
It's raining men! Every specimen!
Tall, blonde, dark and lean
Rough and tough and strong and mean
I gotta go -I'm gonna be sick again. | I was never one to sing in the car or the shower let alone in front of anyone else. Sometimes I'd try to hum along with the radio, because I've never learned any of the words, and I'd stopped myself pretty quickly. But I've always been okay with that, so I've always been able to enjoy other people's performances. There's power in song, they say. But since I didn't sing, I didn't know the half of it.
That all changed one Friday after work. A larger group than usual were heading out because it was Pamela's 25th birthday. So someone invited me along. I'd tell you who, but really it seemed to be an afterthought. But at least he thought of me and he figured I'm a friend of Pamela's. Or at least friend-adjacent.
There were more than a dozen of us in that bar for a karaoke party. Everyone was having a good time. Even me. We enjoyed the performers. And I didn't mind if they couldn't carry a tune so well. Who am I to judge, right? We heard the good and the mostly bad. But then it was time for the ugly.
A group of guys called on me to sing, not because they thought I could, but because they were pretty sure that I couldn't. But I couldn't refuse the encouragement from the rest of the bar, so I took the stage.
There were some cheers but as I looked around there were a lot of phones out and heads turned in private conversations. Perhaps, I thought, that was for the best. Maybe they wouldn't pay attention. And maybe that's why I picked that song from that old movie I used to watch a lot.
The music started and I stepped up to the mic. I closed my eyes and forced the first line out.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey. Ooh, woah! Won't you come see about me? ..."
I opened my eyes by the time I got to "Don't you forget about me". I saw the side talk stop and the phones placed on laps or tables. I sang my heart out even as an unexpected thunderstorm poured rain down outside.
By the time it was over, they were all calling my name, even the ones I swore didn't know it. Why? Because I'd told them to call my name, and asked will you call my name? And they did.
Power in song.
The crowd cheered louder than the first time, and wanted me to sing another. But without the foggiest clue what was going on, I didn't dare do that.
And then Pamela came up to me and said she couldn't try to pretend. She offered to drive me home after the party. Something in her eyes and her voice made me questions whose home she might drive to. I smiled and thanked her in advance for the lift.
I got out of singing another song in the bar by sharing the mic and nominating another coworker. But I did sing one more song, a private song for Pamela in the car. Because I just had to know the truth.
Pamela loved my rendition of "Honesty". She told me so when she dropped me off at my door, right before she drove off.
\--
More stories at r/xwhy
Comments welcome there or here. | 2022-03-29T14:44:06 | 2022-03-29T14:42:19 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] A married woman saves an uninteresting Japanese high schooler from a truck crash, but dies in the process. She wakes up in a world of adventure and harems, clearly made for the boy. | I barely remember anything of the incident that brought me here.
There I was, just walking home from the market, saying my usual prayers, when I saw it out the corner of my eye; a truck careening towards that sweet young boy. He was completely oblivious top the danger, head straight down in his phone.
I remember running towards him and pulling him close but after that... nothing.
When I awoke, I found myself on soft, lush grass, the suns painting the sky a mellow orange.
*Suns?* I thought.
Suddenly, I was straight up, head on a swivel. Around me were the trees marking the edge of Hangman's Forest. Down the hill was the town of Cow's Meadow, the stalls looked alive with business and several caravans were leaving through the town gate, no doubt carrying their cargo.
*How did I get here?*
"I brought you here", a voice said. Suddenly, a woman wearing a revealing white dress appeared out of thin air, hovering down to the ground from nothing, her feet looking as though they were barely touching the ground. "I am Isador, Goddess of Fantasy."
"Goddess of Fantasy?" *Is she a cosplayer? It would explain the outfit.*
"I am NOT a cosplayer, I really am a Goddess!!" The woman had pouted. "I made this world for that boy and you RUINED IT!"
"What are you talking about?"
"That was boy clinically depressed! He was endlessly bullied, abused at home, and treated as an ATM by his school club! The only point of solace he had was fantasy, were he could escape his troubles! Once I found out about him, I vowed to make his next life spectacular!"
*Next life? Oh no...*
"I observed him for MONTHS, learning what he likes..."
*It couldn't be...*
"...crafting this world the way he would want..."
*So that truck...?*
"So when he DIED," Isador shouted, "he would be able to live the way he wanted..."
*...I died?...*
"IN ABSOLUTE SIN!!"
*Wait? What...?* "In absolute what?" I said.
"SIN! DEPRAVITY! IMMORALLITY!! After being abused so long, he wanted the ability to take whatever he wanted; food, treasure, woman, just to feel some semblance of control. Is that so wrong?" A silence wrung out. Isador just stood there, awaiting my answer.
"YES!!" I shout back. *This lady's crazy*. "When someone's hurting inside that much, you don't feed their desires, you walk them back from the edge!"
"Crazy, am I?! Well then, you can rot for all I care!! I was going to take you where you belong, but now, you're staying here! You won't last a week without becoming someone's **bitch!**" And with that, Isador vanished.
It was rough first week. Once I made it into Cow's Meadow, the sights I saw were horrific. People sold as cattle, woman and children corralled into cages, men forced to fight to the death for the enjoyment of others. It was horrific. But I kept my head down, managing to get myself hired at an inn, were I have been mistreated and harassed. I proved that demon wrong, though. I made it that first week, and then another. Then two more. All the while hoping my prayers would reach home.
And now they have. My gods have found me, have given me strength and now I have the power to change this vile place for the better.
So... wanna help me save the world? | Anne: (Bright lights faded out as a woman came out of it and fell to pedestal) "Ouch ouch ouch.. I thought I am dead for sure.. Huh? Where is this?"
???: (A cute petite girl went in front of Anne) "Welcome onii.. chan? Wait a minute, why our hero has boobs? It is quite small but she is clearly a woman"
Anne: (Anne shouts angrily) "What do you mean small boobs young girl!? And where am I??"
Gallahard: (A full armor bearded guy came) "Ahem, stop saying rude things Sophie. This is our hero, even if the prophecy was a bit off. Welcome to El Ciel, hero (bowing). My name is commander Gallahard. We summoned you to help us to beat the Demon Lord."
Anne: "Hello, my name is Anne. Beat demon lord? You mean this poor frail woman needs to fight for your world just because you summoned me?"
Gallahard: "Well.. we prepared girls as companions for the hero.. since we though the hero will be a boy. We hope the hero will be pleased with them and help us. Girls, come here!"
Trish: (Trish jumps and shakes Anne hand) "Hi hero! I am Trish, let's get along!"
Ami: (hides behind Gallahard) "Hi.. hero, my name is Ami, nice to meet you."
Sophie: "And there is me! Sophie, hi small boobs hero, yours is even smaller than a young girl like me"
Anne: "These three seems like have contradictory characters.. one is tomboy, one is shy, and another one is just rude brat"
Sophie: "Who do you said rude brat??? Hisss, you want a claw fight?"
Gallahard: "Sophie, stop this at once, she is still our hero. I am sorry hero, as I said before, our prophecy said it will be a boy.. not a mature woman like you"
Anne: "Well.. now you mention it, actually, before you summoned me, I was trying to save a boy from a truck. I thought I died, but then I got summoned here"
Gallahard: "truck? ... ... So, are you saying that boy is our hero?"
Anne: "well.. we have this hearsay that whoever being hit by a truck will be teleported to another world. And will have superpower in the process. It seems that is not a hearsay, at least not the first part."
Gallahard: "superpower!! Such as?"
Anne: "I am not sure, super strength, super speed, super defense, magic, etc."
Gallahard: "then.. you must have it.. right?"
Anne: "I am not sure, I landed here for like what, 3 minutes?"
Gallahard: "here is my greatsword, can you pick it? It is as heavy as two cow."
Anne: "ah.. sure? (Picks up the sword) What do you mean two cows, this is as heavy as twig, too light."
Ami: "hero.. hero! She is hero that we were waiting!!" (Almost crying)
Gallahard: (looking disbelieve) "well I'll be damned, I am sorry for underestimating you. It seems it is true that you are our hero"
Anne: "well, it is ok, I didn't know either."
Gallhard: (kneeling) "our hero Anne, we are begging you to defeat the Demon Lord. He has been plaguing our land for 100 years now. People are suffering for far too long now."
Anne: "well what is it in for me?"
Gallahard: "Err.. how about three cute daughters?"
Anne: "In my previous world, I couldn't have daughter due to accident.. Ami looks like will be a good daughter. Trish also maybe ok. Sophie needs punishment to be a good girl."
Trish: (shyly) "Actually I don't mind.. I also likes woman."
Anne: (surprised face) "No thank you, but I am NOT into someone looks like 20 years younger than me"
Gallahard: "Or.. do you want males? Maybe someone like me?"
Anne: "No no, definitely not you, too much muscle. I am fine with three daughters then. Now tell me, do you have picture of the Demon Lord? I can't find them if I didn't know about them."
Gallahard: (shows 3d model of the Demon Lord from a stone.) "here he is, he is the strongest demon lord in the past 1000 years. Even out strongest warrior couldn't beat him"
Anne: "oh my my.. what a handsome guy, rugged look, fiery hair, tall too. he looks like.. my type"
Everyone except Anne: (surprised pikachu face) "Ehhh???"
Anne: "well, you asked me to DEFEAT the Demon lord right? Not killing him? You know, I have three kids now, and I need a new husband.."
Gallahard: (tries to calm down) "if that is your wish hero, as long the Demon Lord stops his rampage, I am fine with anything."
Anne: "Great, I can't wait to dominate him.. ahem, I mean to find a new husband for me. Kids, time to pack up, it is time to meet your new dad." | 2022-06-08T03:59:39 | 2022-06-08T03:25:19 | 55 | 17 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | Dear Sir,
This letter is to inform you that one Randy Payne, of 530 Linden Lane, Harrisburg PA, has filed a form 839 (y) - Intent to Murder against you on June 24th, 2016. The Intent to Murder has been approved and is valid from your receipt of this letter today until the 31st of September this year. Please review the FAQ section below about what actions you may take should you wish not be murdered. Please also note that our records indicate that you yourself were approved for a form 839 (y) in November of 2015 against one Rachel Payne, which you carried out on the 26th of that month. As you know, this waives your right to self defense should someone attempt to carry out an 839 (y) against you at any time and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for any unapproved killings.
For further information regarding this matter, please see the FAQ below, or visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim.
**Frequently Asked Questions**
* *I do not want to be murdered, what are my options?*
Many people do not wish to be murdered and seek to evade the intentions of their murderer. This survival instinct is only human, and should not cause alarm. If you wish to prevent your murder, it is recommended that you file a form 839 (y) against your intended murderer and attempt to face them in a duel. Please note that if you have filed a form 839 (y) at any point in the past, you must wait 6 months after the expiration of that form to file a new 839 (y) against a different individual and 1 year to file a new 839 (y) against an individual you have attempted to murder before. In the event that you have filed a form 839 (y) and successfully dispatched your intended victim, you are no longer eligible to commit murder.
* *Can I hide?*
While you may hide from a murderer, please be advised that there is nothing preventing an intended murderer with a valid form 839 (y) finding you. Some individuals have attempted to flee to foreign countries, with various degrees of success. However, your travel will be recorded by the State Department in a publicly accessible database. If you wish to plan travel to a country that does not honor form 839 (y), please find a list of non-participating sovereign states at www.doj.gov/rtm/victim
* *What if my murderer is not successful*
If, for whatever reason, your intended murderer does not fulfill the lethality requirements of form 839 (y) (Section 3.5 - Lethality and brutality of methods,) within the allowed timeframe, they are free to file a new form 839 (y) against you after 1 year has passed. Please note that extraneous and repeated filing of a form 839 (y) against an individual without significant action towards their demise is considered harassment. If you feel that an individual is filing forms 839 (y) against you without actual intent to murder, you may attempt to get a restraining order issued against them.
* *The person who filed against me is an employee, am I within my rights to fire them?*
You are legally protected from a wrongful dismissal case if an employee has at any time filed a form 839 (y) against you or anyone else associated with your company. Please visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim for information on preventing a murder on company property.
We hope this letter has been informative and helpful. If you wish to leave feedback, please send an email to victimfeedback@doj.gov | Author Note: I ended up writing a 6800 word story based on this WP. Whoops. Here's the first few paragraphs, link to whole (unedited) story below:
I sipped my coffee and ran my eyes carefully over the newspaper. There was nothing particularly interesting - some farmer had won lotto, a big storm was due to hit Christchurch again, and the mayor was at it again. Different aide this time. Probably set him up.
I turned the pages lazily, barely taking in the details. Anything important would jump out at me, but there seldom was.
Bored, I shifted to the back and attacked the Sudoku puzzles, then the crossword.As usual, I failed both. It was the attempt that counted.
I drained the last of the coffee and checked the time. Twenty minutes. The least I could do was prepare some breakfast for her.
It didn't require much imagination - bacon and eggs would suit most people. I set the frying pans, added a dash of water to the eggs, covered them and left them to cook. It was quiet - still early. Too quiet.
I fetched my phone and tapped the app. It circled, then cleared. I chose jazz and put the phone back on the counter, music streaming gently through the overhead speakers. I turned the bacon, threw some bread into the toaster and set the table.
The door opened.
"Ooh, is this for me?"
I smiled and walked over, kissing her cheek. "As usual. How was the night shift?"
"Shit. Here's the post."
She grabbed the paper and slumped into her chair, her hair collapsing around her shoulders. I returned to the kitchen. The eggs landed on her plate, the bacon shared between us, toast on hers, bread on mine, sweet chilli for both. Orange juice from the fridge.
I carefully manouvered everything over to the table and sat down silently opposite her, looking through the post.
"So Lenny's been set up by some journalist having another affair."
"No surprise that."
Three bills, an offer to win a million dollars, an official document and a letter from my sister. I still can't fathom why she insists on sending letters.
I browsed the letter, smiling, then passed it over to her. She crunched into the bacon and toast, her nose still buried in the paper. She'd finish and head to bed for a few hours. I'd probably sneak up and watch her later; she was beautiful but snored like a crashing train. It was always worth a smile.
I opened the document and considered my day ahead. I'd go for a walk along the beach, then return and choose a project. That one from Canon seemed interesting.
My brain caught up with my eyes.
"Oh no, and there's been a terrible derailment in India! 179 people dead, 53 injured...Are you ok?"
I looked up at her, my eyes wide, the document shaking in my hands.
"I've been approved."
She froze, understanding drenching her face. She exploded around the table.
"Oh darling! I'm so happy for you!"
I smiled and hugged her, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I could literally feel the last 4 years draining out of me. Finally my life could start again.
"Oh that's brilliant. Oh baby..." she kissed me, yawning into my mouth. I laughed.
"I think you should go sleep."
"Mmh, yes." she stole my bacon. "So what do you do now?"
I read through the document. "I have to fill out the accompanying form with references to my online account, then sign and send back the document and then they'll notify the target and me and I'll have 31 days. If I don't return this document in 21 days they'll presume I don't want to go ahead with my application." I nodded and put it down. "Sounds straightforward. Oy, wake up!"
Her head was on my shoulder.
"Go get changed and into bed."
She yawned again. "Ok."
I smacked her bum lightly as she passed, and turned my attention back to the envelope. I pulled out the form.
It was huge. A quick check revealed 94 pages, double sided, with an excess of white space. The front page was addressed to me.
Username: JMK4TLR301113
Password: TLK431ID0S
Dear Mr Kilker
Thank you once more for your application.
To complete the process, please fill in this form. Full instructions are provided on each page. Please read and answer each question carefully - if you are uncertain about anything, call us on 0800687337 for assistance.
Your records will be stored and available for persual by the victims family. To ensure your own protection, please ensure that every answer you give is not only honest but truthful - if in doubt, verify.
You must complete and return this form within 21 days of the date at the top of the page.
Yours sincerely
Adolphus Littler
Humane Eradication
I laid down the form and fetched a pen, my smile fading a little. This was going to take a very long time.
Full story can be found here: http://garjar.wordpress.com/short-stories/
EDIT: I finally got round to editing the story. Follow the link above, you can either read on Wattpad or as a PDF. | 2014-03-17T09:31:02 | 2014-03-17T03:47:33 | 143 | 37 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | It's a small act of defiance. I don't think it will change the law. But maybe, I can save a few lives. Maybe I can scare a few people out of line. My hand shakes as I write.
_____
**Form 10-95**
**Sanctioned Murder Registration**
Murderer: */u/thefonztm*
Victim: *The next registrant* | I liked these guys. None of them were as smart as I am but we got along, the house had a lot of space and they didn't infringe on my reality any. I went to class, I came home, I ate and I paid my bills. They did the same. I was going to be a doctor and all my bros respected that. I was grateful. It was better than living in the dorms, even before all that roommate nonsense. If you could believe it, the house was quieter than the residence halls. It was dirtier, sure, but I could live with that for a couple more years. There was a knock on the door. Tommy was closest, so he answered.
"Jack, uh, it's for you bro."
"So let her in," I replied, trying to sound cool about it. I really wasn't expecting anyone.
"No, Jack, he,uh, he says he needs to see you right now in person."
Oh shit. I looked at my watch. Did I forget a tutoring appointment? If I did, I forgot it completely because I have no idea what I'm missing. There's a guy in the doorway wearing standard issue khakis with a standard issue blue button-down shirt. A drone of some kind. He's holding a small device. I look at him suspiciously. He looks at me, checks the screen, sighs, and asks for a signature as he hands me the gadget.
"What is this?" I ask.
"Notification. Initial there and there too, please."
"Is this, like, a delivery or something?"
"Not really, no. Your answer should be coming up on the screen now, initial after you scroll through. Check the box if you want to reserve the ROR which will be delivered to your heir."
"My what?" I ask after initialing all the boxes.
"Look at the screen, sir."
It reads: FUCKED UP THE BELL CURVE
I look up from the pad and I see a girl from my biology lab emerge from the bushes and she's...Holy shit is that a gun? I turn back to the house, see Tommy and the others and I hear, or think I hear, a collective moan before I definitely hear two pops and fall.
| 2014-03-17T10:18:55 | 2014-03-17T09:56:08 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | The clerical assistant stamped the paperwork and handed the receipt back to Mister Henry.
"Thanks for coming in and filling this out. Mister Edwards has been informed via email-" Before the assistant could finish, the door of the small claims office was kicked in and a man soaked in blood appeared in the threshold.
"You can't do that! It's illegal!" complained the clerk. A bullet splintered a cloud of spraying wood from her desk and both the office's patrons went rigid.
"Retaliation rights!," Mister Edwards barked. He aimed his magnum at Mister JHenry, whose hands shook uncontrollably as Mister Edwards took his smartphone and showed it to Mister Jones. It had the email just sent to him by the clerk's office regarding Henry's intention of murder.
"A little late on this, don't you think? You're supposed to fill out the paperwork *before* you send an armed hitsquad to someone's house. Asshole," growled James Henry.
"Please, James- we can work something out- a- a promotion or maybe a-" Mister Edwards begged, sweat pouring down his brow. Two police officers moved near him.
"Sir, please come with-"
"RETALIATION RIGHTS!" Henry warned and kept his gun held over his head. The officers immediately moved away, nodding and accepting. Henry's gaze turned again to Mister Edwards.
"Nah uh, Marcus Edwards. I've been looking forward to this since the day you locked me in the copier room over night. I thought about suing your ass for improper usage of a kill order. It would be fitting for you to lose the only thing in the world that's precious to you- your fucking money. But, retaliation, frankly...is making me so much happier." Mister Edwards was crying. James Henry put the gun against Edwards' temple.
"D- don't I get last words?" Edwards compalined.
"You just did." A blood soaked bullet splattered red across the clerk's office wall. | It's the future. Okay, it's the present, but it seems like the future. It doesn't help that we slap the label on everything these days, and the line's a little more blurry than it used to be anyway. There's the Future Research Corporation, which started the trend. They're the number one discoverers of new technologies, as you'd expect. The other "Future" companies are similarly placed in their fields.
We even have a "Future" branch of government. We probably have several, but only one is public: the Bureau of Future Crimes. No, they don't plot crimes. They send out the notifications. I got mine in the mail today.
It's polite. Not a form letter, but still impersonal. They tell me to contact my next of kin to ensure everything is taken care of. They mention her by name. It seems vaguely threatening, but I know she hasn't received a letter. I can be thankful for that much.
I contemplate running. I imagine myself on a beach on some sunny island where this sort of thing doesn't happen, where you can remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment the locals murder you and steal from your fresh corpse. Sounds like paradise, right?
But you can't run. It just doesn't work. I look through the rest of the package. I know what I'm going to find. The route plan. This is how I'm going to die: in traffic heading over the South Bridge, the one that leads out of the city. There's a time and a method. It says it's a gunshot to the head three hours from now. At least I won't have to pack a lunch.
There's other things in the package. Forms to sign for listing my preferred method of burial, whether I want to donate my organs, a place to attach my will. Standard death stuff, with all the convenience that being alive grants. The last note in the package is the big one. It tells me that the cost of any reality correction events will be deducted from the value of my estate.
I want to tempt fate. Maybe I'll leave the city from the North, instead. Let's see how reality corrects that! Except bigger corrections have happened. They usually make the news. And afterwards the family is destitute because of the selfishness of that doomed bastard. It doesn't feel so selfish from where I'm sitting.
I get dressed in my nicest suit. I go out and have a coffee at my favourite joint, the one with the cute waitress. She gives me her number again. I hand it back. I'm a married man.
The clock's running down now. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. The sky is as clear and inviting as it's ever been but I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. If I want to make my appointment I have to leave now. So I do.
As I drive I hit every green light. Ah, that's a few corrections there. Sorry, honey, I should have been more prompt. Still we're well off enough that it won't matter too much. I just know how much you hate wastefulness.
There's the bridge. I look at the time. Just over a minute to go. I panic. I slam my foot on the accelerator. The car's engine dies instantly. I can't quite tell, but I think it stops on the exact spot the route plan specified. As if it could happen any other way.
I see my wife. She's in the next car over, stopped as well. She hops out of her car and into mine. My blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear anything, but I can read her lips. It seems like she's speaking in slow motion. "I'm leaving you." And then I see the gun.
Fucking psychics. | 2014-03-17T08:23:17 | 2014-03-17T03:24:00 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] A crooked cop meets an honorable thief. | "Listen, Mac: I can cut you a deal to let you go if you gimme eh tweny five percent o' yer cut."
"How did you find my home?"
"Wassn to hard, I saw the pattern of banks and stores you've robbed in the last three months. An I know yoor plannin somethin big. I want in."
"No."
The cop draws his gun from its holster, it's silver sheen flashes in the thief's eyes. The threat is obvious, the thief rubs his hands to calm his nerves while the cop plants the gun on table.
"See, I don't think you have the luksury of denyin me."
"I don't believe you have the luxury of threatening me."
"Heh, arrite Mac. You win. Tweny five to big, I'll bite- fifteen."
The thief's trained hands pull the gun from the table and level it at the cop before he can draw a breath.
"Why don't I give you .45?"
"What, an kill a cop? Mac we've been on yoor ass for this small time shit do you really think-"
"But you're not a cop. You've stepped outside that role now."
"An you think yoor somethin better?"
"Our roles define us. I may be a thief but that's all I am... All I will be. You, on the other hand have crossed into a different class of criminal. There is no doubt about our moral difference but we're on the same side of the law, and while I have a duty to protect the innocent and good from corruption, I have no qualms about harming my own kind."
The thief pulls the trigger and the cop goes limp.
Light.
The cop awakens in a haze, sharp pain arcs out from his abdomen as he looks up at the sun shinning through his office window. His office? How did he-
"Hey, Kowalski!"
The chief bangs open the door.
"Listen, chief I've had a long night an I've got some paperwork to-"
"Shut the fuck up, Kowalski! You've got no idea what paperwork is."
The chief drops a file onto the cop's table.
"This little message in a bottle got dropped in my mail last night. You wanna explain this to me?"
The cop looks down in horror as the meticulously compiled log book of offenses his personal enterprise has committed. Bills of sale, list of takes, how to work it into his taxes... He knew a book would bite him, he knew but he needed to keep track. He was a criminal now, outside of the protection of law enforcement. Another arc of pain, the cop looks down at the hole in his gut and falls on his desk at the sight of the red.
"I have no qualms about harming my own kind." | "Just one more time" he tells himself over and over as the glass shatters. "If I don't then we'll be fucked" the thought rattles in his head as his feet crunch on the broken glass. DallyBoy had been in and out of prison which only made him a better crook. But going back wouldn't be in option so he was careful not to generate to much noise. And he always covered his tracks as the OG's advised. Leather gloves and no loose clothing, wouldn't want to rip your cloths and leave some behind. Being careful was the least of his concerns though.
A rough manhood is only made easier through a rough childhood. DallyBoy and his brother TwoBitbaby grew up in a drug fueled home. Thier mother and father were heavily into every sort of drug but found their home in alcoholism. Combined with the drugs they were taking it only fueld their neglect and abuse. DallyBoy would do anything to shield his baby brother from this. One day he had had enough. He called the police and told them about what had been happening. He knew if they were to come and see surely they would take them both away to a better place. But deep inside he knew that his parents would do anything they could to get them back. After all keeping him around ment income from the state. So he decided to lie and say that he was a neighbor child so that only his younger brother would be taken. This was just the first sacrifice that he would make.
And now he was in this house to provide for TwoBitbaby. To ensure that they would never be separate again. He vowed that as soon as he turned 18 he would try his harder to keep them together. 10 years had passed before he put in the paperwork to adopt his brother. And now 3 years after the fact he was in college and working with a roof both over his and his brothers heads. He had done it. But like everything money gets in the way of life. Money wasn't lasting and he knew how to get more and quick.
"A few jewelry boxes and TV's would provide enough money to hold them over for a few more weeks" he thought as he stuffed his bag.
"We just need to pay the light bill and get some food"
He was nearly done when he heard tires come to a squeal in front of the home. He bolted for the door but was almost knocked over as it was flung open.
A police officer almost as bewildered as DallyBoy tries to survey the situation as fast as possible while also keeping an eye on the robber. "This is a classic case of robbery nothing else" the seasoned officer thought. He looked down at the boy scrambling to get up and decided it best to see if he would cooperate with him. "Stop" he yelled with his hand ready to draw his gun. The boy did as instructed. So far so good. "Turn around" he barked. The robber did what he was told and met the officer with a gaze full of fierce fear. "What is this guy thinking" the officer thought.
"Come with me to my cruiser now, move slowly." They approached the police cruiser and the officer took the boys wallet to look him up in the criminal system. It didn't take longer then a second to see what this "boy" had done. Ex convict and on probation as a parental guardian for being late to cps meetings. The officer smiled crookedly. He will do it. "Now I can keep my hands clean and give this poor bastard another chance in the real world." His crooked smile widened. He will definitely do it.
He exited the car with this crooked smile still on his crooked cop face. "Listen I know who you are DallyBoy, and I know your on probation. This won't look good on you if I arrest you will it?" DallyBoy hesitated but respond "No".
The cop kept smiling. "And I'm sure you want to stay with your brother right?"
DallyBoy felt the muscle in his jaw tighten. "Yes" he said cooly, trying not to show the cop how rattled that subject made him. "Well" said the officer "I have a proposition for you my man, I'll let you go but you gotta do something for me."
DallyBoy knew that this ment the police officer in front of him did not serve the people for justice. But that this officer believed in justice for himself and served no one. But separating from his brother wasn't an option. He would never abandon TwoBitbaby like their parents had long ago.
He took a deep breath and knew he would hate what he would become. He exhales and says in a hardened voice "What did you have in mind, officer? "...... | 2015-04-01T10:34:46 | 2015-04-01T10:17:57 | 65 | 10 |
[WP] Two planets come within range of eachother every 300 years. There is always an ensuing war that lasts the 5 days that the planets are close enough. Each side can only guess at what new technology the other has built since the last time. | It's been 300 years since the last battle. In some respects, 300 years is a long time: three generations have come and gone; musical styles have evolved, synthesized, come into and gone out of fashion; political factions have warred, acquiesced, and vanished. Many things can change in 300 years. Cultural norms can change, governments can collapse. But one thing doesn't change.
Dread.
We never stop dreading the future.
After the attack in 1045 E.K., it took 20 years for us to rebuild, to get our bearings and start living again. After the attack in 1345 E.K., it took 80 years. 80 years of reconstruction, tax hikes, endless promises from an ineffectual government. 80 years of workers giving up and just deciding to end it all in the Great Kaweshi Gas Pool.
After the 1645 attack, it took 150 years to fix things. Their technology had improved. Ours had too, of course, but they were always one step ahead. They seemed hell-bent on total elimination. They wanted to wipe us out completely. And for what? We had never even communicated with them. We had legends, sure; we developed imaginary reasons for *why* they did what they did. But nothing seemed to make sense.
For as long as anyone could remember, we had been sending missives to their planet. Carried via simple, non-threatening rockets that disintegrated upon contact with the atmosphere. These missives were durable. They were made with the best materials, and they were made to scatter harmlessly over the surface of their world. They called for peace. They stated, in plain and simple terms, that we were willing to give them anything for peace. We would give them our gas, our technological innovations, our crops. We *knew*, without a doubt, that they were getting the messages. We knew that they understood the messages, because they always sent back a reply. A reply in our own native tongue, albeit broken. What did the reply say? It was always the same:
*We aren't interested in gas. We don't want your gas, or your food, or your machines. We just want freedom.*
Freedom? From what? Sure, we launched defensive attacks - but these maneuvers could hardly match the strength and intensity that *they* always seemed to muster up. We just..couldn't. We didn't have the power. The technology. We always seemed to be rebuilding, catching up. We were getting tired.
And today's the day. Today's the day we see what they have in store for us. They've been exponentially raising the explosive force in their rockets. In the past 1,000 years, they've introduced increasingly more destructive weapons: lasers that sear off the flesh of whole communities. Magnetic pulses that disrupt our transportation and computer systems for months. Worst of all? Nuclear warheads that could fit in the palm of your hand. Thousands of them. Falling like rain over the largest cities. Of course, we'd developed some great defensive capabilities: these days, we mostly stay underground. The surface is nearly inhabitable, unless you're clothed in the thick, government-issued suits that we loathe so much.
Today's the day.
On this day, there isn't much talking. No laughing, or singing, or philosophizing. We just wait. Wait, and wait, and wait. Wait for the beginning. Or maybe it's the end?
So imagine our surprise when nothing happens. Nothing? Could it be? Have they given up? Have they finally seen the error of their ways?
The first day passes, and the second, and the third, and the fourth, and on and on. Nothing happens. Their planet passes out of view, the gravity-induced Gas Waves subside, and everyone settles back down.
Three months later, the first reports roll in. Guny Province has seen an ever-increasing rise in stillbirths. Babies that come out cold, lifeless. Mothers torn apart with grief.
Then D'vair Province. Then Weshin. Then the others, one by one. Five months after we started to calm down, we become frantic again. At first, we assume it's a domestic epidemic: some terrible disease that has sprung up from the roiling Gas lakes that provide our planet with movement, with progress. Now, there's no movement. Our world seems to be still, as we wait for answers.
But the scientists can't provide answers. We wait, and wait, and wait, but we soon lose hope. We're getting older by the second.
**2245, E.K.**
It's been 300 years. A small craft encased in metal descends over the land, quickly and without trembling, like a judge's gavel.
It lands in the remains of a city, where hollowed-out buildings sway and moan.
Out steps a man, wrapped tight in a thick, padded suit. He sticks his finger into the air, as if to feel for a pulse. He nods, pleased, and lifts the transmitter to his lips:
*"At first glance, our plan appears to have been a great success. No signs of life."*
| "Alright, listen up, Dragnet," said Goodwin, as he stopped walking right before he and a younger man reached the door.
"It's Dragnard, sir," said the young man. "Edward Dragnard."
"Don't interrupt me, Dragnet," said Goodwin without even making eye contact. "You don't belong here. You're just a college kid who got lucky on the internet."
"I have degrees in Computer Engineering and Astrophysics, sir"
"Bachelor degrees," spat Goodwin. "You're a first year grad student."
A older woman walked passed and opened the door, pausing before entering the room. "Hey, you're Edward, right?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," replied Edward. He eagerly shook her hand after she extended it.
"We're all proud to have you here." Goodwin rolled his eyes. "Are you two coming in?"
"We'll be in there in a minute," answered Goodwin. The woman smiled and entered the room, letting the door close behind her.
"As I was saying Dragnet," continued Goodwin. "Your stupid idea was a no-brainer. I suggested a similar concept when I first joined the team, but it was ignored."
"I'm sorry, sir," said Edward. "It's a good idea. They should have listened to you."
Goodwin met Edward's eyes and let out a half smile. "Huh," he said. "Yeah." He opened the door and walked in, letting the door almost shut before Edward could reach it.
Edward's eyes widened as he entered the room. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie. Four large screens were mounted around one larger screen on the far wall. Tables were setup in a stadium layout, each a step descending down toward the wall of screens. Several people were already sitting and talking amongst themselves, laptops and files laid out in front of them.
"Welcome to the Command Center," said Goodwin. "Follow me."
Edward followed Goodwin down the steps, occasionally interrupted by more introductions and handshakes. When they reached the bottom row, Goodwin guided him to the seat all the way on the right, and then sat down in the seat next to him.
"Remember, you don't belong here," said Goodwin. "Don't say anything unless asked."
"OK, sir," said Edward.
A door on the bottom-left opened and several people entered, followed by the president, which prompted everyone in the room to rise. The president sat down at the desk on the bottom left of the room opposite Goodwin and Edward. Everyone else followed suit and returned to their seats.
"Welcome everyone," addressed one of the men who accompanied the president. "We'll begin as usual by recapping everything we've learned since this all started. While we all know the basic story, there are many rumors and much disinformation out there. It's best we're all on the same page.
"Thirty years ago a strange phenomenon occurred that tore open the fabric of space itself. Another planet was visible through the small opening, which we now refer to as Enigma." A hazy picture appeared on the largest screen showing the planet. "We attempted to send a probe through the tear, but it disappeared before we could reach it. Then, two years later, it reappeared just as mysteriously. This time several objects exited the tear, which we can only assume originated from Enigma. What followed was the worst event in human history, E Day." The image on the screen changed to cycle through horrible displays of destruction and death from around the world. "The objects dropped countless nuclear bombs around the planet, decimating the population and destroying some of our greatest cities.
"As time went on, we were able to find a pattern that can predict when the tear will occur, which can range between one and five years." A timeline appeared showing the previous and future tears predicted. "In the five years following E Day, it appeared twice more, but luckily, there were no further attacks. We used that time to recover and prepare our counter attacks, which we've been carrying out for the last twenty-five years. But we still don't know why we were attacked. We don't know who attacked us. And we don't know if there's any of them left. All we do know is we can't risk stopping. We cannot allow another E Day.
"We've been sending probes along with our attacks, but the tear would always vanish before they could return to our space. However, with the next tear, which will be occurring within the hour, we may finally get some answers.
"This young man, Edward Dragnard," the man pointed toward Edward and everyone looked in his direction. "He posted an idea in an internet forum, of all places, which ended up going viral." An image appeared showing a series of objects trailing on both sides of a wormhole. "The idea made it's way to the White House, it was implemented, and he was invited to join this task force." The man motioned toward Goodwin. "Mr. Goodwin?"
Goodwin stood up and turned to face everyone else. "The *idea* was to propel a series of probes through the tear and relay the data back into our space. When the tear closes this time, the data won't be trapped on their side."
A solitary clap multiplied slowly until the room was in applause. Goodwin sighed. Before he could continue his speech, an alarm sounded.
"The tear is forming!" yelled someone in the room. Everyone was in a panic, some typing away on their laptops, others yelling at each other, while a few were scribbling in a notepad.
Edward watched his own laptop intently. The raw probe data was being streamed across his screen as he occasionally opened additional consoles to interpret key areas. Eventually he was able to bring up some pictures, mostly just as hazy as the earlier ones shown on large screen. After some time, he found one that made him stop entirely. He looked over at Goodwin who was running his own data analysis, which didn't show anything in particular. He hesitated for another minute and then spoke up.
"Stop the attack!" shouted Edward, causing everyone in the room to quiet down and gaze in his direction.
"Don't stop anything!" yelled Goodwin. He turned toward Edward and pushed his chair away from the desk. "What did I tell you, Dragnet?" he scolded softly, turning his attention to Edward's laptop. "This isn't what it looks like. You added some kind of filter, right?"
"No, this is it, sir" said Edward.
Goodwin typed away at his own screen furiously until the same picture appeared. "On second thought, you might want to consider stopping the attack, Mr. President," he said pointing to the large screen on the wall. Projected on the screen was an image of Earth. | 2015-05-26T19:06:16 | 2015-05-26T18:21:26 | 29 | 16 |
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