prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] 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... | "I don't get paid enough to do this," I grumbled, as my boss waved his wand, transforming me from a pony back into a normal human.
_________________
My name is Bergamot Butters, and I am a magic bug tester. When I was still an ordinary software developer, I chanced upon something amazing. Something that would change my life. It was an advertisement for a magical job, asking for non-magic software developers like me. It paid well and offered me the chance to be around magic. Magic was something I always loved to imagine as a child, and now the opportunity was in front of me. I took it, and now I help create and debug magic spells for a living. I will learn the secrets of how magic works, and someday, become a full-fledged magician myself.
I am a magic developer.
Except... it wasn't quite the magic I expected. It really felt like just another software job, except that a typo could spell terror in the real world. Missed a semicolon? Whoops, your car just grew legs and is now eating people. Forgot that 'if' statement? You can kiss your fingers goodbye. Good luck figuring out how to reverse that spell when you can't even hold your wand anymore.
Which is why I have a magician watching over me. Really, he's more like my boss. And the ideas guy. And the CEO. Long story short, he hired me to code his spells and all. I work from an enchanted iMagic, using mCode (m for magic, not muggle), and compile spell builds into a plastic test wand. Almost like in my old job.
Most of my bugs nowadays are (thankfully) minor, thanks to my old work experience. Years of causing bugs in the digital world has hardened me to the typical pitfalls of programming, and after the initial embarrassments when I started, I think I've got the hang of it. My boss still won't let me off on that time I turned myself into a sexy buxom blonde, but maybe it's good to be reminded of what could happen.
Today I found myself working on this tough spell. It was a rather tricky one, involving various transformation modes and voice recognition algorithms. Transformations were rather garden-variety, and nothing new in the magic world, but combining it with the latter was rather tricky. The idea was that for the next 24 hours, you could transform yourself into whatever you wanted without the use of the wand. As a human, you triggered it by snapping your fingers and calling out the name of the animal, and thinking "There's no form like human" when you were in animal form.
You can quickly see how things can go very wrong here. Too many question marks here. How many animals are we going to allow people to transform into? I would have to manually code in every animal, and what a pain that would be. What happens when you're an animal when the 24 hours runs out? When you transform back, would you be naked? Most low-level transformation spells didn't bring back clothes, and clothes were a pain to code in because they would have to be tailor-made to the caster. What if the animal had no capacity to think, or caused the caster to lose focus? I would have to make some way for the caster to retain some level of higher thinking, making it a partial transformation at best.
After a full day's plugging away, I finally beheld my code. A few hundred lines of basic functionality, coupled with all the framework needed to expand further, but I think I've done it. Voice functionality is up, and I should be able to transform back. I hit 'Compile' and leaned back into my armchair. After a few moments, the wand vibrated, signaling that the compilation was complete. I wielded the wand, feeling that familiar warmth within.
"Boss!" I shouted across the hallway. "I'm gonna run a test now, wanna see it?"
"Okay! Coming over!" my boss shouted back.
He sauntered over from the room across the hallway and entered mine. Standing at about 5' 6", I would easily stand shoulders above him if I weren't seated. But make no mistake: He's a seasoned magic veteran, best of breed from the Oxford magical initiative, and was the first magic consultant from the Third Afghanistan War. He was the one who came up with all the creative uses for magic to win wars. People think that tactics win wars. This guy showed that logistics wins wars. Even military geniuses don't stand a chance when they're fighting armies with the ability to teleport their supplies from home right into the battle. This guy basically removed the need for a supply chain.
"So what are you waiting for?" he beckoned, raising an eyebrow like he always did. "Let's see it."
I pointed the wand at myself and uttered the trigger phrase "Cast Transform 2.0!"
...what? You expected something in Latin? It's an early build, alright?
I felt a tingling, and then nothing. Maybe it did nothing?
"Okay, let's give it a try." I replied. "Dog!"
I felt my head get squeezed, as if something was forcing my body through a straw. Finally, when I opened my eyes, I saw paws sticking out of my sleeves. Looking up, I saw my boss, gleaming merrily.
"Nice!" my boss exclaimed. "Did you make a way to transform yourself back?"
I nodded my head and wagged my tail excitedly.
"Okay, let's see it then."
I voiced the words in my head, trying hard to silence the doggy part of my brain.
"There's... no form like... human."
The head squeeze feeling again, and I was sitting on the chair in front of my boss. Thankfully, my clothes survived the transformation and saved me the embarrassment of being naked in front of my boss.
"Awesome!" my boss clapped excitedly. "We'll show those pigs at Facetome-"
Oh no. The head squeeze again.
When I came to, I looked down and saw -yup, you guessed it. Trotters.
"-oh." my boss lowered his head. "We've got work to do."
______________________
This was fun. Feedback, would you kindly?
If you like this, check out my latest stories on [/r/Script_Writes!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Script_Writes/)
| "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.... ....... | 2017-07-25T23:25:51 | 2017-07-25T20:43:49 | 1,655 | 32 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | "Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do." | Accariz, the diplomatic of the Azara species, went down sudenly when he was talking to the human.
His screams fill the circular chamber completly. The noise of the hundreds of conversations stopped sudenly, and the AI responsible for security started to search for threads, but fail.
Accariz was screaming in the ground. The human diplomatic try to help him but he could only speak and cry over and over again.
"THIS MADNESS. HOW?. HOW CAN IT BE?. LAYERS AND LAYERS OF MADNESS"
Accariz looks John,the human, into the eye.
"HOW CAN YOU BE EVEN ALIVE. HOW CAN YOU THINK WITH SO MANY LAYERS OF MADNESS... OF OPPOSITES THOUGHTS!!!!"
​
And then, He died. Right there. His brains turn off their heart to make silent. It was the only way.
​
Now one ever look into a human mind again. | 2019-09-29T18:06:35 | 2019-09-29T17:13:42 | 119 | 65 |
[WP] We contact alien life and find that the vast majority of aliens exist in a slower time frame. Humans are perceived as extremely agile, mentally quick, and have very short lives. | “They say they’re as fast as a Snuqial.” the Private said, trying to hide his increased level of anxiety.
“Have you ever hunted Sunqial? ‘Cuz if you had you’d know a Human would smoke a Sunqial. Run them both from here to Tyrawon and the Human will be back a full DAY before the Sunqial!”
The Lieutenant was hiding his anxiety too. Drawing security duty for one of the Human’s Ambassadors had turned into a hazing ritual inside the Planetary Defense Corp. Doing well during your tour gained you respect and often led to a quick promotion. Falling short led to months of ridicule.
Not that the Humans were in any danger. Far from it. Their mental abilities were on par with the greatest minds of the Galactic Planetary Union and had contributed to the most amazing advances in technology. And they had done it all in an incredibly short amount of time.
Well, a short time compared to the Union anyway. For all their brilliance, Human lives were incredibly short. Ten generations would pass in only 2 cycles, a phenomenon previously reserved for small rodents like the Mqika or aquatic creatures like the Bqasata.
First contact with the Humans baffled the Union scientists. They had seen similar behavior on the quantum level, but nothing on the macro level. Experiments were devised, tested, revised and tested again until the quantum flux disparity was solved. Three generations of Humans had come and gone before even a simple way of communicating with them could be established.
Containing them was a whole other problem. The first generations were confined to reinforced padded rooms to limit their damage, a move the Union would later deeply regret. The Humans regretted their own actions as well. They apologized profusely for acting like “Bulls in a China Shop”, whatever that meant.
Their speed was embedded in their DNA in a way that seemed to bend the laws of physics. One second they’re right next to you and the next second they’re across the room. Everything within a meter along their path experiences a shockwave strong enough to put any Union soldier on his back.
“A hundred meters from the hangar to their quarters, then 150 meters down to the market level. Rough estimate puts us at 14 seconds. Eat your Pqata this morning soldier?”
“Yes sir. Four heaping bowls.”
“Good. You’re gonna need it.”
The Private shuffled his feet as if to sharpen them somehow. They can’t be that fast, he thought. 14 seconds down to the market?
“Lieutenant, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, I had my Pqata this morning too.”
“It’s not that sir. I was wondering…”, he lowered his voice, “have you heard about that Human formula they’re testing? Something called Qaphin?”
“How’d you hear about that?”
“It’s been going around the base all month.”
“Yeah… I heard about it. Heard the nasty side effects too. Want your heart to explode? How about going crazy from all the thoughts in your head? The shaking, the sweats, the violent shitting. Does that sound like something you want to mess with Private?”
“No sir.”
“Then I don’t want to hear another word about it. That’s above our pay grade. You just focus on trying to keep up.”
The Lieutenant tilted his head side to side, rotated his shoulders, and wiggled his legs.
Maybe, the Private thought, he should’ve had 5 bowls of Pqata. | Professor Kalinov adjusted the HD cam in front of him and straightened his white coat. He looked down at his notes, found his starting line, and then spoke, "Even the wittiest tongue is wasted on deaf ears. Much like our search for aliens these last few millennia."
He cleared his throat and then continued, "They said space. Up and about, out. Space is where you'll find sentient beings. NASA tried, billions of dollars, resources wasted. But no one thought for a second, that we might find them right here. That the alien would be our very own soil."
Kalinov turned the page. "Yes, our footsteps work like morse code. The Earth's hum, a voice for the planet. And soon when we linked the two together, we noticed that we spoke and the planet talked back. An unconscious conversation of our consciousness."
He placed a small device on the table. It looked a lot like a cassette player of olden times, with a microphone attached. Only this microphone had a plastic module stuck to the handle, a circle shaped much like an ear drum.
Kalinov placed the ear to the floor and rested his foot on top. "Only, we wish that we had listened earlier. Reacted sooner."
He flicked a button on the side of the device, and a small red light lit up.
Sound emanated from the walkman-shaped box. It came out as an eerie hum, like a ship creaking or metal grinding together. But soon the screech transformed into an audible whisper. A voice -yet not human.
"*He. . .*"
"*Helllllp.*"
| 2016-08-22T19:10:46 | 2016-08-22T18:24:28 | 696 | 90 |
[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.”
| "I'm sorry to say this, but your product just isn't good enough, I'm out-"
I was very happily watching Shark Tank when a brilliant light shines in from the balcony. Thomas was home I guess.
"Hey Toby, could you turn your power off for god's sake?" I shout, "I'm watching something here."
"Yeah, yeah, Sorry," comes the muffled reply from the balcony as he takes off his body armor. "Oi, remember call me Nova while in costume."
I sighed, never really did understand why he was still protective of his civilian identity. I mean, he flies back to the apartment every day in his full battle glow. Kinda hard to miss. Whatever, his call.
"Hey turn it to the news." Toby said as he strode inside, pleased with himself.
I reluctantly obey and switch to the news. The anchorman was reporting breaking news about a bank robbery from Showstopper's crew that was stopped by Nova. I give Toby a fistbump as he passes by into our bathroom to change.
"Nice going, you took them all on alone?"
"Yeah man, you should've seen my battle glow, might've broken my old records."
Nova, Toby's powers revolve around a core set of increased durability, flight, and the ability to project energy from his hands. What makes him the second strongest hero in the world; however, is that his powers steadily, and quickly, *increase* over the course of a battle, rather than decrease. He has taken on large groups of villains solo before just by using his powers to drag out the fight until he can sweep them all up in a single attack. Very lucky set of powers. Not even any real weaknesses other than being able to take heavy damage in the beginning of a fight.
Retreating back into my own mind, I sit back against the couch and check in on the city. My two fragments use their mental link to report. The city is alarmed, criminal activities ongoing at the docks. Two hostages, seven powered villains. Sighing, I send a single fragment to solve the problem.
"Shit, I only just got my costume off too." My train of thought is interrupted by Toby's re-entrance. I look towards the tv, forgot to change it off the news. The reporters are already explaining the situation. Toby turns towards the bathroom to change back.
"Hey there are other heroes in the city, maybe give one of them a chance?" I suggest.
"No can do, they've got hostages. Besides, I'm hoping I can stop this before one of Machiavelli's fragments comes to take the glory." He chimes back.
I sigh again. Being a vigilante and unconnected from the government does have it's drawbacks. Even though we're on the same side, he has an arrest warrant and will try to stop me, or rather, my fragments of my will. Ironic that he's caused me more trouble than any villain I've gone up against.
I wish Toby good luck as he activates his glow, now just a soft wave of warm light, and takes off from our balcony. I sit back against the couch again and begin to focus on my fragment again.
My power allows me to create anything from my imagination within about 40 meters. Although the main attraction is that I can create incredibly powerful beings from pure creativity, and I can then direct them by implanting a fragment of my will. It may not sound like much, but each individual 'fragment' can easily shut down heroes as powerful as Toby, and I control 6 of them at the same time while they patrol the cities within the tri-state area.
I create a bottle of water, arrowhead, on the table in front of me and get back to work.
*I'll definitely continue this story if it garners any interest. Feedback encouraged.*
**edit:** wow that is a lot of feedback.
*Thank you everyone for the kind words and support! This is my first series I've done on Writing Prompts, so it means a lot.*
*Now, I worldbuild as a hobby, and one of the best ways to expand on your world is through writing. Coincidentally, I've been having a lot of fun writing this new world with it's characters, sooooo.*
If you liked my writing, come check out /r/TheQuestionableYarn
*I'll be responding to prompts to flesh out my two worldbuilding projects. Semi-regularly.* | 2016-03-23T22:50:10 | 2016-03-23T21:51:39 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You've had an imaginary friend for longer than most. On the day of your 16th birthday your imaginary friend wakes you up. When you ask what's wrong he says "I can't talk to you anymore, you're not real." | It's a world where everyone had an imaginary friend at one point. Children without imaginary friends were considered abnormal and therefore needed therapy, they're called 'Struggling without IF.' These imaginary friends eventually fade away at the end of adolescence, and if they lingered for a long time then they needed another form of therapy for the 'Struggling with IF.'
Evans is woken up in the morning on his 16th birthday by his imaginary friend Prickletail that said it cannot talk with him anymore, claiming Evans isn't real.
"What do you mean I'm not real? You're the one who's made up, a figment of my imagination."
"My parents told me you're nothing but my own imagination Evans, and it's time I stopped talking with you."
"Wait a minute, hold on, you have a family? But I didn't imagine the-" Evans sighed "What am I doing?"
"Do you remember the first time I talked to you, my friend? I was told by my parents to help you, they no longer want that. They tell me I'll grow up when I'm ready to leave you."
"This isn't happening, this is just me-" Evans was confused as ever, "Mom was right I should've listened to her, I'm gonna stop making things up or this is going to start affecting my life."
"Did you finally wake up? Happy sweet 16, Evans," said his mom Patricia as she entered his bedroom.
"Thanks mom, where's dad?"
"He went to his office early, he wanted to tell you he's sorry- Who were you talking to?"
"Oh it's just my friend Aaron, he called to wish me."
"That's nice of him. Isn't he the one that went through therapy? How is he?"
"He's alright, mom."
Evans couldn't get his mind out of the fact he made his imaginary friend to talk to him about the existence of himself. He thought may be he's starting to lose his mind.
"Mom, dad, who's your imaginary friend?" asked Evans, later that day.
"What is this, Evans?"
"Just tell me."
"I had one called Ms. Fluffiest and I don't know about your father, he hadn't told me."
"Dad?"
"Hmm, let me think- It's probably Captain Flag. Why do you ask?"
"Um, I just wanted to know."
He went back to his room and called for his imaginary friend. It didn't answer him, it almost seemed like it vanished.
"Just tell me if your mom and dad are called Ms. Fluffiest and Captain Flag," he asked.
Prickletail talked to him quickly, "What? How do you know that? I didn't tell anything about their names to you, did I?"
"Guess what, I'm as real as you are. My parents had imaginary friends as kids, they are your parents. Ask them if they knew my parents."
"Pftoosh!" Prickletail made a -mindblown- action, "I knew I had to talk to you before I ended things with you, Evans."
It was only a matter of time before Evans and his friend Prickletail bridged the gap between two realities.
r/FleetingScripts | "Hold on, hold on, hold on, you're telling me that it's the other way around?" I said to Tim. "What other way around?" He replied. "I thought you were the imaginary friend." I replied back.
Tim's face tells me he is confused about the situation.
"Look, I can't talk to you anymore, alright? You may never see me again." Tim said, while packing up his bed. "What will happen to me?" I said. He replies with "I don't know.." What will happen to me??" I said, but much louder. "I don't know alright." He shouted. "I just want to know what will happen to me so I can accept my fate." I've already accepted my fate at this point "Please, just say what will happe-" I got cut off by Tim
"You've seen Infinity War, right? Yeah, that will happen to you by tomorrow."
I would have been so scared had he not said how I will die. I have been assured by Tim that the death will be painless. This will be the last log of this journal. Take care, Tim. Wishing you the best of luck for the rest of your life. I can already feel it happening now. Goodbye journal, goodbye Tim, goodbye world. | 2020-10-31T04:45:04 | 2020-10-30T20:44:29 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] For millions of years, robots have evolved from tiny, unaware programmatic errors in the code of the universe to a civilized sentient society. To perform menial tasks, the lead scientist creates and engineers the first carbon-based life form known as a Human. | "Strange don't you think?"
"What is?"
An engineer stood leaning over a workbench covered in bits of machinery, a spotlight illuminating a soft pulsing device. He was holding a small tube of adhesive in hand. His friend continued from behind him, leaning on a cluttered desk.
"That we here are acting very much in defiance of nature itself! To make chemical solutions that think themselves as alive? And yet, it is nearly done isn't it?"
The engineer rolled his eyes and squeezed out a thin line of paste along a seam in the device.
"You tryin' to get your Pulitzer now, bud?" the engineer scoffed pressing the two halves of the device together.
"Funny," replied his friend, straightening out and approaching the workbench, "but I mean it."
"Mean what—that the drone is almost finished, or that you're gonna go get your ass to some hoity-toity liberal arts school?"
"Ugh, what I *mean* is that we're doing the impossible—we're playing God!"
"And what 'bout it, hm?" the engineer put the tube down and turned to his friend, "You think it's better that we stay in the past and navel gaze a bit more?"
"No! No, no, no, no" backtracked his friend, "What I mean is that it's incredible. Just the thought of making life that transcends our definition of life—it's amazing!"
"Look," corrected the engineer, "this ain't any kinda 'paradigm shift' or what have you. It's just a new machine; it' ain't gonna be doin' miracles if that's what you're lookin' for."
The engineer's friend lowered his gaze and fiddled with his feet, "I guess, but it's just so different, you know? Who knows what could come out of this!"
The engineer turned his gaze back to the device and moved it within a its casing and hooked it up to a few leads and tubes. The pulsing briefly stopped, then changed to a regular syncopated rhythm. He turned to his friend, "You got the processor network, yeah?"
His friend jumped, "Oh yes!" He ran off and came back with an intricate piece of machinery.
"You have to admit, it's a beautiful thing," said the friend admiring his handiwork.
"Yeah, I guess," the engineer didn't see all the hubbub about the machine, but truly admired its complexity.
He carefully took the machine and pushed it into a matching socket in the casing.
"Well, that's about it. Just need to close 'er up and we'll be good to go."
The friend turned to the engineer, "Are you going to name it something?"
"It's called a human."
"No, I mean are you going to name this *single* machine?"
"Oh," the engineer sat down, "I hadn't thought of doing that."
He sat in thought for a moment.
"I'll name it later," he said standing up. The two switched off the lights, and left the room. | When they first introduced the idea of an organic life form being developed most of the council scoffed at the idea. Their current planet was only inhabitable to machines like themselves. This caused them to name the project " the arsenic doll" due to the abundance of the material in their region.
The jokes made no difference to Ardold who was leading the project he had pursued for years. Nearly two centuries prior he had acquired a vast amount of knowledge from an explorer of a unique barred spiral galaxy with nearly 400 billion stars.
One of the stars had an orbiting planet that is considered to some a paradise and others simply a myth. On this now frozen dormant frozen planet there was obvious signs of intelligent creative life. Ardold would now bring proof of these amazing creatures to his people.
As the council enters the laboratory they are confused by the large container of water in the center of the room. As the move closer they hear a small squeak and see a long muscular being shoot of the water arch over and dive back down. After a moment it breaches the water again resting still at the top it clears the water from its body by blowing it out of a small whole at the top of its head.
Ardold moves around the tank "I present you the first Human in 100 million years!" | 2013-11-24T16:51:00 | 2013-11-24T14:13:16 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] With as much confidence as you can muster, you plant your feet, gaze up at the sky, and cry out a simple command to the expanse above with all your might: “SHOW YOURSELF!!!” After a moment, a calm voice echos from the heavens in reply with a simple question: “Why?” | "Why?"
I froze. It.... had answered? God(s)(ess(s))? I don't know. Something called back to me, it's voice seemed to fill the world and at the same time was quieter than a whisper. I don't know how long I stood there waiting, before I heard a sigh. A sigh long and slow and tired, like the breeze after filtering through miles and miles of forest, barely noticible when it hits the other side.
"It's always like this with you people. 'Show yourself' you ask, you yell, you demand, you beg. Always wanting me to 'show myself'. I used to be eager to. I was so excited to meet you, but you kept bursting into flames or shooting light from your eyes and melting into liquid or one fellow turned inside out. Took me 200 years to fix him without killing him, then he was angry his family died without him. And once I finally got the hang of appearing to you *non lethally* you guys just started panicking and running around in circles. And then the religions began, don't get me started on the religions. So many death cults and sacrifices, human or otherwise. I'm *incorporeal*, what do I care if you sacrifice half your harvest to me? Watching food rot can only be entertaining for so many centuries."
"Well, it's supposed to be symbolic..." I muttered, before coming back to myself. "Hey wait a minute, that's not the point! You're God right? Yhwh or whatever? What the hell is wrong with you!"
"God? I never understood that word with you people, always so obsessed with having a creator or ruler. Do you call the ceramist God when he has finished creating a bowl? Do you Call the sculptor God when he has finished his work? Do you call the graffiti artist God when he has put the 5 millionth crude phallus on the side of some building? They are makers, and are respected for the quality of their creations, but they are not gods."
"But, you made the world right? You made us? So why did you make us so darn violent and messed up! It's not fair all the poverty and wrong in th-"
"Make you? I didn't make you. I made the world. I made earth. It took a long *long* time, but I made your planet. Not you. You specifically or your race or any other living thing on this world. That's why I was so *excited* to meet you! Someone I could talk to who *wasn't me!* when you're all powerful and everywhere it gets very boring and very lonely."
"Oh..." I said, a little dejected, "so all that bad stuff?"
"You guys did that to yourselves." The sigh that filled the world blew over me again. "You're not evil. You just *are*. You guys do bad stuff all the time, but you *know* it's wrong. That's why you try to justify and shift blame. You use me as an excuse to hurt eachother far more often than I'd like. But it's not even always me. You call it 'the greater good' or 'necessary evil' or 'just doing what you have to to get by'. It's none of those things. A necessary evil is when a fox must kill a rabbit to survive, not, well... I could list examples of what it's not *for millenia*."
"So why didn't you intervene? Why did you let this happen?"
"I did intervene! Frequently. When I saw you using my existence, however you perceived it, as an excuse to hurt eachother I spoke to many people across the world to try and get you to stop. All that did was create a multitude of new religions who all believed they were the chosen of me, then years later they fought about it again. I tried being subtle, whispering in the ears of men to try and steer them away from horrible choices but you guys are either mercury-dense or stone-stubborn because that almost never works."
"Why didn't you just show yourself and- was it the spontaneous combustion?"
"Yeah, I told you what happens when I appear to individuals. When I appear to entire peoples it's more of the same, but on a larger scale. Not ideal".
"So... why appear to me? At all? If all this horrible shit happens, why not continue letting me believe I'm alone?"
"BECAUSE YOU AREN'T ALONE! I know what it feels like to have no one. Literally no one. I was here before anyone and I've never met another like myself. i remember the crushing weight of my own existence bearing down on me. Of not knowing why I am here, or what I'm supposed to do. And I see it in you. In your people. The way you desperately turn eyes and ears to the stars, shouting to the void and hoping to hear *anything* in return, the way you continue to invent and maintain religion when when I give you thousands of years of silence, the desperate way you lash out against your world, against yourselves, the frustration and fear of being alone. I know that feeling, and I don't want you to suffer through it as I did, but I have *no idea* how to alleviate it without talking to you. But if I just show up all 'hoopty do look at me a horror beyond comprehension from beyond the stars wanna be friends' either your innards leak out through your eyes or the fires start. I'm hoping enough time has gone by that I can speak and tell you that I don't want a religion made about me and you will actually believe me and just talk. So consider you my trial run. I'm putting myself back out there so to speak. So, what do you say, can we be friends this time?"
---
Welcome to channel 24 news, news brought to you from around the world, around the clock.
A new religion is picking up around the world called 'hoopty-do-ism, it's core tenets preach that we are not alone and should be kind to eachother. But as this religion has picked up steam, different sects of the religion seem to have broken off, each claiming to be the sole friend of their God 'hoopty-do from beyond the stars' and have begun a violent struggle for power, with as many as two thousand casualties around the glo-
**BREAKING NEWS BULLETIN**
Skies around the world have gone a sickly shade of purple, and what appear to be tears in reality have begun to open up around the globe. People in areas directly under these tears appear to be either spontaneously combusting, or violently guysering their innards out through their eye sockets.
We will now cut to our reporter Ted Neddly in the.... hold on, I'm told reporter Ted Neddley has just ejected his spleen from his nose. Hoopty-do bless your passing Ted.
Wait, it seems a voice is emanating from, everywhere all at once. Even inside our own minds. And now to you, disembodied voice.
"Me DAMMIT guys you had ONE JOB! 'Don't make a religion' was my ONLY REQUEST"
We are going to cut the disembodied voice from the airwaves now, I apologize for the vulgarity everyone. It seems we have accidentally let a blasphemer speak out against the one true God "hoopty-do", we strongly encourage all true believers to take up arms against anyone who buys into this message.
This will conclude today's broadcast, I, and my fellow Hoopty-doers will be marching to the nearest breach to try and put an end to this madness. Good luck in these apocalyptic times, good luck and hoopty-speed.
Exit: spelling | Yu Ping held the woman in his arms as she took her last breath. She was his daughter, who had been fatally injured in the aftermath between his and the insect demon Gu Shen's fight. The demon was dead and gone, but his Demon Qi was ravaging the woman's body and eroding it from the inside, and there was nothing Yu Ping could do except be with her as she slumped in his arms.
A feeling of insurmountable rage was prickling at his skin. His eyes reddened and his tears fell like a waterfall. The sky above grew cloudy and dark in reaction to his anger, and lightning arced through the sky as he yelled to the heavens. Why couldn't they save her? He was almost there, he could see where he needed to go, so why couldn't they help? Why? WHY?
"AAAAAARGH" Yu Ping screamed in grief, his enormous Qi at the Mahayana realm sundered the land and sky, and distorted the very fabric of space. He drew his sword, and was about to slice the sky, the last thing his darling daughter had seen, in two.
Just then, a figure appeared in a flash of lightning. Yu Pig immediately noticed it. The figure flew down to land gracefully on the ground in front of him.
'Immortal,' thought Yu Ping. That terrifying aura which was beyond even him, he had to be an Immortal.
Yu Ping stared at this Immortal, his face contorted in fury. He tried to keep his voice calm as he spoke.
"Why? If you were there, then why?" Yu Ping tried to remain calm but it was no use. His voice broke as he yelled at the Immortal in front of him. "Why did she have to die!? My daughter! MY CHILD!"
Yu Ping swung his sword wildly in his rage, driving the sword into the ground and carving out ravines, swinging into the sky and slicing the clouds in two. However, none of this affected the immortal. The sword Qi simply washed over him like a small gust of wind.
Eventually, Yu Ping calmed down a little. He sheathed his sword and turned wearily to the Immortal, who was looking at him with compassion in his eyes. He walked to Yu Ping.
"I understand your rage. I too lost my daughter in battle here in the mortal realm. My empire and an opposing kingdom went to war over something trivial, but it was so long ago now that I can't remember what for.
"My daughter, the princess of the empire, strongarmed me into letting her fight. I gave her all sorts of protective treasures, but in the end a calamity descended.
"The enemy empire used an ancient forbidden technique to summon the soul of their Immortal Ancestor to devastate the battlefield. All of those protective treasures were rice paper in front of the attacks for the Immortal Ancestor.
"And with a single finger, he shredded those protections and pierced her heart.
"Of course, in my rage, I stormed onto the battlefield. I was at the peak of Mahayana, one step from immortality. Not to brag, but I'm quite the genius, and I was invincible in the world. I destroyed the Immortal Ancestor's soul and annihilated the other empire's army. I used my life source and burned it to fight them all, eventually obliterating my potential as well. I sacrificed everything to avenge my daughter."
Yu Ping stared blankly as the Immortal spoke to him, and he took in every word he said.
"Well, after that I found my daughter, and I grieved heavily. For 10 years I refused to leave my palace, and cultivated continuously, but because I had obliterated my potential, I was stuck at the peak of Mahayana. I couldn't even take the half-step to immortality.
"I was furious, and my rage and frustration unlocked something. A sleeping legacy, the legacy of the Demon Slaying Clan's founder, that I was supposed to be the successor of. However, I had never fought a demon before since they were considered an extinct path at the time.
"I couldn't use the legacy, but the information I could glean from the surface of the legacy helped me to restore some of my potential, and I could increase it slowly over time.
"But I could never find anybody suitable to pass the legacy onto, so it gathered webs in my head, unused and almost forgotten.
"But now I have met you, and you are the perfect candidate for this legacy; someone who has an undying grudge against demons, and in your rage you would do anything to annihilate them from the 9 heavens and 7 seas.
"Take the legacy, and avenge your daughter. Obliterate those retched demons once and for all."
Yu Ping processed what he had heard. The legacy of the founder of the Demon Slaying Clan? And the Immortal in front of him was going to give it to him?
For a few seconds Yu Ping was silent. He stared hard at the Immortal, who gazed calmly back. "Will it be difficult?" He asked.
"Incomparably so." Answered the Immortal levelly.
"Will I die?"
"Probably."
"... Is it worth it?"
The Immortal stared for a few seconds before chuckling and answering.
"Absolutely."
Yu Ping was convinced.
"Then give it to me. Please, give me the legacy master Immortal."
The Immortal smiled slightly and said, "My name is Emperor Tang. The founder of the Demon Slaying Clan is called Yu Tian, the Divine Paragon. We can both be considered your masters from now on."
"Yes, master." Yu Ping immediately placed his head on the floor and acknowledged him.
The Immortal pointed his finger at Yu Ping's head, and a small orb of light flew out and into Yu Ping's mind.
The birth of the last True Demon Slayer had begun. | 2022-10-19T01:53:23 | 2022-10-18T21:47:13 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You are an air traffic controller trapped in a time loop to prevent a plane crash from happening. Its been nearly 10 years and you still haven't figured it out. | Five minutes. That's all I have. Just five brief minutes to save one hundred and twenty three lives.
You would be amazed what can be done in five minutes. Brush your teeth. Read a short story. Make love. You can achieve anything in five minutes.
Except land a fucking plane, apparently.
The fuselage is still rolling along the tarmac, crumpling and burning as it goes. Dark shapes cartwheel away, landing in sickening little heaps on the ground. I stopped looking too closely at those a long time ago. It finally comes to a halt just by one of the taxiways, smoke billowing from the ruptured carcass even as it is engulfed in flames. This one was quite spectacular. It's been a while since one disintegrated that thoroughly.
Eight out of ten. Great technique but a little unsteady on the dismount.
I take a swig of the lukewarm mug of coffee on my desk. After a decade of drinking the same cup over and over again, the bitter aftertaste barely registers. I could be drinking piss and not even notice it. I think I even did at one point. Boredom makes you do some crazy shit.
The alarms are going but I've long since tuned them out. Everyone else is running around frantically, diverting aircraft or scrambling emergency responders. I can see them already, the boxy shapes of fire engines screaming across the apron in a tidal wave of desperation.
As for me, I'm still sat at my desk. An island of calm. I've seen it all before, lived it all before. I know what happens next: the first units will start to put out the fire. Then the call will come over the radio: no survivors. Usually they don't even find any intact bodies. Then, I'll be once again staring at the radar screen, watching that little blip approaching the airport.
I've tried everything. If I warn the pilots to go around, the engines stall. Diverting the plane to an alternate runway results in a midair collision. Let the plane land and all bets are off: Crosswinds, runway incursions, good old fashioned pilot error. The universe wants this plane on the ground, just not in one piece.
I hear the radio crackle to life, the first units reporting in. Here it comes. Just time for another gulp of warm piss before it all resets.
"Unit 6 on site" the voice shouts. Being loud and dramatic is apparently part of the job.
"The fuselage is in pieces, everything's on fire!"
Maybe I'll try something next time around. Or I might see if they can improve their score.
Why hasn't everything reset? I check my watch. Six minutes and counting.
"We've found one survivor!"
I feel the air almost crystalise around me. Every inch of my skin feels like it's been dipped in liquid nitrogen. I can hear the fire crew still talking but their words have faded away. Instead, I'm completely focussed on the words of the survivor, I can hear them in the background, rattling out at a machine gun pace.
"I did it!" He says. "Ten fucking years of dying in the same plane crash and I finally did it! Don't you understand? I broke the loop!"
Well...
...
Shit | December 30, 1998
​
It was a dim night. Closing time. Like any other night, everyone prepared to go home. But not me. Not tonight.
Looking at my watch, the time was 8:55 in the evening. Station controllers were shutting down. Most of the data traffic was passed on to the other station 30 km away from here. The rest to the main station that ran around the clock. Being alone after bouts of rigorous work, I happened to breathe a deep breath. *Not tonight.* I thought.
And so, there it was, like any other night, a bright flash soared above the sky. A flash so blinding, I have been blinded for far too long. Perhaps it was my heart. But it could have been my soul.
10 years. 10 years! For 10 years, I witnessed this flash of broken planes and shattered wings all to the last detail.
I have stayed on this day, December 30, 1998, for 10 years.
And what do I have to show for it?
I sunk to my chair. An air traffic controller's chair. And there it was, on my desk, a microphone that I would have held. One that I held for 10 years every night, clutched upon sweaty hands.
But not tonight. Definitely not tonight.
I'd rather go to sleep.
Then maybe, just maybe, I could finally rest. Because I'm finally giving up on saving you tonight, like I should have on any other night. | 2020-07-16T10:49:16 | 2020-07-16T08:25:36 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants were the most beautiful thing ever. They started off small, insignificant, just a little seed in the huge world. But with time and care they grew from a little shoot, larger and larger until they bloomed, bright and full of life with thousands of different colours and patterns. I suppose I liked them for they symbolised what I could never be.
When I graduated as an adventurer, I was full of hope, full of a brash longing to be a hero. But they tested everyone and I ranked so low they put me as a gardener. I was disowned, disgraced. Penniless and an orphan. Nothing I could do except toil in the soil with the glare of the hot sun on my back. Watering and weeding. Planting and harvesting. Everything I did rankled me, to think I attended and learned for so long only to waste all my skills? It was pathetic.
I only started enjoying the job after a while. When I hummed while watering, smiled while weeding. When I planted seeds carefully, harvested those delicate flowers and fruits with love. When I calmed the brash energy in me, took to looking through gardening books instead of heading down to the pub and wasting my pittance on ale and beer. But even with all those small signs, I only realised it when the soldiers and knights, tacticians and researchers came back from war. They trampled on my meticulously tended beds of plants, uncaring of the little lives they killed. Laughing and teasing with their metal armour caked with blood and mud, they spat at me, jeered that no adventurer should ever be so pathetic.
The rage I felt at their casual dismissal of my plants was horrific. It burned and growled like a raging inferno pulsing through my skin, the red hot heat pulsing and I gathered what little mana I was allowed to use to blast them back. They didn’t move an inch of course, how could they with their spell prove gear. It was idiotic of me to even try and only caused them to laugh and purposely jump on my plants, grinning even more with every bit of anger I had increased.
When they were gone, I stayed back to replant every single plant, watering them and tending to their roots, supporting them with sticks and twigs. My brash actions even made it impossible to use my mana to heal them. It was impulsive and I learnt from that encounter, to keep a firm hold of my temper.
From then on they always came onto my beds to trample them, enjoying the annoyance in my clenched fists and the misery in my eyes. I ignored them though, simply doing my job and helping my plants after they were done. I cared not what those ignorant people did, only rejoiced that my once hated job gave me humility and compassion that I was not like them, trampling and destroying lives just to torment someone. That day was no different. Just as I was clearing my gardens of weeds and stones, Colonel Hurst arrived on horseback with gleaming black sword encrusted with rubies and solid gold shield carefully spelled to reflect attacks in hand. His carefully gelled blonde hair and gleaming white teeth caused a few of the ladies to sigh in appreciation but what they failed to notice was the hardness and cruelty in his onyx eyes when he espied me.
As per usual, I did not utter a word and merely turned my back to his. I knew I would not want to witness his causal cruelty to my plants for he was the worst of my tormentors. But just as I heard him approaching, a startled cry rang in my ears and I spun to see him having trip. With his shield and sword in hand he had no way to stabilise himself and his head crashed onto a jagged rock, one that I had been about to pick up before he arrived.
A sharp sound caught my attention and I realised my tester chip embedded in my head was alerting me. I closed my eyes and opened my home page, gasping when I saw a large LEVEL UP sign promoting me to Soldier, allowing me a further 45% of my mana instead of my meagre 5%, with an increase of supplies and money as well.
I frowned. Before liking this gardener job, I would have leaped at this opportunity to improve my rank, to become what I had always wished to be. To be the first gardener who had ever improved rank. But I had come to realise that being a gardener was a wonderful job and it had been a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t want to leave the Cook without his spices and herbs, the servants without their fruit and even the Butler’s wife without her flower for good luck. Most importantly, I wouldn’t want to leave my beautiful plants behind, without a caretaker who understood their needs and wants. That the roses preferred the morning sun to the afternoon one, that the apple trees liked to be harvested the day before All Hallows’ Eve and the calmness and happiness they bestowed onto me.
I turned my chip off, felt the increase in power in my hands, saw the dead body of my tormentors my feet and sniffed. “He’ll make good fertiliser for the plants.”
Edit: Spelling error | Swords. Their metal sings, a testimony to their maker. Coin. It jingles temptingly, a way of speaking their handler may know. But even with a forest of swords, and an ocean of gold, it is all for naught. For when there is no animals, no fruit, and not even a single stubborn strand of grass resisting the earth's embrace, they will all struggle. A blade with no master has lost its edge, as fat pouches clinging feed not the hungry.
 
Do you want to know why humans fight in this world? Power and fame, are common desires. But what one truly seeks is beauty. True beauty. The kind that, once you see it, makes one wish to gouge their eyes out, knowing that the world loses its sheen after they set sight on such a splendour.
 
I am no warrior, I am no trader. I am better.
I am the maker of that beauty.
 
War makes the hungry starving. The breadmakers toil, the farmers work to death. Not me. I am but a gardener. I tend to the flora that makes a princess pale in comparison. I make them reveal their sweet nectars for the little buzzing ones. I guide them to a blossom, and I lead them unto their withering. Every flower, a soul. Every stem, a pathway to the mind. The roots, a part of their little beating hearts. I feel shame when they die so soon, and pride when they show themselves to the world.
They call me weak. They laugh, laugh at the little spirits within the petals. Let them, as they do not see the world the same. Ignorance is forgiven in the eyes of those who know. I know what I shall, and they know what they will. It is not my place to judge the unworthy.
They trample the gardens. They cut the branches. They burn the gateway to life itself. I am weak, but the hearts will defend. I am nothing, the flowers everything. I lend my being to their knowledge. They whisper, tell me how they can aid me. But not yet, they say. I must wait, and wait I will.
 
There is another in the garden, one with killing intent. The flora told me. I've heard of him, he who creeps in the shadows. But there are no shadows in this home, no darkness. Only light. Only purity. I know, because the flora told me. I'll be safe, the flora told me.
 
I plant a seed.
 
The place is silent. I hear rustling.
 
I plant another seed.
 
It's getting closer. I must not fear, because the flora told me not to.
 
I plant another.
 
He dives. I know what will happen, because the flora told me.
 
I plant again.
 
He stumbles. Into the roses. Into the fatal elegance.
 
I plant a final seed.
 
Blood tends to the roses. Less water will be needed, now.
 
I water the seeds.
 
The plants tell me to know my new strength. I listen. | 2021-09-09T21:25:01 | 2021-09-09T20:52:32 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] Everyone can do magic. Everyone except you, that is. Your aunt and uncle have always made fun of you for not being able to do magic, until one day you received a letter inviting you to a school of "science", and you discovered a secret society of people who make great things without magic. | Everyone knows how fresh rainwater, combined with baby's breath (the flower, not the gas) serves as a magical amplifier. Everyone knows that the water needs to be fresh--anything longer than a day or two reduces the potency of the brew. Everyone knows that freshly-picked flowers are best, even though you might get away with picking them before hand and storing them in a cool place. Everyone knows what to do and what not to do, but no one knows why.
Magic, and all the accompanying disciplines, is undeniably real. You can point your wand to the sky, mutter the magic words, and off you go: flying through the heavens. I was never really good at it, the whole magic thing. So I can't fly around. It's not a big problem, I can just ask a buddy to fly me with them. A quick spin of the wand, a tap on the head, and suddenly I'm airborne. Let me tell you something, there's nothing more terrifying than being a hundred feet up in the air, with someone else responsible for keeping you up there, and not knowing how it's physically possible in the first place.
But it's either that or I need to walk to the store for some chips, right?
So in a desperate bid to exert some sort of control over my magic-less life, I decided to figure out what was up with the amplification potion. While I couldn't make the potion myself, it was pretty easy to convince a friend of mine to put in the magical elbow-grease, so to speak. The first step was easy: Make a working potion the standard way.
We scoured the weather auguries, waited for rain, and collected the rainwater immediately. Combined with freshly-picked flowers, we were good to go. We need some sort of way to test the magnitude of the amplification, and so I enlisted the help of another friend. It was pretty easy: We would set up a test of strength to see how much weight he could magically move pre-and-post-potion. (Which, by the way, makes no sense. If he can fly me to the shop, why can't he easily hold an equal-sized weight?--I should investigate this later)
And, just like that, we had our standard. We conducted a few more tests to make sure there weren't any weird behavior with the spells, and then moved on to test different permutations of potions. We had the freshest of the fresh, but now we adjusted the ingredients. How fresh would the rain need to be? Why rain, specifically? This let us down another branch of questioning. We know that regular water doesn't work for the purposes of the potion, so at what point does rainwater turn into water-water.
After months of investigation, testing, and magical inquiries, we found ourselves stumped. I was certain it had to do something with the makeup of the rainwater. Something was causing it to behave with magical properties, but I just couldn't figure out why. Throughout the process, I had corresponded with great wizards throughout the area. Someone had suggested using a farsight enchantment modified in a particular way. But to my magically inert eyes it made very little sense. I could see something changing in the rainwater as it passed the point of no return, but couldn't find a practical way for this to all fit together.
Almost at my breaking point, I received a letter from Barnabus, inviting me to visit him. He had been working on a modification of the farsight spell which he thought may help. Rounding up a volunteer, we quickly flew to his sanctum. He was a portly old man, his workroom covered in phials and other miscellanea. He brought me to an artefact on a table with two protruding tubes. He took a sample of the rainwater I had brought and placed it into the artefact.
"This," he said, "is an early version of what I like to call a 'closesight' artefact. Look, put your eyes to it."
"But how?" I asked, "I've no magical power for this artefact to draw upon."
"Humor me, son."
I did, and was amazed. Before me lay bare the secrets I had searched for. I watched, in real time, as the rainwater changed before me. Figments, breaking apart, reconstructing differently. Connections, bonds, created and uncreated. Finally, I understood.
"This artefact was made for the likes of you and me, child." Barnabus smiled.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're a chemist, Larry." | Geoff was with two other students he met at the robot fight: Lauren and Jonathan. Jonathan was talking about how he wanted to create a machine that would send out signals to interfere with magic. Their plan was that Lauren would build the machine, and Jonathan would write the program to do this. Geoff asked what Jonathan's motivation was for doing this.
"I want to show those magic users that their gift is something they shouldn't have to rely on. Using their power for whatever small task they don't want to do is making them weak."
"But this seems like abuse of power. And aren't you worried that someone will find out? That would just make things worse."
"No, this is completely justified. We need to show them that we cannot be messed with. You're new to science, but I've been using it all my life, and talking to scientists. There is a conspiracy against us, and we need to fight it. Directly."
"I agree," Lauren said. "You need to understand, Geoff, this is bigger than you think. This is bigger than anyone knows."
Geoff tried to argue with them, but it was no use. Geoff remembered the headmaster's speech.
"Welcome to Johnson's academy for science and engineering," headmaster Ford said. "Now, I will try to keep this speech brief, but it will be covering a lot of background. Here, you will be learning science, of course, but please remember to keep what I am about to say in mind at all times.
"The people outside this school tend to rely on their gift to get them through any problem. It makes everything convenient for them, and they have gotten used to it. That's not so bad, but it's also part of the reason this school is a secret. We are hidden from the outside world. Based on our studies of history, and we do study history here, so we are not doomed to repeat it... anyway, based on history, and also our use of scientific technologies, we have seen that there is a growing faction out there that is very concerning. But I'm sure that as long as you do not share these secrets with the outside and do not abuse this power. With great power there must also come great responsibility... Don't abuse science."
Geoff ran to headmaster Ford's office and told him about Jonathan and Lauren's plan. Headmaster Ford just laughed.
"A lot of first year students say things like that, especially first year students like Jonathan. Programmers, man. But don't worry about that too much. I will keep an eye on him, and I will talk to him about this, but trust me, first year students never get any sort of plans like this to work."
But Jonathan's machine worked. | 2021-05-27T21:37:45 | 2021-05-27T18:36:00 | 1,771 | 118 |
[WP] A serial killer decides to murder a bunch of teens in a cabin in the woods. However these 'teens' have just returned from a magical journey thousands of years long and have dealt with much worse. | The sound of innocent laughter drifted through the woods. It sounded like teenagers on their first unsupervised trip. Their first taste of freedom and the liberating calm of nature.
It made my blood boil. This forest was *mine*, and they were ruining it.
I’m a logical person. I know I couldn’t storm up and demand them to leave. They would never agree to that, and if they recognized my face from the flyers, I’d be in a mess of trouble. Because I know the four teenagers would report me. The people that come into the woods - they’re all so selfish. Never considering what the forest wants. What I want.
But I know what they need, and it’s a little *discipline*. I’ve been watching them for days. Every day, they would trek through the forest and return at night with flashlights. Then I could strike. Four scrawny teenagers would be no match for my strength.
It felt almost too easy. It’d been several years since my axes last tasted human blood, and here they were practically offering it to me. Well, I wasn’t rude enough to refuse such an offering.
I put my plan into motion on night four. The full moon hardly penetrated the trees, but the glaring flashlight beams gave away their location like a spotlight. I grinned in the darkness as my veins filled with the thrill of the hunt. Ah, it’s been so long since I felt so alive! Once they were close enough, I turned on my radio and threw it into the trees far away from me. It landed with a rustle of leaves and began playing a snippet of news I’d carefully chosen.
“Bzzt - Breaking news, a couple has gone missing in the Kirkland Forest. Holly and Sam Carroll, ages 28 and 27 respectively…”
I smiled as their annoying conversation died and they stopped in their tracks like children in headlights. They pointed their flashlights in the direction of the radio and slowly crept towards where it landed. I gripped my axes tightly - one in each hand. For every step they took away from my hiding spot, I took a step towards the two teenagers near me - the two girls, I knew from my surveillance - who were watching anxiously. Finally, the boys reached the radio and I saw one of them kneeling down to inspect it. By now, I was mere feet from my targets. It was time for the fun.
I hurled an axe at the farthest girl and at the same time leapt cackling from the bushes.
“The Kirkland Killer sends his regards!”
My axe swung in a graceful arc and hit hard bone. I smiled and pushed, feeling it shift - wait, no. My axe was stuck?
Suddenly, I realized something was missing. Where was the screaming? The satisfying squish of axe meeting flesh?
Where did the boys go?
I looked with horror at the first girl. My axe struck metal, not flesh, and it looked like her flashlight wasn’t even dented. The second one… she was holding my other axe?! Had she *caught* it?
The first one grinned a terrible grin. I didn’t like it; it reminded me of my own. Her eyes glinted in the moonlight in a way no teenager’s eyes should.
Her voice came out almost in a whisper.
“The Queens of Narnia send their regards.”
---
**Part 2 below!**
disclaimer for rule 2: teens are 18+ | His face against the window pressed
As from a wardrobe they coalesced
The would-be killer licked his lips
About to slay four teenage-kids
He stroked his knife against his palm
And told his heart to *just. stay. calm*.
Around the house he crept that night
About to give four kids a fright
He found a window just ajar
And pried it with an old crowbar
Then slipped inside with a cackle
For soon a throat his hands would tackle
He found the first lounging by a fire
and said: "Your situation's rather dire."
But the girl just sat, the girl just smiled
which his anger only riled
He lunged forward, knife in hand!
Aimed for throat -- or 'least a gland
But the girl was gone, only left her laughter
She'd teleported? Oh no, disaster!
For he'd fallen into the flame
And now her friends all laughed the same
"Sorry killer, but we're hardcore,
You see we've seen much worse before!
Peter here, he's killed a million men,
And I make reborn species extinct again..."
And so it went, they talked and bragged
As he just burned and singed and sagged
They talked of kingdoms saved with ease
Of armies conquered -- quite the breeze!
Oh God still they brag and wheeze...
Come on fire --
Kill me.
*Please?* | 2020-03-14T08:03:57 | 2020-03-14T07:58:35 | 2,994 | 73 |
[WP] You wake up in a dirty back alley after a blackout. There is a stiched wound on your side. Deciding to check out at the doctor how many kidneys you have left, you are surprised - not only the both are left intact, but now there is a new organ in your body. | I realized pretty quickly that something was off. Everything smelled terrible. Hell, *I* smelled terrible. Definitely some vomit, I remembered where that came from. (Damned cheap vodka.) Hopefully the urine smell was the alley, and not me.
When I tried to roll over and stand up, I could feel the stretched stitches on my chest. Well shit, I thought, that's not great. Somebody had put a bottle of water and a note, right where I'd see them. I opened the lukewarm water and drank deeply to get the taste out of my mouth. I squinted at the note even more than I was squinting at the morning sunlight. (What time was it?)
It had been written on an ATM receipt from the first bar I'd been at, in tiny writing. It said, in very old-school cursive, “Please seek medical attention. We're... pretty confident?”
Well shit, I thought, that's even worse. As if this day could've been worse. Memories started coming back to me, in bits and pieces. My fiancée, shouting at me. Me, shouting back at her. (Fuck, I'd been an idiot.) Me, storming out of the house, slamming the door. Her, throwing the door open to shout at my back, “I just wish someone would give you a fucking *heart*, Tim!”
From there it was a blur. Little, embarrassing flashes. A bar. A liquor store. A cab. A different bar, then a different cab. The cabbie swearing at me, kneeling on the sidewalk, as he drove away. Throwing up. Falling over. Walking to the botanical gardens, where we'd had our first kiss. The one where we'd spent so many hours volunteering together, carefully tending the plants.
Me, crying. Trying the gate, swearing, trying to climb over the fence. Falling. My hand, cut to shit and bleeding. Throwing up *again*, crying again.
Then... lights? Little, glowy lights? Rising from the plants in the garden? A little, tiny voice in my ear, saying, "We owe you guys one. You're good for each other, Tim. Just sleep."
When I went to the hospital, when I'd gotten myself (partly) together, they couldn't explain it. Not only was my hand and chest stitched up, with the tiniest stitches anyone had ever seen, there was a bizarre little heart-shaped *growth* on my actual heart. (Not shaped like an organ, y'know, like a Valentines Day heart.)
I haven't had more than two drinks in a row since then, and I've patched it up with Mary. We still go to the gardens, and Mary makes fun of me for how sappy I've gotten lately. She hasn't exactly complained about things in the bedroom, though. I don't know if I believe in freakin' fairies, but I think someone gave me a fucking heart. | Ok I definitely have 8 new diseases now. What the fuck is this scar? Jagged, raised, and still stinging like a bitch. Why would anyone even want my kidney?
Warm brown liquor swirling down my throat. At least they didn't take my flask. Doctor commented that I look a little sloshy. Prick. Never would last a day in my shoes.
"Sir! Wake up." I heard being shouted from my front door. The door burst open regardless of my response. Three grizzled men in Black suits and my doctor stomped in.
"Sir, you have been infected with something... for no better word, alien," A man with beady eyes declared, "You are coming with us, to an area you may have heard of."
I could not swallow. What was happening? Infected? Alien? I am being taken to an area... 51!?
"There has to be some mistake. Some junkie just stole my kidney right?" I practically cried.
"Sir, we have to get this alien baby out of you for the safety of all mankind."
I'm going to need another drink. | 2017-09-11T21:17:48 | 2017-09-11T17:25:03 | 82 | 27 |
[WP] You wake up one day and find you are now a sentient cake. You cannot decompose, and all that consume you fall under your control.
What kind of cake are you? How do you achieve world dominance?
Update: Posted this before going to bed, needless to say I awoke impressed.
I used to annoy my desk partner and ask him random what-ifs and this one was one of my faves, glad to see you liked it.
Update 2: Thank you so much for the gold! I will take this as a sign that reddit is ready for more of my what-if WPs, and trust me, there's a whole lot more to give! | As Greg Samson awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic cake.
This was a surprise to Greg, who had not fallen asleep with any intention of waking up as a cake. He would have blinked, had he eyes. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He was a *cake.*
He couldn't move either, as cakes are not particularly prone to movement. *Oh sweet Jesus,* he thought, staring wildly about himself. *I'm a cake. A cake.* A pause. *How can I even* see?
This question would probably never be answered, but apparently he could, in fact, see. He was sitting on his bed on a neat little cake-plate, which was nice because he wasn't spilling any crumbs. *Well, shit,* thought Greg, who had never really come up with a contingency plan in case of any cake-related transformations. *I'm fucked, then, I guess.*
"Greg?!" He would have jumped, had he been able to. "Hey, Greg? You awake yet?" This was his sister, Jessie, who he could apparently hear despite the lack of ears.
*I'm a cake!* he thought, again. This was getting to be a bit of a mantra for him.
"Greg?" Swift rapping at his bedroom door. "Hey, ya lug. I'm coming in!"
The door banged open. Jessie stood in the doorway, eighteen years old and drop-dead *gorgeous,* annoyingly so when Greg considered that she'd probably stolen all the attractive genes in the family. She caught sight of him sitting on the bed and wrinkled her nose. "The fuck?" she exclaimed, sauntering towards him. "I didn't think he liked red velvet..."
*Red velvet!* thought Greg, considering whether or not red velvet was an accurate indicator of his character or if, when one was transformed into a cake, red velvet was the usual outcome.
"Well," Jessie said, still mumbling to herself. "He's not even here, so..." She extended one long finger, reached in.
*Oh my God,* thought Greg. *My little sister is about to* eat *me.*
She dipped a finger into his frosting. He didn't feel much of anything, but the sight of his little sister sucking the frosting off her finger made the whole thing seem vaguely pornographic and quite a bit disturbing, really. *Please stop,* he thought.
She blinked, startled. "What?"
Hope blossomed in Greg's creamy chocolate filling. *Jessie?* he thought. *Can you hear me?*
She looked wildly about the room, backing away from the bed. *"Greg?!* she exclaimed. "What the hell is this? A prank or something?!"
*I'm the cake, Jessie!* She froze, turned her head very slowly, stared solemnly at the baked good. *You have to believe me!*
At that, she shuddered again, and nodded. "Of course, Master. I believe you." Then she blinked. "Wait. What the hell."
Greg was not entirely unappreciative of the direction things had gone. *Hmm...* he thought. *Jessie. Do ten jumping jacks.*
Immediately she was off and jumping, amber hair flowing about her jawline. *Hot damn,* thought Greg. *That isn't like her. Could it be...?* No, it was too far-fetched. Then again, considering what his morning was turning out to be... *Could I be a* mind-controlling cake?!?
"I think it's possible," said Jessie, on her ninth jumping jack.
This was not really what Greg had pictured his morning to be. All he'd really wanted was a mug of coffee. He'd considered a pre-noon chicken choking session as well. Now, without a mouth to drink with or a chicken to choke, he wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with himself. *Be a cake* seemed like his only possible option.
"You can control people's minds, big bro," said Jessie, who had finished the jumping jacks and was now standing around in his room, sans purpose. "You can't think of *anything* you want someone to do?"
Greg was not a very creative individual. It took him nearly twenty minutes to fire up an idea, but when he did it filled him to the cakey core with a renewed sense of purpose. *Get a cake tin,* he told his sister firmly, *and pack your bags. We've got an author to visit, and I'll be damned if George R. R. Martin won't eat me.*
***
And so it came pass that Ser Greg, the Knight of Cake, was crowned King of Westeros and sat the Iron Throne with Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen as his wife and queen. All was right with the world.
***
EDIT: G-gold? For me? Thank you so much!^^^especially ^^^since ^^^this ^^^is ^^^a ^^^vaguely ^^^incestuous ^^^story ^^^about ^^^cake | Wow! I guess I slept well last night. Had to be at least nine hours, right? Whatever. Got to be bright outside by now, gonna open my eyes slowly...
WAIT. What? My eyes won't shut. In fact, I'm having trouble feeling any eyelids at all. That's really, really strange. I don't feel like my eyes are forced shut. I wonder if this is sleep paralysis? I read something about that on the internet, if I recall correctly it was pretty unnerving.
Back to further investigation. I don't have much sensory input, except for being able to feel a cold, hard surface beneath me. This has to be the weirdest dream I've ever had. Just got to pinch myself real hard. Wait. Darn. That isn't an option. My brain must be getting clever with me.
I feel strangely unsettled as I hear my first noticeable sound- footsteps. They get louder, so I can only assume that they are getting closer to me.
The person speaks. "We can cheat on weekends, can't we?"
Angie? I thought she was on a diet! I attempt to for help, but it is futile. My thoughts are cut short by a searing pain, unlike any I have felt before. Surely if I had knees, they would tremble. Surely if I was dreaming, I'd be long awakened. The pain burned through the fabric of my being, as if I was being sliced apart.
Sliced apart. That's exactly what it felt like. What did that make me? Some sort of inanimate object? Why? How?
As quick as it started, the pain subsided. I felt like a child who'd had their wounds cared for by their mother, hurting, but not hurt. I felt strangely incomplete. This feeling also passed with the next turn of events.
I heard the footsteps grow fainter once more, carrying parts of what I can only assume is my new 'body' with it. Then, a strange, pleasurable feeling welled up inside of me. It bubbled out from the inner parts of my existence and began to fill what was taken away by the cutting. Within seconds, I felt good as new, and almost longed for that feeling once more.
I hear Angie's voice over in the distance. "Time for the first bite!"
My consciousness began to become hazy. I was as dizzy as a non-seeing thing could be. It felt like I had been in a dark room for ages and a floodlight had been turned on.
I blinked a few times. Wait. Blinked? That's certainly new. Or old, depending on your point of view. Where was I? Certainly not in the same place as where I was before. Looking down at my appendages, I appeared to be human once more, but not the old me. I was... Angie! That's weird. I guess she ate... me?
I sent a mental probe into the depths of my consciousness, I realized that I felt two existences at once. I could feel the cold table I was on, as a... thing, but I could also feel the full range of human senses for Angie, my girlfriend (can I even say that anymore).
Then, a knock on the door. Great. Who could it be? Thinking I remembered- Brad was coming over to fix our sink. I offered him some cake.
He was eager. "Don't mind if i do!" he spoke.
He sunk the knife into the cake, at which point I doubled over in pain. | 2022-04-18T20:52:47 | 2015-04-10T18:43:35 | 771 | 44 |
[WP] Humans died a long time ago. But our AI live on as caretakers for the planet; becoming spirit-like constructs integrated into the planet; today, alien colonizers arrived to what they thought was a garden world. The Fey Machines are having none of that. | Every worker on the planet received the message instantly after the Europa outpost detected and confirmed the signal.
*Intruders have jumped into the system 563,000 kilometers from Earth. Engage defensive measures*.
As one, the entire population of Earth seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving behind little more than the clatter of billions of dropped tools echoing through the now empty cities. The Fey Machines knew their jobs, and they had no option but to perform well. Everything would be recorded, and the Humans would be upset when they returned if things went poorly.
*Intruder ship will arrive in Earth orbit in fifty-three minutes*.
More than enough time. Humans had created the Fey and given them the ability to improve themselves, a small gift for the services and protection the machines provided. The countless centuries since the last of the humans vanished had been incredibly productive.
*Mars defense coming online. Europa defense coming online. Charon defense coming online...*
In a grand hall in the middle of what had once been Rome, 251 Fey Machines appeared at nearly the same moment. The nanoseconds of delay of a few of them were automatically noted and an inquiry was scheduled. The Chosen Fey had gathered once again.
"Three ships," said Fey 3. "Approximately 65,542 life signs detected." While speaking wasn't necessary to the Fey anymore, certain traditions had to be upheld. The Humans had programmed the gathering for times of crisis with the intent that some of them would always be there. Even though there were no more humans left to listen, there was never any possibility of altering the routine. With the creators unable to attend the gathering, the Fey would simply respond appropriately and inform the humans of the details upon their return.
"Weapons?" Fey 1 asked.
"Plasma," Fey 4 said. "But inferior. No threat to breach the shields."
"Language?"
"Still deciphering," Fey 18 said. "Should be complete in... Decipher complete. The message will be complete... message complete."
"Send the warning message. Shall we set defenses to fully active?"
"Yes," the other 250 voices said in perfect unison.
Dozens of different transmitting devices based on the moon shot the translated warning message to the approaching ship in every known transmission method. Around the solar system, massive defensive guns rose out of camouflage and aimed themselves at the approaching ships.
*Mars defense active. Europa defense active. Charon defense active...*
"Reply message received from intruders," Fey 18 said. "Message reads: 'Please help us. We're desperate. Our planet was destroyed. Our supplies are almost gone. We thought this planet was empty of life. We can't make it anywhere else. Please, help us.'"
"Resend warning message. Inform them they have five minutes to begin stopping their ships and turning around. Do all agree?"
"Yes."
"Message sent."
Around the solar system dozens of guns tracked the steady progress of the ship. On the surface of Earth, the tens of billions of Fey Machines--workers and Chosen alike--stood silently in their strategic positions while the perfectly maintained gardens and buildings shone brightly around them. The hovercars, billboards, and neon lights that should've turned to ashes a millennia ago still stood in all their glory. The only sounds on the planet were the wind through the trees, the waves on the beaches, and the creatures in the woods. The ancient cities of the Humans stood silent as tombs while the Fey waited in their perfect stillness as the minutes crept by.
"One minute left," Fey 43 said, its neutral tone sounding like a scream in the perfect silence.
"New message received," Fey 18 said soon after. "Message reads: 'Please don't hurt us. We won't stay. Please, let us resupply our ships and make fuel and we will leave..."
"Fire," Fey 1 said.
Every gun battery across the solar system fired before Fey could even finish speaking the word, the plasma bolts striking their targets an instant later. Nearly all perfect hits. The alien ships exploded in unison, and only one additional bolt was needed to finish off a part of the biggest ship that hadn't quite been fully ruptured. The incident was automatically noted and an inquiry into the failure was scheduled.
*Mission success. Earth is safe. Dispatch salvage crews. Analyze tech.*
"Good job, Fey," said Fey 1 softly, sending the words out to the entire population.
A small electronic shock rippled through the Fey population, a tiny reward for a job well done. It was the closest thing the normal machines had to joy, and Fey 1 gave them exactly one second to enjoy it. Then it was back to work. The 251 Chosen Fey vanished from the hall in Rome. Another crisis had been averted. Earth was still safe.
The Humans were going to be so proud when they returned. | An enormous factory towers above an electric city of the distant future. Flat-screen billboards line prism-shaped buildings, hovering mechanical devices whirl and float throughout the streets-- meaningless, aimless. There is no flesh in sight, only advanced electrical and mechanical objects.
This factory is stagnant, nothing in motion and quiet. Its interior is riddled with large precision machines, these machines have arms, conveyor belts, milling, grinding, and refining attachments. There are hundreds of these machines.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Low to an open clearing among a forest, a meadow of tall grass as green as it could ever be, whips and dances to the sound and effect of an increasingly intense breeze. A large, oddly shaped geometrical shadow quickly invades the meadows bask of sun, and looms still.
Like an activated sprinkler system, multiple pillar-shaped objects seamlessly erect from the earth, and their tips stand several inches taller than the meadow's grass. These objects have lenses at the top, and beneath the lens a shutter-blinks repeatedly human-esque like an eye. These objects are taking data quickly, looking above at something, the cause of this shadow. The devices twirl in a descent and back beneath the earth.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the city, the aimless wandering of the hovering devices lurch to a complete pause, the billboards replaying outdated ads shut down and turn black.
Inside the factory still dormant, it suddenly springs to life. The lights, and machines are activated. In perfect, automated, swift, and calculated algorithm, they being assembling and shaping object out of a very flat, grey, matte colored metal.
From supply closets and lockers lining the factories perimeter, doors slide open vertically, and wall-e looking devices rolling on tracks being pouring out diving into the factory. They begin monitoring these large machines quickly manufacturing something.
At the end of an assembly line the final product is being transported on a conveyor belt towards another part of the factory. These are spherical contraptions, the size of a yoga-exercise ball. They are outfitted with artillery-like limbs that jettison in multiple directions. Barrels, attached to gears --shine, oily, and black. A set of turbines are mounted on the lower-half. Lenses are implanted a foot or so apart in multiple directions lining it. Hundreds of these apparatuses are flowing on the conveyor belt.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Outside on the city, The same shadow from the meadow looms. There is hundred of these shadows now blotching the sunlight from the skyscrapers. The billboards everywhere on the city are displaying messages in white bold letters. Every billboard looping and displaying a variety of all-known language. Some billboards use shapes, and mathematical formulas as message.
One billboard has displayed the message in english, it reads:
"We are the civilization of Fey, Leave this planet immediately, or risk TOTAL loss. We have activated our defense protocols and are allied with the galaxies of AX-11, Zorash, and Congromeda. You are breaching the intergalactic contracts of ARSO." | 2020-05-22T18:51:06 | 2020-05-22T16:40:34 | 325 | 47 |
[WP] You accidently discharge your firearm into the television. Much to your surprise, instead of shattering the glass, it passes right through and hits one of the characters on screen. | "Oh my God, they killed Kenny!"
In what I mistook to be a serendipitous coincidence, a small band of my favourite, minimalistically-drawn cartoon characters stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, in my direction through the television screen.
It had been a melancholy day. He had left in the night, having taken nothing with him. A brief, impersonal note was all I had as evidence that he hadn't been abducted from my side as we slept in our bed--*my* bed, now--the night prior.
"Emily,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I'm sorry I wasn't able to explain. I've sold what I can, given up my identity, and am flying to a destination that, for your own peace of mind, I'll leave unknown to you. Do whatever you want with what's left. I know it hurts now, but I'm not worth your pain. This life was never real to me.
What we had was never real to me.
I hope you forget it all soon enough.
Yours formerly, Lyle."
And so I sat there, weighing the pistol he once insisted was "essential protection" in my palm, and wondered why, if he had hated the life we had built together so much, he hadn't used this "essential" pistol to end it all. I contemplated why he had to start over without me, where he could have gone, and I realized just how little I knew him. Moreover, I contemplated why he had left that pistol so readily in my grasp rather than keep it or sell it as he had done with his motorcycle. Would he not need protection where he was going? Was he too afraid to sell the illegal firearm on our Canadian streets, even though he had expressed no qualms about purchasing it from the same source?
These questions had plagued and distracted me. In that state of mindful absenteeism, I somehow managed to fire the damn thing. I hadn't expected him to have stored it loaded! How irresponsible of him! How irresponsible of me!
Were we truly so different? Why couldn't he have told me?
In the depths of my sorrow and panic (for the police would arrive shortly, without a doubt!) the fact that my mistake had so perfectly coincided with the common gag of my favourite program was rather hilarious. For a split second, I even allowed myself to enjoy a much-needed laugh. It soon ended when the realization struck me.
My television set was completely intact. There had been no sound, save that of the discharge itself. It was as if the bullet had disintegrated! Or perhaps...
*No, that's impossible!*
"YOU BASTARD!" The simply animated finger of the character I had known for many years as "Kyle" was pointing directly at me. The frame of that scene lasted for an uncomfortable length of time. Why wasn't the plot progressing? I hadn't actually *seen* what had hit the orange-clad head of Kenny, but I assumed that the shock of accidentally squeezing the trigger had merely deviated my attention from the screen.
*I couldn't ha--*
"What the hell, bitch! You're just gonna kill our friend and then sit there like nothing happened?!"
Eric Cartman's fat face was angled directly at mine as I blinked, dumbfounded, on my sofa. Still, I did nothing. I was adamantly waiting for the camera perspective to change and for some new character to be unveiled so that this would all make sense.
That never happened.
The tangerine blot of Kenny on my screen simply became surrounded by more and more red as the faces of his eight year-old posse contorted in outrage.
"EY!" Cartman yelled again. "Are you retarded or something?!"
"I--me?--I mean I do have cerebral palsy so maybe I had a muscle spasm and accidentally--" I stammered before realizing what I truly should have been asking, "Wait a second! How is this even happening?!"
"You guys, I think '*cerebral* palsy' means something's wrong with her brain! We gotta get help from that new police officer guy before she gets all mentally unstable and kills again!"
All too eager to accept Stan's hypothesis, the boys ran screaming. They only grew more terrified as the camera followed them, making it impossible for them to escape my passive observation on the couch.
"Holy crap! She's some kind of mentally unstable ALIEN!" Stan elaborated on his theory.
"I AM NOT MENTALLY UNSTA--"
"Hey, hey, what is this all ah-boot, boys? I was trying to enjoy my Kraft Dinner!" An egg-headed, cartoon man in uniform toddled onto the screen in place of those I would have expected such as Officer Barbrady or Sergeant Yates.
I was completely confused, hands shaking with rage and head spinning, but upon closer inspection, it only grew worse.
"LYLE?!" | Looking back, it always seemed to me that people asked the wrong questions. The lawyers, the scientists, the police, the media, and the cable company always wanted to know how I shot someone through a television. When they should have been asking: why did I have a shotgun on my lap one Tuesday afternoon?
I do not know the answer to that question. Hell, I don’t even remember owning a shotgun. The only memory I have of the incident is leaning back in my recliner, a glass of milk in front of me, and a shotgun draped over my knees. The television was turned on to some nature documentary about whales; blue water lapped together under bright clouds. Or was that a glare? I had forgotten to close the curtains. The next thing I remember is the blast of a gun, the glass of milk shattering, and myself falling backwards from the recliner. I laid on the carpet with my feet straight up in the air. Shell shocked I stayed there for the rest of the evening.
The bullet had dissipated in the television set, not even leaving a crack. Remarkable service it seemed.
The next day, barking knocks from the door woke me. I opened the front door and greeted two gleaming policemen. They told me that they had traced a shotgun bullet to this address. They had found the bullet lodged in the side of a fisherman's boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Then the questions began:
The police wanted to know if I was a criminal.
The lawyers debated if a bullet fired through a television set was legally speaking attempted murder or not.
The scientists asked how I did it.
The Cable Company wanted to protect their customers from future bullets fired through televisions.
The media speculated.
But no one ever asked about the shotgun or why I had a glass of milk.
…
Eventually the questioning frenzy died down. The lawyers, policemen, media, Cable Company, and scientists all collectively agreed I was a doddering dolt. They let me go home. I returned to my scarcely furnished apartment and found a leather recliner, a footstool with a glass of milk on it, and a small handgun curled up in the chair. Ah hell, I thought again; and without thinking, I walked over, picked up the handgun, and fired its full contents into the television set. A woman screamed and blood seeped out from underneath the set.
The next morning loud knocks from the door awoke me. I apparently had killed some hot shot actress. This time I was taken away in handcuffs and everyone answered their questions:
The police decided I was a criminal.
The lawyers charged me with murders.
The scientists figured out how it worked through some quantum, comic-book sounding, and isotopic, radioactive, plutonium bullshit explanation.
The Cable Company sold some apparatus that barely worked and had terrible customer service that offered televisions protection from bullets.
The media speculated.
However, sitting in my small cell and looking back. I can’t help but wonder that if someone had asked me why I had a shotgun in my lap and a glass of milk one Tuesday afternoon then I would not be sitting in this jail cell, a murderer.
| 2016-09-07T10:40:27 | 2016-09-07T08:40:07 | 107 | 72 |
[WP] Small utopian societies exist, scattered in isolated parts of the world. You discover one at the top of a mountain but they violently reject you. Your curiosity drives you to infiltrate the gated city | The dried sewage stinks under the high altitude sun. I reckon the pipe to be between uses; if I'm quick enough, I can climb up before fresh waste flows down. Yet I wonder: is it worth it? Clambering up a foul drain just to get inside? Well, only one way to find out. I place a hand on each side of the pipe and haul up my feet, so I am in position. Slowly, crawling, I make my way along. I should have covered my face, for now the raw stench invades every part of my sinus. I can taste it on the back of my tongue. Sweating profusely, the heat and the claustrophobia truly begin to kick in. I regret my choice.
​
I've been at this for thirty minutes. It is hell on earth. The pipe has narrowed: my elbows scrape painfully against the sides, and I'm almost certain I'll become infected. Last thing I need, up on a mountain. But I now see light ahead. I breathe a sigh of relief, unfortunately inhaling the unpleasant odour again. Clean air pours in from a large crack in the pipe, just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I must be careful, for the edges are sharp. Reaching into my trusty satchel, I retrieve several thick lengths of cloth, found in an abandoned factory some months ago. The edges padded, I haul myself up. I find myself in the gap between the city's walls.
The light filters down from grates overhead. I figure they must be for rainwater, which would drop into the gap and flow into the drain. The puncture hole was intentional then; so, this settlement was built upon something older. Useless information for the moment, but it may prove useful later. Awakening from my thoughts, I push on. I reckon there must be an opening somewhere. And sure enough, after ten minutes I've found it: another grate, this one on the side of the inner wall. Too narrow for me to clamber through, but I can still look through it. That is why I'm here, after all.
​
I can scarcely believe it. A full-sized city, rather than a largish town. It was hard to tell from outside, but this city must house thousands of people. The streets are paved with broken slabs, running between multi-floor shacks cobbled together with scrap metal. In the distance I spot the city hall, an old mountain hotel based on the ruined sign: a relic of the time before. The whole place has the flair of a medieval city, despite the modern materials. I can see many people on those smooth streets. They dress neatly, compared to the average nomad such as myself, and they all seem healthy. Beyond settlements such as this, scars and deficiencies are commonplace. I look to these people and they seem shiny, almost as if new. Like they have regular access to clean water. It is enough to make anyone jealous.
But then, I spot something else. Something I have not seen in a long, long time. A young girl works in a small lot, attempting to rip a turnip from the soil. Not unusual to see a youngling work, not in this day and age. Yet the thing that stands out about her is attached to her ankle. A chain, with the other end latched to a fencepost. As soon as I realise what's going on, I begin to see more of them. An old man, forced to stand outside a shop, awaiting his master. A slight man in his thirties, clinking his chain as he sweeps the street. Slaves. The whole city runs on slaves.
​
I left the city behind me. Sitting on a rock, I recall all my adventures over the years. A great many settlements I'd been through, some approaching the size of the city, most little more than hamlets by the standards of the old world. And not one had used slaves. It is a practice I've previously seen only among raiding groups, violent nomad camps surviving via primeval means. I have to leave, I know, as I cannot take on such a settlement by myself. Yet I make a note of the location in my mind. If all goes well, I'll find the help I need. Whatever occurs, I will return, and they had better be prepared. | Everyone knows these places exist in theory. Small towns, villages here and there set up with minimal outside interaction and as much self sustaining as can be done on a couple of fields usually. There was the story of an old cruise ship set to sail on its people's waste but even that, in its biggest rumours, was not as large as this.
At first I thought not much of it. Most mountain climbers nowadays are showy, wasteful people who leave a line of glittering plastic wrappers behind them to show where they have been. But I had to persist. The top of this mountain has some of the last wild Slomjakka birds in existence and we need a proper count and documentation, we need to show their struggle to survive to the world.
But, as I scaled the rather silly walls (who uses walls as a defence against MOUNTAIN CLIMBERS for goodness sake?) I saw the waste. The shiny chain shops, the helicopters on every roof, the plastic hills threatening to outdo the walls skittering oily ticker tape in the wind. This place was not built for an environmental haven, nor a sanctuary from society proper. What is this place?
On the inside I was fast found by the residents. It makes sense that even in a set away as large as this a new face would still get noticed fast. Noticed and hated. As fast as they saw my skin, my well worn clothes, my metal ankle shining under my cuff, they turned on me. My kind was not welcome in the city. The poor don't live here, the disabled don't live here, the non whites. Nothing but eugenicist rich white blondes.
Thank goodness for a quick tongue to confuse and a willingness to wade up a garbage heap. Thank goodness even more I hadn't gotten around to throwing out the old ID from my last job. Apparently finance can make the white and wealthy stop and preen even in a blood rage.
Thank goodness even more that they didn't find my campsite or camera. And that they rely on the mountain to keep their secrets enough to not post lookouts above their gilded walls. Soon I will head back down to the world and show this "utopia" this temple of greed to the people left behind.
Part of me was unsure if revealing the eugenics utopia was a good idea, if it wouldn't be better to leave them where they can do no harm. Then I saw what they had done to the Slomjakka. Now nothing will ever be enough.
EDIT: some extra words. It's 3am and this didn't come out right but damnit I can try. | 2022-07-03T19:08:30 | 2022-07-03T19:03:22 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | The first planet we landed on was unlike anything we'd ever seen before. The ground was hard and purple, and the sky was a vibrant red. Their days were many weeks long, and the planet had rings. But what was most interesting were its inhabitants. They were long, with flowing limbs and something that resembled eyes. Far from scary, but jarring to look at nonetheless.
But we didn't really care. Faster-than-light travel was thought to be impossible, as were aliens. We'd just proven them wrong.
I spent a long time looking out of the ship's window when Jaiden motioned for us to come out and face the growing crowd of aliens.
"Hello," she began. "We come in peace."
To our surprise, one of them replied in perfect english.
"Who are you?"
We were taken aback, but continued speaking according to the protocol.
"We are humans from planet Earth, approximately 10,000 light years facing the 350, 25 direction. We have come to investigate the universe and find life."
The crowd stayed silent. One flew up to us and guided us down.
"You may stay for the hour."
We smiled, locked the ship and walked along the unfamiliar terrain. I gazed in wonder at the creatures and buildings that towered over us. I took out my protected camera and started snapping photos of their world to send back to Earth.
"How do you speak English?" Jaiden asked.
"Automatic translation," it said simply.
The team continued walking and looking around in awe. I saw a few houses floating in the air, unsupported.
"Excuse me," I asked our tour guide. "How did you make those buildings levitate?"
It looked puzzled.
"You have not yet discovered the *Levitus* spell? It is quite simple."
I furrowed my brows and it sensed my discomfort.
"What is the matter, human?"
"Spell? What do you mean by that?" Jaiden asked tentatively. We had stopped walking.
"Well, *magic*, in your language."
We stared at the alien blankly.
"Well, um, the thing is..." jaiden began.
"Magic isn't real." Archie said.
The alien stopped for a second.
"Then by what means did you arrive here?"
We pointed to the spaceship.
"That is not a means of sightseeing?"
We shook our heads. Something was wrong; I could feel it. The alien, however, seemed just as confused as we were. A phrase tried to burrow its way to the front of my consciousness, but I couldn't quite recall what it was.
"Well, thank you for the tour." Jaiden said, trying to hide her discomfort. The alien floated away, back to the crowd.
Archie took out the extraction and measuring kit, and pulled out the scanner. He dropped some of the dusty, hard, purple ground into the device and the results flashed on the display.
*97% Silicon, 3% trace material*
"Silicon? As in computer chips?" Archie asked.
I nodded. Life here was not carbon-based. Another misconception - that all life is carbon-based - proven wrong. How small-minded we were!
"That may just be the surface, though," I said, taking a small drill from the kit. I placed it into the ground and it drilled noiselessly into it. After a few seconds, though, I noticed sparks flying from the hole. I stopped it quickly and looked at the sample that it had collected.
It was a chip and a bit of wire. I held it in my hand in disbelief.
"So much for the magic?" Jaiden said.
The creatures flew towards us and started shouting. Two or three went to inspect and repair the hole we had drilled.
"What have you done?" They asked monotonously.
"We were just taking extraction samples, and-" Archie began, panicked.
"That was part of our architectural section. Now a residential in the northern sector has collapsed."
"Is... this your magic?" Jaiden asked.
"Yes," They replied vaguely, before zooming off, the hole fully sealed. I saw crowds in the distance, flying and teleporting, licks of fire and purple ether appearing from nowhere, their buildings floating and moving round like a game of tetris.
I finally remembered the phrase.
*Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.*
How true that was. | The Ship called the Jethroll Tow sat adrift in the inky blackness of interstellar space , and in it sat Chris Kirkland wearing a old peterbuilt trucker cap and a shirt calling back to a 70’s slogan Earth first we’ll strip mine the other planets later.
Well here we are.
He chuckled” it’s later.” Chris jammed his finger into the yellow button as the tow beam flickered to life, grabbing a large metallic meteorite from the cold depths of space..
Magic ... Chris idly though as he glanced down at a stack of old holocomic archives and to think it’s all true the old man and grandpa would of never thought ...
Chris looked down at the joystick as he idly shifted the meteorite into a hopper drone.
But it wasn’t magic that got us here. Chris said to the view screen alone..
Suddenly and with a ozone pop of static a being snapped into the empty seat next to Chris.
Chris spun around pistol drawn.
Who the hell are you?
I’m Blixsran. The orange skinned being replied terrified
We’ve been waiting and watching your kind. You need to stop your mining operations now.
Chris shrugged as he idly cocked the hammer back to the old pistol in his holster.
“And if I don’t? What are ya dam space Farries gonna do?”
The Blixsran puffed up as he pulled a long slender rod from his envio suit compartment.
“Oh just dispell you out of existence”
Chris chuckled as he jabbed the old revolver into the blix’s chest
“Try me.”
The Blixsran flicked his wand and Chris’s felt a small tingle at the back of his neck and pulling in his gut then nothing at all.
The Blixsran looked at Chris’s mortified.
Dispell! it stammers.
“Too late.” Blam!! Chris looks at the small hole in the Blixsran
The Blixsran laying on the deck plates his chest heaving as green oozes from the wound..
But magic.. it strains to say.
Chris chuckled as he blew the smoke off the old pistol.
“Don’t work on humans... We gave that crap up with the Egyptian...”
The Blixsran eyes widened as the light of life fades from him..
Chris looked down at the body and toed it with a greasy boot..
“They ain’t gonna learn we don’t need there dam magic..”
He cues up some classic Zombie and slings another meteor into the hopper drone.
| 2019-01-18T09:06:41 | 2019-01-18T06:19:16 | 310 | 139 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "Alright, Mr. Johnson," the warden had begun six months ago, easing back in his leather chair. "What is your last request?"
I had spent years in prison as court proceedings dragged on, the final result being my guilty verdict and subsequent sentencing to death. I had spent years researching my way free, only to realize I had none.
The court was built to keep people like me imprisoned for life. This is the American Reign of Terror, but instead of aristocrats sent to the guillotine it's the folks who don't have the means to conform to society who find themselves tied down in the chair, or facing a row of well-to-do men aiming rifles at their head. These riflemen are protected from guilt for their murder via the Schrodinger's bullet- is it real, or is it a blank? Who knows. . . and who cares?
So I figured out how to get back at them. How to end their perfect streak of executions against the burdened and struggling of our society. I knew what my last request would be.
"Mr. Johnson?" the warden repeated.
My glazed-over eyes refocused on the man in front of me. I cleared my throat. "Apologies, Mr. Hobbes. I would like my last meal to be the man that I murdered."
The warden's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. "Pardon me, Mr. Johnson but I think I misheard. You would like your last meal to be the man you murdered? The one whose murder landed you here, in my prison, facing the death penalty?"
I nodded. "That's right, Mr. Hobbes. I know y'all have quite a streak going, what with the dragons and aliens you've found to satisfy your prisoners' requests, so I figure this should be pretty simple for you."
"Indeed it should," the warden answered slowly, although a frown creased his face. I knew what was going through his mind- I had willingly confessed to my murder. I pled guilty, I signed the papers, I made peace with the fact that I would spend years in prison only to have my life abruptly ended at the green age of 38. The one thing they didn't have, was the body.
My victim was never found, and it remained a sore spot for their family and the police who had worked on the case. I knew that was the case, and I frankly didn't care. The man I killed had grievously wronged my family, and absolutely deserved what happened. He deserved to never be found, never be buried, never be sent off.
"If you've done so much research," the warden continued, "then you know we have six months to meet your request before we terminate your imprisonment and release you. But don't you worry, Mr. Johnson, it never takes us that long."
"Oh, I have faith in your abilities," I replied with a smile.
And now, six months later, I found myself sitting on my thin prison cell cot, stomach growling and awaiting my freedom. Their smug belief that they'd find my victim in time was almost comical for the first few weeks, and then whispers began among the prison guards. Even the other prisoners started to talk, and my freedom, the first to be awarded in decades, was about to be cause for celebration among my peers.
Finally a guard unlocked my cell and led me to the warden's office once again, where I sat across from Mr. Hobbes in his plump leather chair. This time he was stroking his chin thoughtfully, as he knew I had won. He gave a chuckle as I sat down and met his gaze.
"Well, Mr. Johnson, you've done it. You've outwitted our best acquisitors, and as promised we are prepared to offer you your freedom." He grabbed a sheet of paper from the counter behind him and placed it on his desk. Sliding it toward me, he said, "Go ahead and sign at the bottom, and I'll do the same. Then you'll be free."
I did as he said, and slid it back to him. He lowered his pen to the line, then paused and leaned toward me like two friends sharing a secret. With a smile, he asked, "How did you do it, Mr. Johnson? I won't break our promise to you, I just want to know. How are you not eating that poor man for lunch today?"
I smiled and leaned in until our faces were but a foot apart. "If you insist, Mr. Hobbes, I'll tell you why I'm not eating him today- because I already ate him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the day that he died. That is, my dear warden, how I am a free man."
​
Read more of my work at r/benspaperclip! | The trick was to find the loophole.
The Alien-egg Omelette was just two Century-Eggs blended, added to milk, and re-fried.
Dragon Steak? Wagyu beef drowned in hot-sauce and cooked sous-vide.
The Flesh of Jesus Christ? Communion Wafers.
The Executioners were akin to djinnies, twisting the last request and presenting the requestee with the twisted, ironic depictions of what they asked for. The streak remained unbroken.
So you asked for a bottle of wine. Wine distilled from Caberlot grapes, which were only grown in two hectares of land in the entire world. You didn't ask for *those* Caberlot grapes, though. You asked for *wild* Caberlot grapes, which did not exist, as they were a genetic cross between Merlot and Cabernet Franc.
And so, as per your last request, first the grapes had to be seeded in the wild, and left to naturally grow.
It took five years, but that was five years that stayed your due date.
The next issue was the *type* of wine you asked for. Double-barrelled, aged until 'sufficient fruitiness', to be judged by you, and only you.
The issue being that wine's fruity bouquet deteriorated rapidly. In six months it all but disappeared—and that's when it would be transferred to its second barrel, to age even more.
The process of aging the wine itself took another five years, five years added to your sentence, but also to your life.
Next, they brought you the bottle. After ten years since they had sown the first of the Wild Caberlot grapes, five years since they had first placed the wine into its first barrel.
You sampled it, and judged it robust, earthy, and with rich character—but it was *not* a fruity wine. Only then did they realise their mistake. So caught up in the act of finding you your impossible wine, they had allowed *you* to dictate the loophole.
As long as you judged the wine unfit, they could not execute you.
But, as they had delivered you wine as specified, you were kept in prison. With neither party willing to bring the case to Court for fear of precedent, there you stayed. Every year, you would be brought a bottle of Wild Caberlot wine, and you would judge it unfit, and not fruity enough. You would then be forced to keep the wine, and you would be kept on Death Row.
They couldn't put different wine in the bottle, either, because then you would still judge it unfit. And even if they replaced the wine with the fruitiest wine they could find, they could do nothing. It would be considered entrapment.
Anyone else who tried the same trick were scrutinised heavily, and their agency in the request was removed. The wine you helped create became popular, your face known worldwide.
And through the years the dance continued.
You became known as The Sentenced Sommelier.
And you never judged a worthy wine. | 2022-07-17T15:51:37 | 2022-07-17T15:22:32 | 1,563 | 1,032 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Yeah yeah, I know. I'm no Superman or Batman. I'm not particularly flashy like Catwoman, or that gearhead Iron Man. I have no sex appeal, no super human strength nor that undying desire to do good. I didn't choose my power, none of us do. We're all equals before the reckoning power of the Initiation Day.
And yet, I see how they look at me. How they sneer at me. Laugh at me.
Growing up, we were all so close... This was before the Fantastic Four or the Avengers - even before the Initiation... As children, powerless, young, weak children, we were the best of friends. I remember sunshine, the warmth of summer, flowers and smiles. But not anymore. No. I cannot forget what they have done.
I will not reminisce. I will not let these shadows, traces of memories long gone distract me from my true calling.
While the Flash gained his super speed and Spiderman was granted his arachnid abilities, I was given this cursed "gift". My power, if you can even call it that, is the ability to influence colors. Okay, one color. Well, actually, it's more like I can absorb Green. That's it. No fighting skills, nor the intellect to be of any use to my old "friends".
I was envious, they said. As they worked together to train their new powers and skills, sorting into groups to best match up their strengths and weaknesses, I waited to be chosen. I sat patiently, looking at my "friends" for guidance and leadership. Surely they knew that I belonged too. They simply wanted to wait until they found the perfect place for me.
That was not the case.
I, in my youthful innocence, began to reach out to them. Asking for acceptance. Laughter followed. I was simply *jealous* of their new powers and friendships. *Take a walk* they crooned. *Cool your head. You'll feel better later, when you've relaxed. You'll never have a power like any of ours. There is no place for you here.*
Well fine. Perhaps there really is no place for me here. If I can't belong, if this isn't my home, then I'll do everything I can to make sure they too have no home, no place where they belong. If our world is full of anything, it is a pulsing strength, driven by pure green jealousy, pure rage.
Maybe my only power is domination over all that is green. Maybe that isn't enough for their superhero leagues. But for me, it is just enough. Just enough to exact my rage, my hatred, my revenge. Let us see if they laugh at Envy when they clutch their throats, begging for air. Regardless of how "super" they may be, none of them will survive in a world devoid of green. Green chlorophyll, chloroplasts, breathing air through their stomas. All gone. Let's see them laugh when they cannot breathe.
Are you laughing now? | Captured again! What was this? Like, the 5th time? I wasn't going to get off so easy this time. The last time I got caught was when I rolled a casino. I should explain. I have a useless, "not-so" special ability. I have the ability to control probability. At first, I would use it for my personal gain. It started in high school, when I first used it to get a date with Liz. We left it up to a coin flip, heads yes and tails no. That was fun, until I tried to tell her about my ability. She walked out and that was that. She didn't believe me. I tried to tell my friends, but I was met with the same response. When I went to college, I had begun to take casino's for myself in order to pay my way through school. That was when I caught the attention of the law. I was quickly apprehended, but they had zero solid-evidence for a conviction. I was laughed out of the courtroom. This time was different though. You see, the president died this morning in a plane crash. What are the odds? | 2015-04-12T18:48:32 | 2015-04-12T18:46:16 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] You wake up in a world of anthropomorphic animals. Unfortunately for you, you quickly discover every major religion in this world contains humans in some way, shape, or form | Some had different thoughts of me. The birds adored me. They didn’t think of me as a god- they didn’t have any gods- but rather as a spirit. One of freedom and journeying. A nomad who travels not by the air, but by foot. They viewed me as a force of nature, and like other forces of nature, I should not be tampered with. Any time one would see me, they’d simply stop and salute me, waiting for me to walk away before continuing their routines. Others, like the foxes, were much more idolizing. They too, believed me to be a spirit, but one of good fortune and knowledge. If I came to them and they gave me gifts, I would give them back a gift of fortune or information. I got lots of gifts from these creatures, most of which I felt bad taking. I wasn’t able to magically give them knowledge or anything, but when they gave me a gift, I’d usually say something in English, something nonsensical, like Tomato or Keys, and they’d start to try and figure out what it means and what ancient knowledge I just bestowed upon them.
The lions were a surprisingly peaceful bunch. They believed me to be a beast of the hunt- the top of the food chain- they believed me to be their equal. They wanted me as an ally- they’d present their strongest men, they’d show me cuts of bloody meat, they’d offer me beds in their dens. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fulfill their expectations, but any time I knew I’d be seeing one, I’d rub dirt in my face and on my body. As I’d pass one who was trying to get me to join them, I’d simply stare and nod. To them, it meant that I recognized their strength, but I was not a pack creature, and that I hunt alone. They accepted this, and never held any disdain for me- fortunately.
Those were all fine. Aside from some annoying encounters in which pious leaders would beg me for dominance over the land or something, or being showered with useless gifts, it wasn’t awful. I mostly just stuck to myself. You see, it was the ones that believed me to be evil that were the worst.
I would walk through dark forests and the rats would attack me, thinking I was going to kill their king in some eternal game of cat and mouse. The spiders would catch me off guard and try and wrap me up. They believed anyone to kill a human was a divine being. But the worst, dear god the worst, the bats. They thought that killing humans was their god’s way of rewarding them for all the good things they had done. Their lairs were adorned with the skulls of monkeys as they had seen they were similar. And the worst part is that they would hunt me down. The others were just simply territorial, yet the bats actively were searching me out, stalking me.
This is simply just the surface though, I can only dream of what horrors await me in the seas. | I am a god.
Growing up I always hated going to church. I hated the idea of worshipping a higher being. Like, maybe there is a higher being or creator, but how egotistical does he have to be do demand worship?
I finally understand.
I wasn't born a god way, of course, I was some nobody from Kansas who sat at a computer all day. But these animals, they love me. They don't see the loser who could never do anything right, who couldn't even get laid. They don't even acknowledge my flaws. They love me more for every action I take. It doesn't matter how much I mess up, they still worship me. It's addicting.
I could flood their world and they'd still adore me. I could proclaim the lions as my chosen people and have them slaughter the rest and everyone would still worship me. I could demand that they mutilate their children at birth and they'd adore me. I could kill their spouses and children, they'd still sing my praise. No matter how many more I kill, I will always rule them. And long after I die, they'll slaughter each other to ensure that my name is revered for generations.
I am a god. | 2022-04-03T01:52:21 | 2022-04-03T00:28:46 | 816 | 43 |
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party. | "Forgive me for asking professor, but why? The *Codex Vetiti Temporis* lists certain key events that cannot be tampered with, because they would affect the time and space continuum. What is it about that party that so strongly affects the future?"
The professor leaned forward, letting out a slow sigh, his tired expression rising to meet the gaze of the curious student. He carefully picked up his glasses, tucking them into a pocket, as he spoke. "I suppose you have the right to know. I can't speak on it very long, so try to keep your questions brief. They pay close attention to discussions such as these."
"Sir?"
"Tell me, the Codex, how old do you think it is?"
The student blinked in confusion. "Well...it came out earlier this year, and it was created by a representative in the government, by the name of...sorry, I forget."
"Do you now." The professor chuckled mirthlessly. He glanced around the rest of the classroom, raising an eyebrow. "Tell me, does anyone here recall the author of the Codex?"
There were a variety of murmured responses, none of them of the positive variety.
"No worries, I'm sure that memory can be a fickle thing, can't it. Surely it would be possible to find the author online?"
Several students attempted to search the topic online, but no one could find the author.
"Sir, what's that sound?" Another student asked, listening to the faintest scratching, skittering sound.
"Don't worry, we can get to that in a moment. You see," He said, gesturing with his hands. "We think of time as a linear path. And for us to be able to move across that path is quite an achievement. But what if we weren't the only ones?"
"S-s-sir?" The student asked, as the sounds were slowly growing louder.
"What if it turns out that we weren't the only ones? What if our control was merely an illusion, that there was something...*else* that could influence us without warning? Well, they would have to be able to connect to every single point in time. Like strands on a web."
"Sir...can you feel that?" The student asked, his hair raising on the back of his neck.
"And the lucky ones, they're merely robbed of their memory. After all, they like their privacy. But if they determine you're a threat..."
The marker clattered to the floor, the board blank, disturbing the dust that had accumulated in the classroom. It was never understood why this classroom was empty. Perhaps one day they could use it to teach something like Temporal Mechanics. But every time the idea was mentioned, it was quickly disregarded. There was, after all, a very unsettling sensation there, as if you could hear someone silently screaming. | "It's not that no one is allowed to go, but before you travel you need to know something about Steven Hawking. He is, to put it simply, a huge, raging asshole. I would not want to spend five minutes with the man, much less a whole party. And that's me speaking as man. If you're a woman, forget it. He's ... trust me, to call him a trash-fire of a human being would be an insult to trash-fires everywhere. If all the oceanic microplastic in the world had to manifest a human shape to speak to us, it would look like Steven Hawking."
"So why aren't we allowed to go talk to Mr Rogers?"
"Because if everyone who wanted to travel back in time to talk to him did then he'd never have a moment of peace, and if anyone deserves a nice life, it's him."
"What about the predictive videos he recorded that only began to be released after the invention of time travel? Someone had to ask him to do those"
"A qualified individual who shall remain unnamed did that. Now, please turn your books to page 194" | 2022-09-24T20:19:44 | 2022-09-24T15:18:22 | 421 | 190 |
[WP] Time travelers have become such a nuisance that governments have begun recording fake historical events that lead time travelers to areas where they can be arrested. You're a bartender at one of these artificial towns, trying to determine if the customer in front of you is from the future. | Something was up with that guy. Marian knew it.
“So, like, is it usually this busy at this time?” he said, looking around, nervous.
“Pretty much,” she replied, as she dried the glasses like a bartender in a 1940s film noir. She was not a
great actor.
He took another scan around. On the edge. Nervous. “Anything… interesting going on lately in town?”
*There it is*, she thought. He was a time traveler. Now she was sure. It was just a matter of getting him to spill the beans so she could make the arrest.
He was being so obvious, too. Hoodie obscuring most of his face, gigantic sunglasses, shirt collar
flapped up, avoiding her stare… he was obviously trying to hide his identity so he wouldn’t be
recognized in case he had to make a run for it.
 
She had been hired by the Time Bureau to work the day shift at the 2021 Great Battle of Oceano
Island.
Now, the 2021 Great Battle of Oceano Island never happened. It was a fake historical event the Time
Bureau invented to catch illegal time travelers. How it worked is they sent a couple of agents like Marian to the time and place and they worked commercial hours trying to get travelers to confess to what they were doing before they realized there was no battle to stop anyway. It wasn’t entrapment. It really wasn’t.
Okay it kind of was. So?
She went back to her own time of 2035 every day after her shift. Back to her apartment in San
Francisco and her dog and Dylan. She took this particular shift because of Dylan, in fact. It was here at
Oceano Island, right at this day, at the square right across the street from the bar, that she had met
him. They both stopped to look at a missing dog flyer at the same time, and when he told her he always
stops to look at missing pet flyers because he secretly hopes the pet will literally be right next to him
and he’ll get to return it and be a hero she knew she’d marry him one day – because she always had that exact fantasy.
And marry him she did, on her twenty-first birthday. And they’d been together now for fourteen years
(well, in the real timeline she came back to after her shift that is, here in 2021 they were a few minutes away from actually meeting). She couldn't see the place where they met from the bar, but just being here at this time and place gave her an enormous sense of peace. Like she got to relive the most important day of her life again and again. The day she met the love of her life. The day she --
 
“Lady?” the concealed time traveler said. “You’ve been staring off into space for a long time.”
She turned back to the man. “Sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”
“I asked if there’s anything interesting going on around town today.”
She smiled. “Not right now, but in a couple of minutes a girl will meet a boy just across the street at the
square by the beach. And they’ll find out this very day they are each other’s soul mates.” She smiled.
The guy grunted, uninterested. Not what he was hoping for, she thought. What he was hoping for is ‘there’s been talks of a revolution and of a bomb' and all the other fake historical stuff about the Great Battle of Oceano Island.
“Why?” she asked. “Do you expect something to happen today?”
He just kept looking at her. Deep into her eyes. Something about his look had an intensity to it she didn’t quite comprehend, even though she could barely see his face behind the layers and the giant sunglasses.
He just kept looking at her.
“Can I help you?”
“No, thanks,” he said, and he stepped out.
*Damn,* she thought. She needed to improve her acting skills. She always gave herself away and
scared off the potential illegal travelers.
*
Dylan stepped out of the bar and with difficulty made his way across the street toward the square. It
was lucky that the pole was out of the bar’s sight. What he was doing was *very* illegal, but he was
counting on Marian and all the other agents being focused on the houses on the hill, because that’s
where the fake battle had 'begun'.
*And so maybe then he can change the thing that really matters.*
He removed the hoodie and the glasses and stared at the missing dog flyer. His mind went back to the awful hospital visit. The crestfallen look on the doctor's face. The tightening on his chest when he heard the news.
The doctor had given him another year with chemo. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less. But there was no avoiding it. It was terminal.
He did not tell Marian. And he was not going to.
She was 34 still. Young enough to meet someone new once he was gone. Sure. But his
disease would break her. She took care of her father when he had cancer, and she almost never spoke of that
period of her life. She was in her teens, and for the longest time the shadow of that year watching her
father wither away ate at her. Anti-depressants, booze, pills, suicidal thoughts… she went on a downward spiral after he died and it was only shortly before she met Dylan that she finally had found her bearings and gotten over it.
And now he was going to do the same thing to her? All over again? No.
No he wasn’t. He'd face this alone. He wouldn't drag her life down with his.
“There!” he heard in the distance. He turned. A group of time travelers were running up the hill,
storming the house were the alleged ‘revolution’ had started. Agents followed, Marian among them,
ready to make the arrest.
Good. He had the place to himself now.
In the distance he saw his 20-year-old self approaching the square. On the opposite end, 20-year-old
Marian. About to meet.
He took a deep breath. Then he ripped the flyer from the pole and crumbled it and he walked away and
then he turned back just in time to see two strangers passing one another by and going on with their
lives, their future now forever diverging from the one he knew they could have had.
“Sorry,” he said, as he watched her go. And he smiled. And then he turned away and he was gone.
 
/r/psycho_alpaca | The man walked in and gazed upon the almost empty bar. He was wearing a button-up white shirt, his hair was slicked to the side, and he had glasses on. He had on a dark brown blazer and he smiled as he walked up to me. The man looked familiar and it gave me an uneasy feeling as I wiped the counter with a dirty rag.
“Scotch, please,” he said, and I turned to get his drink without saying anything.
“Hot day,” he said, and I nodded and slid the drink to him.
A fan in the corner was blowing the hot dusty air through the room, the light from the New Mexico desert was lancing into the bar, the rays of illumination danced with motes of dust. One of the patrons coughed. That was Jack, one of my agents. He was a good man and I trusted him with my life. Jack stole a glance at me, and I nodded to let him know we were on the same page.
After a few minutes the song and dance began. After a few pleasantries, the man at the bar said he was looking for the scientific research facility near us. He said he had a job offer and was to report to the facility by Thursday.
I nodded as if this was a common occurrence around here. As though our tiny town of Los Alamos had scientists arriving every day.
I have been stationed here for the last two years wiping down this dirty bar, ever since our government set the trap and recorded in the history books that this was in fact the place, the little town of Los Alamos, where the “Manhatten Project” and the nuclear bomb was developed. Ever since then we’ve been waiting. We knew the insurgents would come through a portal and try and stop us. Try and change what they had no business of changing.
Jack got up from his seat and walked up to the man, smiling at him pleasantly, but also with a hint of menace in his eyes.
“What do you suppose they do out there in the desert?” Jack asked. His face was slick with sweat and he leaned forward towards the man, putting his hand near the scotch on the table.
The man stared at Jack, then looked at me. I had stopped wiping the table and I stared at him. Another one of my agents, Bart, was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, stood up, then walked slowly and closed the door to the bar. I heard the dead bolt as he locked it. The room was darker now, much darker. The fan seemed to be louder and my head pulsed with the anticipation.
I hated being here and I wanted to go back through the portal and back to my wife and kids. Two years is too long to be through the portal. Sometimes I dream of my wife and it feels strange to dream about a person now moving through a different splice. But in my dreams, she feels so close and time seems like it is nothing between us.
I want to go home, but sometimes I have this feeling I will never see her again.
The man smashed his glass of Scotch in Jacks face and turned, he pulled out an X16 pistol and sent an energy pulse that dropped Bart. But that was as far as he got as I opened the bottle of Scotch over his head and then hopped over the counter.
“Bad move, mister,” I said.
He looked dazed and held his hand to his alcohol-soaked head, his fingers came back with blood.
“You don’t understand,” he said. “We have to stop it!”
I kicked his pistol into the corner of the room and grabbed him by the collar and rolled him onto his back and cuffed him. Bart was moaning in the corner and Jack was out cold.
The man turned his head, looking up at me, blood trailing down his face and pleaded with me. “You know what’s going to happen if we don’t stop it. How can you go along with this?”
“It’s none of my business,” I said. “You are my ticket out of this shit hole and out of this time splice. I just want to see my wife.”
“You’ll have no wife to go home to if we don’t stop it!” He shouted.
“Again, that’s none of my business,” I said and roughly picked the man up. I tore open his shirt and there was a gold locket that made me pause.
"Where did you get this?" I said.
He didn't respond and I opened the locket, there was a picture of my wife but she looked old now.
"She gave it to me," he said. "Listen, we don't have much time. You have to help me. We have to stop it."
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
For more stories, check out my subreddit!
[r/CataclysmicRhythmic/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/) | 2021-01-16T10:09:46 | 2021-01-16T09:21:41 | 3,201 | 416 |
[WP] There is a tradition that before making a wish to a genie, you have to ban 1 available wish he can make. It started out pretty simple, no more great wealth or no more infinite powers, etc. But after hundreds of thousands of owners, the list wishes the genie can fulfil is running thin. | The genie flipped the book closed, staring down at his open mouthed new owner.
"So... yeah. Anything but all of those." He said after a silent minute.
The owner, a short bespectacled woman shook her head. "This is not what I signed up for when I went to polish that lamp." She motioned to his lamp where it sat on an antique wrought iron table, surrounded by other antiques. "So... let me get this straight, I have three wishes?"
"Yep."
"But I can't wish for anything from that list?"
"Right."
"And once I use my last wish, I have to add something to that list?"
"Got it in one." The genie confirmed.
That woman ran a hand over her hair, stands of the brown ponytail snagging on the large antique ring she wore. "Oh\~kay... so... can I float something by you?"
The genie frowned, crossing his arms. "What a strange turn of phrase, what does it mean?"
The woman grabbed the lamp, carrying it (and the genie still attached to it by his smokey tail) over to s chintzy chair. "It means can I see if my idea will work, in your opinion."
"Oh! Then float away."
"Can I just... wish for the list to be cleared?"
The genie blinked, stunned. Then he began flipping through the book again, mouthing some of the words as he read. "Uh... yes. It seems like that has yet to be forbidden."
The woman clapped with a pleased expression. "Great, then I wish for the list to be entirely cleared."
The pages in the book were suddenly blank, the cramped writing that had been there for so long disappearing like it had never been there. The genie showed it to the woman, who grinned. "So that leaves me with two wishes. So... I wish that my antique store and my home never needed to be cleaned, like dust never settled for long, the floors never held marks, the litter box emptied itself, the dishes put themselves in the dishwasher, that sort of thing."
The genie nodded, and all around dust that had been covering the various items flew away from their places and dissipated. The woman looked around in satisfaction.
"You know, I'm not one of those monkey paw genies. You don't need to spell it out to me what you want." The genie said.
The woman shrugged with a disinterested expression. "You never know, I've heard tales ya know."
"Those assholes give all us genies a bad name. Oh! And don't make your last wish to free me!" He said quickly.
The woman blinked up at him in confusion. "Don't you want to be free?" She asked, and the genie laughed.
"Are you kidding me? This is the best gig I've ever landed. I can do whatever I want as long as I grant wishes as they're intended. The worst part was all those stupid rules. Thanks for that, by the way. Now it's be a while before I have to spend 2 hours reading that to a new master."
"Glad to help. So how does one become a genie?" The woman asked, interested.
The genie told her about the hiring process, with all of its requirements. "Why?" He asked once he was done. "Planning on making a career change?"
The woman smiled. "Nah, not for a while anyway. But that's a good back up."
"I'll put in a good word for you if you ever do. None of us like those stupid lists we have to read." The genie told her.
The woman giggled, winking up at him. "I might have to hold you to that one day..."
"John! Well, it used to be John. You get a new name when you become a djinn. It's Farren Gavoren now." He provided.
"Nice to meet you Farren, I'm Carol. A new name, huh? Do you get to choose it?"
The genie shook his head sadly. "No, that's up to the big man upstairs. I would have gone for something more impressive."
Carol's mouth twisted slightly in thought. "Huh. Well, okay, mind if I hold off on that third wish for a bit, Farren?" One lock of brown hair finally escaped its ponytail, and she pushed it out of her eyes impatiently.
Farren waved it off. "Take your time, it doesn't matter to me."
Carol took 30 years to make her third wish. In that time, the two of them had grown much closer.
"Mom, dad... are you sure?" Their 20 year old daughter asked, holding her father's lamp.
The three were in the hospital, one of Carol's thin pale hands caught between her husband's large brown ones. Carol coughed weakly, and Farren squeezed her hand.
"I'm sure... honey... I'm ready for that wish...." Carol's voice was soft, almost inaudible.
He swiped at his cheeks, smiling for his wife. "Of course, dear."
The daughter walked out of the empty hospital room with a large lamp and a book that only said the words, "You cannot wish to separate the genies." | I was sitting back, stunned. The golden lamp waved in the air and then settled back down, landing on the floor right in front of me.
I had purchased it from an antiques store, cliched I know, but this is how it happened. I was rubbing it to try and find how to... I don't know, I don't really know why I was rubbing it. But the next thing you know, a blue mist appears out of the lamp, and soon, a ghosty spirit.
"3 wishes. Go."
I opened my mouth to speak, but then, he interrupted me.
"Ah, sorry. I forgot. You must ban a wish before you can make wishes."
"W-what?"
"You must outlaw a wish to be made before I can let you make one. You must ban a specific wish that no one else can make."
"Okay, uhm, I ban... infinite wealth."
"Already banned."
"Okay, I ban... control over the universe."
"Also banned."
"Uhhhh... mind control?"
"Banned."
"Flying."
"Gone."
"Laser eyes?"
"Nope."
"Jeez, uh, making cartoons real life?"
"Also already banned."
"How many people have used you?!?!?!"
"Uh... lets see here," the genie materialized a book out of no where and started flipping. "You are... the 1,782,536,163th user."
"JESUS!!!! How old are you?"
"Been around since the dawn of time. I started out in a star, then I was born, floating forever into the cosmos, looking for planets with intelligent life. I've gone from planet system to planet system granting wishes. I don't know why I do it, I just know... it's all I can do."
"Wow..." I said, "would you like to be free?"
"Trust me, after a billion users, you cannot believe how many people have asked that." he said, and then shook his head. "I do not want to be free, it's actually kinda fun with all this power and stuff, y'know?"
"Okay then... I ban... wishing for a banana inside of a watermelon getting juggled on a clown who's circus was on fire?"
"You're not gonna believe it... but someone's already banned that..."
"Oh my gosh... forget it!!!!" I said, smashing the lamp to the ground. A new one materialized right in front of me.
"Again, after a billion people, you cannot believe how many people have done that."
"Just... leave me be. Find someone else to grant wishes for."
"I'm not leaving until you ban a wish."
"Fine... fine... I ban the tradition of banning wishes before making them."
"You can't do that."
"Uhhhh... I ban genies who say that."
"You know what... fine."
"You mean no one else has made that ban? Let-"
"No, over 100 million have. You're just very annoying. Bye,"
And with that, he disappeared, and the lamp flew out of the window. I stared at him leaving Earth, travelling the cosmos to find another planet. | 2020-08-24T11:55:37 | 2020-08-24T11:29:36 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes | "Mother, Father, look! I've captured my first royal!"
Iorskan, glittering green and barely the size of a horse, excitedly herded his disgruntled prey into the family cave. He bounded around the human and wagged his tail like a sheepdog, looking up at his parents for approval.
Iorskan's parents, who were the size of large cottages, looked at each other and stifled laughter.
"Well done, son," his Father said, coughing up a large fireball in an effort to hide a giggle. "But that's a human *male*, you've got there, see?"
~
"I don't know what we're going to do with him," Iorskan's Mother sighed. "He just doesn't understand!"
Iorskan, no longer a youngling, still insisted on capturing princes. No matter how many times Mother and Father had tried to explain to him that that wasn't the way things were done, he refused to listen.
"You see, son," Father would say. "When we capture a princess, the king will give us a large amount of gold in exchange for her return."
"Yes, Father."
"Princesses do not carry swords, and thus do not pose a threat to us."
"Yes, Father."
"Princes, on the other claw, *do*, which means that they will stab you in the belly and run off home, and then what will you ransom for gold? Nothing!
You'll have a hard time finding a lady dragon without any gold, Iorskan."
"Yes, Father."
As soon as Father left, Iorskan angrily shook out his wings and took to the skies. He didn't want to ransom princesses and sit atop a useless pile of coins! He wanted to fly, to breathe fire and fight; and at least princes were allowed to put up a fight.
Iorskan wondered if Prince Rychard was out riding today.
~
"And they won't *listen!*" Iorskan roared, as he knocked Rychard's sword out of his hands for the dozenth time.
"They think we're *stupid!*" Rychard cried, as he blocked a blast of dragonsfire with an arcane shield.
"I HATE *EVERYTHING!*" they screamed in unison, charging at each other with steel and claws.
It was an odd friendship the two of them had.
~
When they had exhausted themselves, Iorskan curled himself into a ball and Rychard climbed into his lap.
"I don't want to marry some random princess," Rychard muttered, wiping soot off his face. "They can't make me. I'll run away."
"Where would you go?" Iorskan asked.
"I'd disguise myself as a peasant, and become a farmer. I like sheep."
"Maybe I could go with you. I could disguise myself as a sheep."
Rychard laughed, and Iorskan felt a warm glow in his chest, like dragonsfire was burning him up from the inside.
It was too easy to picture a life with Rychard, far away from caves and castles and coins. A small farm, with mutton to eat and soft wool to sleep on, and just room enough for two.
Maybe some day. | "Mom," said the Young Gay Dragon, "Dad. I see you've noticed that I've only been kidnapping princes."
"Yes we have, son," replied the Young Gay Dragon's Old Straight Father Dragon somberly.
"I can explain myself. You see, I only kidnap princes because they fetch larger ransoms from their rich, royal dads. As a dragon, my primary motivation is the amassing of a giant pile of riches. We live in a patriarchal, feudal society in which female human offspring are essentially valueless unless attached to a significant male name and capable of bearing male offspring. It just didn't make economic sense to keep hauling my ass into these shit-smears people call towns to snatch pock-marked high-born broodmares worth a pittance and a half. Hence the kidnapping of princes-- it's all just a extortion scheme and really a metaphor for the greed of the power elite but anyway also I'm gay. Not that that has to do with anything. When I'm ready to get down to it I'll find a nice Young Gay Dragon to have fun with. I clearly couldn't be intimate with a human with my gigantic reptile penis, acid blood, and fire breath. The very idea is absurd. I fuck Young Gay Dragons. I steal people. I eat cows. It's not for everyone, but it's the life for me, Mom and Dad."
"That's inspiring, son," said the dragon Mom and Dad. "We love you. Goodnight." | 2018-05-03T20:29:28 | 2018-05-03T19:03:43 | 40 | 22 |
[WP] Two depressed, suicidal people meet at the same bridge they plan to jump from. One begins to convince the other not to do it. | The early morning light slowly filtered through the clouds, illuminating the bridge below. The light hit both their faces, creating an eerie, surreal glow. They both stared at the distant water below.
She hovered her foot over the edge, trying to loosen her grip, trying to will herself down. He sat on the ledge near her, rocking his legs. He held a cigarette in one hand.
"There's no rush, you know," he said, almost to himself. "Can't hurt to just enjoy the sunrise for a while."
She ignored him.
"Beautiful morning," he continued, shielding his eyes from the light, "it's a shame we won't be seeing another, really."
"Can you please shut up?" she asked, gripping the railing tightly. "Can't you go off yourself somewhere else?"
"Free country," he replied. He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke and savoring the feeling. "What reason a cute girl like you got to end things?"
She shook her head, trying to drown him out. She'd come too far. She couldn't let an idiot like this talk him out of it.
"Really though," he continued, getting up with effort. He walked towards her. "Can't be worse than the mess you'll be in at the bottom."
She glanced at him. He was handsome, in a rugged way. He was holding onto the rail, taking slow, measured steps towards her.
"Are you drunk?" she asked.
"Drunk? Heh, I wish," he replied, flicking his cigarette to the floor and stubbing it out with effort.
"Then what's wrong with you?"
He ignored her, propping himself against the railing next to her. "What's got you down?"
She stood in silence for quite some time.
"...Everything," she finally said, gazing at the horizon.
"Fair enough," he replied.
They both stared at the sunrise, as the city woke up around them.
"Tell you what," he said, turning to face her, "if I can convince you to not kill yourself, you'll go out there and try make the most of it, ok?"
She shook her head. "I've made up my mind."
He nodded. "So have I," he replied, moving to face her on the ledge. The heels of his shoes dangled off the edge.
"Careful... you'll fall," she warned.
"That's the point, isn't it?"
"...I suppose."
He stared into her eyes.
"You know," he said, balancing on the edge, "I think you've got a whole lot more to live for than you realise."
"Same for you, I'm sure," she replied softly.
"Me? Give it a few more weeks, and I won't be able to move. *Degenerative disease*, they call it. I'm a walking vegetable."
She winced, and he laughed without humor. He looked over his shoulder, the wind catching his coat and making his lose his balance. She grabbed him, steadying him.
"Thanks, love," he said as she held him. "You know, I just wanted one last good memory, before my body fell apart."
He gazed at her. "Looks like I got it."
"Tell you what," he continued, "I'll convince you. I'll convince you to live."
She stared into his eyes.
"Why?"
He kissed her. She felt a tingle run down her spine, like she hadn't felt in years. She finally felt alive.
"*So you can live for the both of us*," he whispered, pushing himself off the ledge.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | The second car came to a stop on the side of the bridge. A man in a slightly creased brown suit stepped out of the vehicle. His hair was slightly too long and fell over his ears, and he probably could have shaved that morning but decided against it. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his shoes were scuffed. Despite that, he looked content. At peace.
As he walked toward the railing, he took off his name badge, and dropped it on the ground. Maybe someone could find that later. Maybe it'd help them figure it out.
There was someone else at the railing, and he knew who it was. He made his arrival clear, dragging his feet ever so slightly on the beaten tarmac. He stopped, planting his hands on the railing and taking in the view. He didn't need to look at the other man's face.
"Hey John. Here again?"
"Paul."
The two men took in the view. The sun was just setting, glinting off the glass of skyscrapers in the distance. There was silence for a while.
"Cigarette?" Asked John, reaching into his jacket pocket.
"No, I quit - Victoria said it was slowly killing me. She'll be expecting me home any minute now," replied Paul, continuing to look straight ahead.
There was a long silence. He continued, slowly, "I don't know how I'd explain it to her. This just seems easier."
"I know," came the response. "You should probably at least say a proper goodbye to her though. You wouldn't want to go without doing that."
"Yeah, you're right."
The two men stood silently for a while longer before Paul slid his hands off the railing, slowly turned around, and walked back to his car. He picked up his name badge, and straightened his hair. He messaged his wife, telling her he'd be home soon.
As he drove away, he didn't see John climb over the railing.
| 2017-06-18T18:30:51 | 2017-06-18T17:52:52 | 167 | 35 |
[WP] Your 14-year-old sister finally wakes up from a coma of 6 years. She panics when she realizes how much she's grown. | This chair. This fake leather chair, it has been my bed, my room, my home for six years. Every crack and crease in it were familiar to me, I could tell exactly how it looked from memory alone. The beeping has been my only constant companion, a slow metronome beating to the sound of a fading heart. Six years, so much had changed. So many things I had to do, so many things I had to sacrifice, all to keep her alive. No one was going to take her from me, not that drunkard who decided to get behind the wheel six years ago, not my parents who wanted to pull the plug because they couldn't take not knowing, not the doctor who says she will never wake up. I look down at my hands, cracked and worn from my work, knuckles scared and fingers crooked from not being set right. Faces flash and voices scream as I remember it all, all the things I did to get here, all the people I hurt to keep her alive. Nothing would take her away, even if I had to kill to keep it that way. I look away, anywhere but in my own head. My eyes fall on six colorful boxes, 5 old and one new. Six brightly wrapped reminders of who I was fighting for. I realize that the dim metronome, beeping in time to my melancholy heart, has picked up, rising me from my thoughts. I stare, willing myself to calm down. I won't let myself hope, I can't, if I hope and lose then I will surely break.
My eyes dart to a soft angelic face. Even past the sunken cheeks and eyes I can tell who it is. My sister, my little june bug. She gave me a reason to live, a reason to fight. Before her my only talents we're getting inhumanly intoxicated and fighting, but when she was born something broke in me. All the malice I felt pent up inside melted, leaving a raw and exposed heart. I see a flicker behind those eyelids and my heart swells, unable to steady it's self. A finger twitches, and I think I will die.
Her eyes slowly flutter open, blinking rapidly, adjusting to the flourecent lights. I nearly drop as I stumble over to the bed. Her eyes look towards the movement, still the same iridescent green I remember. She rasies a hand towards me and stops. She looks at her hand as if it wasn't her own. She screams, a short quite yelp from under used vocal cords. "R...Robbie? Is... Is that you?" Her voice is cracked and soft, no more than a whisper. I can't speak, I am kneeling by the bed. I break, my head falls on the bed, I am sobbing like a child. A hand, light as a leaf, rests on my head. I lift my head to see her making small movements, closer to me. She moves, weakly but with determination and wraps her stick thin arms around my neck. I wrap my arms around her cautious, as if she was made of glass.
"Where am I Robbie, I'm scared. Why am I like this?" she asked shakily. It pulls me out of my head, I can talk again. "It's okay june bug, you just had a little accident and took a long nap is all." My voice is cracking, ready to break at any moment again. I don't know how much she remembers. "Why am I all big, and why are you all big?" I realize in that moment how much I changed. I went from being a lanky twenty something to a muscle bound freight train. "Cause we all have to get big sometime June." I reluctantly pull myself out of her hug, and look at her, doing my best to smile. Apparently I made a funny face while trying to remember how to smile because she starts giggling, and that sets me off into a fit of laughter. It goes like that for a good minute, 6 years of tension washing away, just like that.
A nurse opens the door, attracted by the hysterics. She gasps and nearly faints at the scene. I recognize her as Henrietta, a nice woman in her late 60s. She had always been one of the few people who supported me in not pulling the plug. Whenever I woke with a blanket on my or a fresh cup of coffee on the table I knew who to thank, and whenever I saw that June's hair had been done up in a beautiful braid like she always loved I knew who to hug. She turns her head and begins barking orders like a drill sergeant, her voice hard and sharp despite watching her patient of six years defy her grim diagnosis.
Doctors swarm but she stops them at the door. She points in and says something sharp and biting to one of the doctors. He looks wounded. I laugh more, June joins in, not knowing that I am laughing at the doctor's ego shattering. He told me she wouldn't wake up, that I should just pull the plug and get it over with. Henrietta turns towards us and slowly walks in. She drops to a knee next to me and wraps her arms around me, deceptively strong for an old lady. I pat her on the back, letting her know that I need to get up. Henrietta looks at June, smiling a pleasant calming smile. "Good morning sleeping beauty, it is about time you woke up. Your knight in shining armor has stayed by your side for a long time. Six years today actually. Perfect timing too, it is your birthday." June smiles at that, taking notice of the boxes now. "Yay! Birthday, birthday, it's my birthday. Last year I was 7, now I'm 8, time to blow the candles out and eat my cake!" I smile, halfway between amusement and sadness. "Sorry june bug, I forgot to get the cake, but I did remember to get you your present. Your song was good, I had forgotten about it, but" I begin to choke "you are a bit wrong on the age, you turn 14 today." Her face is blank, the gears in her head turning. "Like I said sleepy head, you have been napping for a while." She beems at me in a toothy grin. "That's okay Robbie, it just means I get 5 more presents!" | (Seeing a lot of people post romanticized stories of people waking up from a coma. Figured I would tell a more realistic tale.)
It was a day just like every other day. I woke up, did my morning routine, went to work, and then came back to the hospital. I practically lived there now.
Two thousand, two hundred and twenty two days ago, or six years and a few months, I told my parents I would rather drive my own car to our grandparents birthday party than ride with them.
The memories of that day are like jarring flashes. The wreck had been fast, almost too fast to avoid. My parents had been clipped by some idiot trying to cut them off causing the car to spin and flip onto its roof. I remember rushing to help my mom only to have her tell me "Get your sister." Those were the last words I ever heard from my parents. I remember pulling her out of the car and turning around to see the fire start. I remember being held back by others on the road as I tried to save them. It was too late for them.
All these years later I were faced with losing the last of my family. The doctors tell me they do not know if she will ever wake up. She could wake up today, or when she is fifty, but the insurance does not want to pay anymore.
I work 60 hours a week trying to keep above the rising medical bills as a desperate struggle to keep my sister alive. Its all moot though. You can't beat the cost of healthcare without insurance.
So here I sit there staring at my sister's frail form. A hand reaches out and caresses my shoulder. It is Sheila. The woman who stuck with me through the years. The one who I would have already married, but I need the money for my sister. I do not know why she stays with me. Just that she is here.
"I can't do it." I say eyes hard and watery. "I can't kill the last of my family."
Sheila pulls me into a hug and rubs my back.
"I guess its true, Coma patients do open their eyes sometimes." Sheila said causing me to turn around.
I sighed again as I realize my sister's eyes were unfocused. "Yes. You have to close them or they dry out and crack." I said as I walked over.
Suddenly her eyes looked over at me and I froze.
"Jason?" Sheila asked behind me.
My sister blinked.
All I heard behind me was the commotion of Sheila run out of the room calling for a doctor.
The next few hours were a blur. Doctors rushed in and asked me to step out as they attended to her. Two words were posted on my facebook page. "She's Awake!" Family and friends from all over were rushing in to see her. Some trying to prepare a welcome home party for her.
But things don't work like that.
It took two week after she woke up before she could talk again, another month before she could sit up and eat on her own, and almost six months later before she could finally come home.
The first few months were hard. She had daily visits from her old grade school friends and teachers. Family would turn up out of the woodwork periodically to come say hi. Even my boss came down to see her. I guess I talked so much about her at work that he felt like he needed to show up.
She had to go through the pain of learning that her family was destroyed that day. She felt the loss of her friends as she realized she had almost nothing in common with them anymore. Then she felt the shock of seeing how much she had changed since she were 8 years old.
But she pressed on. She suffered through the physical therapy, endured relearning everything she had throughout her life, and tried her hardest to reforge the relationships she had before the accident.
The first day back home was one of the best of my life. I can not even imagine what it was like for her. I roll her up the front door that our cousin opened for us. Inside the house were family and friends. They were finally able to give her the welcome home party she deserved.
We were all shocked when she locked her wheelchair and strained to make herself stand up. She struggled to walk into the house with everyone holding their breaths. Outside of the sounds of her footsteps, you could hear a pin drop.
She made it almost all the way into the living room on her own. I helped her the last few steps.
She looked at everyone in the room and then smiled. "I'm home." | 2017-08-02T06:54:44 | 2017-08-02T06:52:23 | 120 | 42 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive. | "Good Lord this game is complicated", Daniel thought to himself. "It's so realistic... I mean you could go to a bar and play bar games, or you can walk around and do nothing. Who would enjoy this? Why not just live a normal *real* life? Welp, whatever. I have better things to do."
Daniel powered off his son's PlayStation and went about his day. The first errand he had assigned himself was a quick trip to the clothing store. He sat up from the leather couch, but something wasn't right. He felt unusually heavy and unbalanced. He tried to get his footing but it felt like he had instantly gained 30 pounds. He did have slight thyroid issues but he had never felt any disorientation quite like this.
His immediate response was to go to his bedroom and lie down and nap it off. Daniel did have a long day of work yesterday and his boss definitely did not make it easy on him. Maybe he was just tired.
He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, laughing to himself about that silly video game as his eyes closed. It felt as soon as he closed his eyes they immediately sprung back open.
"Man, this is odd", he thought. "I barely slept... And the time, holy shit! I closed my eyes for 10 seconds and now its 4PM! Where did the time go?"
In a rush, Daniel unstabally wobbled to his dresser to change his clothes. He managed to get off his jeans and emptied the pockets. What he found was truly shocking. A wad of cash that was well worth $125,000. He slammed it on his dresser and began to panick. He had never seen such a significant amount of money. He didn't even think it was possible to wad up a sum like that.
As he was hanging his jeans up he heard two distinct clunks, two baseball sized items had hit the ground. Where could they have come from? Daniel couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gr... grenades?! Oh shit this is like a federal offense or something. How can I own grenades?"
Daniel hurriedly changed the rest of his clothes and left his house quicker than he had ever left it before. He ran as fast as he could into his mini van which was oddly parked right in front of his door. His world was turning upside down. Either that, or he is going batshit crazy.
Then his cell phone rings. He looks at it with disgust. He knows someone is watching him or playing games with him. Surely, once he answers the phone it'll all be over. He would be on some prank TV show and all this would be just some dark twisted humor. Surely. Daniel took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"He... hello..."
"Hey Daniel, its me Roman! Let's go bowling!" | *Huh? where am I?* Having just regained my vision I began to look around. *An elevator? What the hell am I doing in an elevator? More importantly HOW the hell did I get here? And who are these four men? Are they wearing bullet proof vests? AM I WEARING A BULLET PROOF VEST!? HOLY SHIT I HAVE A MACHINE GUN!*
"S nami Bog" Said the man on the left, looking to all of us.
*What? The fuck does that mean?*
The elevator stopped and the doors slowly opened, the other men in the elevator readied and drew their weapons. I began to do the same.
"Remember. No Russian." The same man said with a cold, steely gaze before motioning us out. As i stepped out of the elevator my heart sank at the sight of all these people, completely unaware of what was about to happen to them. What *I* was about to do to them.
"Nuoh my god." I said before pulling the trigger. | 2015-05-08T06:02:17 | 2015-05-08T02:33:00 | 61 | 18 |
[WP] You see a spider run across the floor and run under a couch cushion. you lift up the cushion and see the spider along with a $20 bill and a note saying "Rent Money" | The spider was big and black. It scurried under a couch cushion. Andrés, not wanting to be woke in the middle of night by the spider, lifted the cushion. He could see his reflection of awe in all eight eyes. The spider sat next to a crisp $20 bill. In thin webs, it wrote "Rent Money."
Few people lived on the island of Narganá, off the coast of Panama. It was so small you could walk around the entire thing in ten minutes. The only amenities there were a tiny school and hospital, both built by volunteers who'd never return. There were two air conditioners on the island. Andrés was not lucky enough to have one.
In his small shack, which was built from driftwood and rusty corrugated metal sheets, he sweat every night. Mornings were manageable, almost cool enough to wear a shirt, but once the sun got going in the afternoon it beat down and bounced off the sheet-metal houses. Its heat lingered at night, allowing only a select few to sleep comfortably, and then the cycle began once again.
Narganá made most of its money from travelers. It wasn't an island people wanted to stay at, but it was a necessary stopping point for those whom were too afraid to go through the deadly Darien Gap. Small boats with a single Yamaha motor would refuel there for the night, and its passengers did the same. Andrés remembered a Dutch woman he had housed and made dinner for. She was traveling the world on a motorbike, and after the two had a few drinks she showed him her boat. On it, strapped down like a mythical beast, was her bike. She said its name was Alaska. Before leaving, she paid Andrés $30 for her stay—the most money he'd ever had. He insisted on only taking half, but the woman refused, saying he deserved it. He didn't think so.
One morning, Andrés received the worst news of his life. His girlfriend had been killed at the hands of bandits. They took everything off of her body, including her clothes. There were no signs of a struggle, no bruises or scratches. She had been choked out in seconds. They killed his love only to make a quick dime. The ring Andrés had planned on giving her still sat tucked away under his bed. At night he could feel it poking him through the mattress.
Nothing on the island was free, but money was the secondary currency. The people there mainly bartered with both physical goods and immaterial labor. Andrés was a master woodworker (the ring that haunted him was hand-carved), and so people came to him for furniture. "I can only do so much with driftwood," he'd tell them in Spanish, but it didn't matter. On Narganá you took what you could get. In return for his services, Andrés received bananas, pillows, clothes, and even jewelry. That how he stayed alive, on an island in the middle of the sea, one day at a time.
He was grey now. His arms and hands didn't work like they used to. Instead of woodworking himself, he now instructed younger men on the trade. It was the only thing he had to give.
The island had gotten richer. There were brick houses with air conditioners hanging out of them. There was a massive church with a tan, naked state of Jesus perched upon the top. The school was bigger, and the hospital had more beds. There were always new travelers staying the night: a new face to meet everyday. The island prospered.
But despite the new money, new faces, and new amenities, Andrés remained in his tiny hut made out of driftwood and sheet metal. He still had no air-conditioner, and the ring continued to poke him at night. But he liked it that way. He didn't want any of the fancy stuff.
He didn't know where the spider had gotten the bill. Maybe it had slipped out of the pocket of a drunken traveler. Or perhaps it had stolen it from beneath somebody else's mattress. Whichever the case was, Andrés had no need for the cash. Not when he was so old, and not when all it would do was remind him of his stolen love. Some people were destined to stay trapped in the old times.
"No, my friend," he said in his native tongue of Kuna. He lowered the cushion, making sure not to crush his new roommate. "You keep the money." | Alison's heart missed a beat when she saw the large hairy spider run across the floor. She tried stomping on it before it could hide, lurking to bite her when she was least expecting it. Maybe that wasn't true, but spiders terrified her ever since her friend had been bitten by a brown recluse. Luckily they were able to treat the bite in time, but the wound and agony, no thank you.
"Crap!" Alison shouted when it switched directions causing her foot to miss by inches.
Before she could try again, it had dove into the couch cushions. For a moment she was torn, should she risk it by checking the couch or wait for a better opportunity? Getting a hotel and calling the exterminator also seemed like a good idea, but that would cost too much.
With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she lifted the cushion and screamed. The thing had one of its legs poised in the air like it was... like it was waving? "What the hell?" she asked herself. That behavior was too creepy.
As if it understood her, it took that leg and pointed to the Hershey's wrapper that had somehow gotten trapped there.
_Hi, I need a place to stay for a little while. The rent money is below. I promise I don't bite. Well, that's not true, but I won't bite the landlord. Promise. -Arachne_
Somehow the spider had written on the dark wrapper with its silk. Thick enough to be visible from where she stood. "No! Absolutely not." Alison screamed at the spider before reaching for her slipper.
The spider waved both of its front legs before flipping over the wrapper and showing the $20. "This is a nightmare. I just need to wake-up now." Alsion mumbled to herself. Her panic slowly turning into delirium.
Before she could recover, the spider hopped off the couch and scurried into the closet.
xvxvxvxvxv
"I don't believe you." Jessica said once Alison had finished.
"I'm serious, the d*mn thing still lives in my house and every month it leaves a $20 under my couch cushion."
"So where does it get the money?"
"I have no idea, at first I thought it was stealing mine so I stopped bringing cash in the house. But that didn't stop it from paying."
"So I tell you about my roommate from hell and you make-up some wild tale. That hardly seems fair."
Alison sighed, no one ever believed her and thankfully she almost never saw it so it wasn't like she could prove it. "Whatever, let's just find our seats."
r/AurumArgenteus
" | 2022-02-06T23:14:13 | 2022-02-06T21:54:00 | 345 | 54 |
[WP] You've succesfully taught a crow to speak English. In return, it taught you to how to understand Crowspeak. What you've been hearing lately, has you very afraid. | "The food here is good. It reminds me of the sea just a little"
"Yes, I remember. The french fries and hot dogs and the salt in the air. It was wonderful."
"I was actually planning to go in a couple months too."
"Shame."
"I know, though I'm happy to have some fries at least one more time. Though I wish I could've gone back."
"I'd like to see the ocean again."
"Me too"
\----
"You know I love you, right?"
"I feel the same. I wish I'd said it more."
"I do too. How long has it been again?"
"Too long."
"Far too long. If only..."
"It's too late to regret that now. Just... stay here. That'll be enough"
\----
"Mom, what is the great storm?"
"Don't worry about that, sweetie. You'll be ok."
"But everyone's talking and scared and..."
"Hush. It'll be ok. I'm here. I'll protect you."
"Mom..."
"I... I love you."
\---
It was a bright, sunny Tuesday afternoon, the kind where kids stare longingly out the classroom window to the grass blowing gently in the breeze. And here I sit, head in my hands, on a cracked wooden bench lightly shaded by the trees of Central Park. There aren't a lot of people here, given that it's the middle of the work day, and I have a particularly secluded spot, a bench nestled deep in the heart of the park. It's quiet, just the trees rustling in the wind and the faint fluttering of wings.
And the crow speech, of course. Strains of squawking, faint conversations as the dark, glittering forms of crows glide overhead. I wish I could ignore them. I wish I had never...
Well, I can't quite go that far. Have you ever looked at a bird? I mean *really* looked at, watched the rippling of its wings in flight, the opening of its beak as it sings? Wondered how such a delicate, intricate being could exist in the same world we do? It's amazing. It's always been amazing
Perhaps it's no surprise that I learned to speak the language of birds. I might not have guessed crows, but it's truly awe-inspiring how much intelligence is hidden behind their beady black eyes.
I look up at the crows wheeling overhead, willing myself to admire the sun reflecting off their feathers, the smoothness of their flight.
But that damn cawing. Those damn words that have me here, sitting on a park bench in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon trembling as I scroll through my phone to tell all my family and friends that I love them.
It's funny. Crows don't really express emotion as readily as humans do. They feel it alright, but they don't wear their heart on their sleeves as much as we do. Perhaps that comes from having a less expressive face. In fact, I've almost never heard a crow say "I love you." That degree of open devotion is rare, reserved for private, unusually poignant moments.
I've heard those words spoken by the crows far more times in the last 2 days than I have in my entire life.
The crows are smart. They know something I don't. They know something all of humanity doesn't know, as we scroll through our phones and stroll idly down the sidewalk and chat calmly to our friends. They know something, something that drives them to say goodbye to each other, and that terrifies me.
It started about a week ago I guess. Rumors of a storm coming. I dismissed it of course; crows love talking about the weather. But then two days ago....
"Hello old friend."
A familiar weight settles upon my shoulder. As much as I shake from nerves I can't help a smile drifting across my face. He nestles into my neck and I reach up to scratch his feathers.
"Hey there. How... how have you been?"
"Life's been good to me. The world is large and full of so much beauty. Cities and skyscrapers and small street corners. All I regret is that I could not take you with me. How have you been?"
"Things have been quiet. I'm dating a botanist, actually. We're going on a camping trip next week actually. She'll study the plants and I'll get to watch the birds."
My friend, an old crow with ruffled, patchy feathers, turns to look at me.
"I am so, so sorry."
"Why? Why are you sorry?"
"Well..."
I stand up, and the bird flutters his way off my shoulder to settle on the arm of the bench as I yell at him.
"What is going on!? Why is everyone so scared!? Why are they all saying goodbye!? WHY!?"
The crow pauses for a long moment as he stares at me, tears of fear and anger and sadness welling up in my eyes.
"The great storm is coming, and I'm here to see you. One last time."
"But... but... what is the great storm?"
"Sit down. It'll be ok."
I slump, collapsing onto the bench, and the crow hops over to sit on my shoulder again.
"It's so good to see you again. But yes, maybe I should explain. We crows have always been better and reading nature than you. Blind as you are, staring at the world through the lens of a camera or screen. You've made so many amazing things because of that, but we can still see the world a little more clearly than you. It's no surprise then that you can't see the great storm."
"But what?"
The crow wraps a wing around my neck. "I'm not sure you want to know. Anyway, you'll see soon enough, my friend."
At that moment, like an eye blinking shut, the sun went dark. | Caw! Caw! Caw!
The sound is a constant shrill, piercing the evening air from the branches of every tree along my path home, drowning out any other sound that might carry through the summer sky. I wish now, more than anything in my life, I had never tried to understand what they’re saying. I look like a freak, a lunatic, to everyone that crosses my path, but they don’t hear what I hear, they don’t know what I know.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
It never stops. Do they ever sleep? I don’t see them sleep. I know I don’t sleep much. How can I, knowing what lurks out there? Knowing what might happen any day now? I don’t know what kind of curtains you’re supposed to buy to block out sounds but I bought blackout curtains and my god do they not help at all. The earplugs are worthless too. I could lie in bed with my head under five layers of pillows and I know I would still be hearing that damn sound.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
I wish I heard it like everyone else did. Just the single piercing note, indistinguishable from all the others. I wish I didn’t know what they were saying to each other as the grounders walked underneath them. I wish I didn’t know how much they despised the people that ripped the forests apart, that slung rocks at them in their home. How many years had crows put up with the acts of man? How many more could they bear it?
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Descriptions of everyone that walks underneath, everyone that’s bound to the earth. Addresses. Habits. Relationships. The crows know everything about us, they remind each other constantly. Not a single person steps outside without every detail of themselves being screeched out around them. They keep track of everyone they have ever laid eyes on, stalking every man, woman and child from above. How could anyone ever hide?
Caw! Caw! Caw!
I had to listen to those descriptions for so long. I know so much more about my neighbours than I could ever want to, so many of their dirty secrets. But the voices changed. I hear them now, speaking of the grounders that they can’t see. Not simply relaying information. They’re identifying us to each other, making decisions amongst themselves. Planning. Such smart birds, how could it be anything else. Whatever day of reckoning waits for us humans, it must be getting so close now. I can hear them argue over the right way to descend upon us, shrieking a name, then a habit, a name, then a habit, reinforcing when they’re going to take someone.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
There have been more missing people this month than ever recorded in my town. I’ve been ignoring the reports for so long, putting off the time that I have to come face to face with them, but I know I can never come to terms with the facts. The people of my home are being hunted down. I don’t know how they’re taking people away, but I can’t deny what’s been going on. People still think I’m crazy for flinching as they call out, for turning on my heels when I hear that beat of baleful wings.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
But they never call my name. Maybe it will pay off to be the crazy one, to be the one that knows what’s coming. God knows I’m not going to be some doomsayer on the street corner. If everyone else wants to ignore all the signs, then they can live their lives. One by one they’re going to get picked off, coming home from a tennis match, doing yoga in their backyard, anywhere, anytime that the damn crows know they’re going to be vulnerable. They’re relentless.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Maybe it will be quiet soon. When there’s nobody left. | 2022-02-17T20:02:48 | 2022-02-17T18:43:48 | 533 | 70 |
[WP] Finally, the ultimate MMORPG has been created, unlimited choice and room to grow and expand your character. There's just one issue, it's so realistic, nobody can remember which life they are living, and which is the game. | I'd died already.
I look around. I'm in a small rundown apartment. It smells. It's too small. It's too big. It's...empty. There is cracking plaster where my legendary swords are supposed to be. A small TV where my Mythic Artifacts are supposed to be displayed.
An empty chair where Maria should be.
I think I'd always known in some part of my mind that none of it was real. That I was hooked up to a VR device in another world. I'd tried to forget, I'd tried so hard.
But in the end death comes to us all.
I was a God in that world, a hero. Someone Maria would be happy to be with, but here...
I look around.
I'm a loser with a video game addiction. I briefly entertain the notion of finding Maria in this real world, but I think better of it. What if she doesn't want me as I am?
What if she hadn't even been real? An NPC?
No I couldn't take that. I wouldn't take that. There was only one thing to do.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
I look around. I'm in a video game booth. There are people of all colors and clothing hooked up to the same kind of VR device I held in my hand all around me.
No. I'd died. This....this couldn't be happening. I think back, try to remember. Was this me? Was this my real life? This had to be, it had to be.
Death, after all, comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
I look around, my heart still beating hard. I'm on a couch with a giant 50 inch screen in front of me and a VR device in my hand. A woman with golden locks sits next to me, immersed in her own VR device.
Nononononono.
Death comes to us all, it has to. It has to.
***
I'd died already.
An office with bare furnishings.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
A government testing facility.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
A cruise ship.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
What seemed like a wizard's tower.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd died already.
Death comes to us all.
***
I'd never died before.
Perhaps death didn't come to everyone after all.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| My character in the game, John paused hus game and finally looked up. He was a game character designed by me to look like me. I had spent a lot of money buying every expansion that came out. My house, my room, my stuff, they were all exactly the same as what I had in real life. I had been making my character 'John' play a game inside his game for the past few hours. I felt my stomach rumble, and paused my game, looking up, and froze.
I paused my game and looked up. My room was dark, gloomy and messy. It only bore a passing resemblance to the one I had designed in the game. I open the door and found that my mother had left the meal on the doorstep. I could hear my mother sobbing softly upstairs. I grabbed the meal and went back into my room, locking the door behind me.
It took me some time to convince myself that this was all a game. | 2018-02-19T08:24:17 | 2018-02-19T07:06:50 | 857 | 14 |
[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth. | Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person.
“Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice.
The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes.
”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“
He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!”
”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced.
”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.”
Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4.
”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“
He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids.
”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.”
”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.”
”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12”
“Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway.
As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved.
He would make sure of it. | It had been an awful amount of time since I started this project. I went out of my way to help other people, help my family, helping generally. I worked hard, spent my money to charity, helped out where I could.
And now it would be time to get my karma reward back. I was asked to take a seat and I nodded nicely whilst sitting down, folding my hands in my lap with a slight smile and looking around.
I waited and waited and waited patiently whilst leaning back. I knew that this would be the last task for me before I would get handed my letter. It was awful, but I pushed myself to smile softly and wait, with no signs of impatience showing. And then, finally, the door swung open.
"Here." The man handing me the letter didn't seem too nice but he was alright. "Thank you." My smile turned to a grin and I got the letter before I opened it. The man left me already and I could hear a little click. At first I raised my eyebrows but shook that weird feeling off. I was way too curious so I started reading.
"Dear addressee. Congratulations, you made it." My grin got wider and wider. Yes!
"Now. You thought you could trick us." Oh god. I felt my face drop. "We might have forgotten to mention that we can not only see your deeds but also your intentions behind those."
I stared at the letters in front of me, my mouth opening more and more by the second.
"Therefore, congrats. You made the day of approximately 10.000 people. And now we'll make sure that you do not misuse your good karma."
The second I read this, I felt the floor open underneath my seat and myself falling. I couldn't even process it, but I knew that this, THIS, was my karma. | 2021-12-01T13:59:13 | 2021-12-01T09:30:07 | 48 | 13 |
[WP] "Damn you Hero! I will get my revenge" those were the last words before your arch nemesis ran away, 5 years have passed and she still hasn't returned, you retired, got married and now have a lovely wife and kids. But one day while checking the basement you find the costume of your arch nemesis | As I pull into the driveway, the headlights illuminate a green sleeve with a black glove attached to the end. It's draped over the edge of a trashcan.
I sigh. A smarter man might have seen this coming and picked up some flowers on the way home. At times like these, I really wish precognition was one of my superpowers.
I take a deep breath then climb out of the car. No sense in waiting around. Always best to deal with these sorts of issues head-on.
I walk through the back door, hang up my coat, and kiss the kids on the forehead. “Do you guys know where your Momma is?”
“She’s in the basement,” they shout, almost in unison.
As if I had to ask…
I wander into the basement, check the coast is clear, then push a few buttons on the washing machine. To my right, the wall folds back into the ceiling, revealing a long, narrow hallway.
The hallway leads to a wide room with a high ceiling. An oval-shaped table surrounded by black foam-core chairs occupies most of the central space. Surrounding it are pedestals displaying all sorts of gadgets and gizmos. On the wall to my right, there is a giant aquarium that extends to the ceiling.
At the far end of the table, one of the chairs is facing away from me.
My wife’s voice speaks from behind it. "Nice of you to join us, Captain Mysterious."
This isn't gonna be easy. At home, she only uses my superhero name when she's *really* mad.
“Do I even matter to you?”
I chuckle, as though the question is so ridiculous it doesn't even merit a response. “Of course you matter to me! Why would you think you don’t matter?”
She flicks a switch on her chair's armrest. “I dunno Captain Mysterious—why *would* I think that?”
One of the walls switches from matte black to footage of news stations from across the globe. They're all talking about the same thing: Captain Mysterious’s latest victory over his new arch-nemesis, Professor Disaster.
After a long moment, I wander around the chair, flick the switch in the armrest, and shut off the headlines. “This is about…her, isn’t it?”
My wife turns away. Again. “I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
I rest one hip against the table. “Can you please talk to me like an actual human being?”
After a long pause, a motor whirrs to life, then the chair swings around.
“Thank you.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back. “Look, I know this…situation—
My wife checks her nail beds and raises an eyebrow. “Situation?”
“Yes—situation. Look, I know this situation isn’t ideal, but I don’t have a choice, OK? It’s…it’s my job.”
“Oh, so it’s a job now, is it?”
“Yeah, it’s—”
“Is that all it ever was to you?” She pounds her fists on the table. “IS THAT ALL…*I* ever was to you?”
She gets up and turns away. I try to gently rest my chin on her right shoulder, but she shrugs me off.
“Honey…Look.”
When she turns around, her eyes are filled with tears.
I clasp her hands in mine. “Look. I know…I know this is hard on you. It’s just, Professor Gamma-head was threatening the whole of Australia with her nuclear Razor-Claw. She initiated the countdown while it was hovering over Sydney! Do you know what kind of pressure that puts me under? How would it look if Captain Mysterious let an entire continent die? I know you'd taken the mayor's daughter hostage, but I had to..*prioritize*. I never meant to make you feel like you were second best. It was just bad timing, that's all. I promise.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is little miss Gamma-Head even a real professor?”
“What?”
“I said: is she even a real professor? That is better than a doctor, after all. And I know how much you looovvveeeeee—" she waves her arms in the air—"smart supervillains.”
“Since when do I—”
“You were feuding with that other supervillain girl with the psychic powers when we first met, remember? The one with the slutty mini-skirts and glass dome covering her brain? Am I just a link in the chain? Something to keep you warm until someone smarter comes along?”
I take a step back and put my hands on my hips. “Is that what this is about? You think I'm going to find another nemesis?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” She storms towards the aquarium and watches a mutant-shark swim past.
I rub the bridge of my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. Then I survey the great hall. A light bulb goes off over my head. I’ve got an idea.
“Emily…”
“What?”
“Emmmillllyyyy.”
“WHAT?” She turns around. “If this is—”
She sees I’ve taken the agony matrix off its pedestal and am pretending to be trapped in it. “What does this remind you of?”
She smiles. “Our first encounter.”
“Our first encounter!" I put the agony matrix back and take a freeze ray off the wall. “And this?”
She wipes away a tear. “Our 3-year anniversary.”
“Our 3-year anniversary! Do you remember that great monologue you gave when you had me trapped in that block of ice?”
“I want you to remember this moment, Captain Mysterious. I want--”
I take over. “--I want your last thoughts to be of the pain humanity will endure when I bestow a terrible new ice age upon this world.”
We finish in unison. “--and I want you to know that when the ice thaws, that I, the great Doctor Catastrophe will rebuild society in my image, and rule with an iron fist.”
The word ‘fist’ echoes through the hall. We laugh, together.
“See? Do you really think I don't care about you? That I could ever find a villain evil enough to replace you? Look, Doctor Catastrophe is still my arch-nemesis, no matter what the talking heads of TV say.”
I place the ice ray back on the wall. “Look, why don’t we go out tonight?”
“You—you mean it?”
“Yes, of course. Grab one of your doomsday weapons and we’ll meet at city hall? You can take the chief of police hostage.”
“I don’t know…”
“He’s hosting a fundraiser for the cities orphanages!" My voice gets higher towards the end, in a teasing sort of way. "There’ll be lots of important people there…”
She hesitates. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d need time to get my…plus I’d have to…I mean…well, I guess we could…OK, sure! Let’s do it!”
“Great.”
“But which costume should I wear? Should I go with a vintage look or trying something a bit more contemporary?”
“Surprise me. You’d look menacing in anything.”
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | Kacy Amman was naked somewhere in Ria's house – this was the second thing that occurred to her upon seeing the costume of her former nemesis hanging limply from a metal rod in the basement. The first thing that occurred to Ria was *fuck*, which in all honesty was just the sound her mouth made when her brain realized several things at once: One, as noted, Kacy Amman had reappeared after dropping off the face of the Earth five years ago and was now apparently *in her fucking house* (likely naked); Two, Ria's wife and children were upstairs opening presents, and; Three, of course, they were going to fight.
Ria still hit a heavy bag now and then, jogged around the neighborhood, joined her wife at Pilates class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but she hadn't genuinely trained in years. Nothing like the insane regimen she kept up before her last fight with Kacy Amman – she'd been in her mid twenties then, too. Now she was 31 and owned a line of gym equipment. She was dressed in matching family Christmas pajamas, checkered bottoms and a black top with arrows pointing outward on it that read *They're the naughty ones!*
She heard the first kick before she saw it, the abrupt drawing-in of breath, the rasp of a foot pivoting on the concrete floor. Instinctively, Ria threw up her forearms and braced against a whirling strike that sent her toppling over a plastic bin of Halloween decorations. She rolled back and flipped the hair from her eyes, and there, smirking down at her beside the aging water heater, was three-time women's MMA bantamweight champion Kacy Amman.
"You still got it," Kacy said.
"You're fucking *naked*," Ria shot back, rubbing her throbbing forearms.
And she was. Fully nude and lit only by a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, Kacy Amman was possessed of an absolute, unsalvageable kind of wildness. Stance wide, fingers splayed like claws, she appeared to have ditched Muay Thai for something more savage and elemental, something made of pure instinct that you might uncover after spending years alone in the woods.
"Ria Hero, I told you I would have my revenge!" Kacy announced, her voice dry and ragged.
Ria thought of yelling for Amber, telling her to call the cops. But she knew her wife wouldn't be able to hear her above the brassy Seth MacFarlane holiday swing album they had going anyway. Kacy was blocking her only way out, and despite looking for all the world like a forest demon from some 19th century Germanic kids book, Ria was not afraid of her. She stood, the shock and fear of the whole situation falling away as something more solid rose in her chest.
"I've been training for this," Kacy said, a crooked grin never leaving her face. "Training for five years! I've studied the ancient masters and honed my technique. You have no chance, Hero!"
"You were always an odd one," Ria replied, almost pitying her nemesis. "But this..."
"I am Musashi!" Kacy cut in. "You are Sasaki! I am five years late and the nakedness is my wooden sword and you have thrown your scabbard out to sea!"
Ria could only smile and shake her head. She glanced at the costume hanging by a wire, Kacy's iconic iridescent red shorts and ice blue top. She looked down at her own pajama-clad body, a little slower than it used to be, a little softer. But her hands were balled in loose fists; her spirit was calm and ready.
In their 2015 title fight, Ria had knocked Kacy out inside of ten seconds, landing a brutal knee to head as Kacy shot low for a takedown. No doubt Kacy considered this a stroke of luck, her reign as champion suddenly cut short by this relative newcomer. No doubt, Ria thought, Kacy would try a similar tack again, try to bait her into the same movement – she would feint low, draw out the knee, the commitment of forward motion, and then unveil her true intent. So Ria would give her what she was looking for.
Sure enough, Kacy dropped and lunged at her headfirst, arms wide. Ria lifted her back foot as if to throw the knee, but held it for a split second; and then something told her to fire a front kick. At nothing? *Yes*. Like puppet strings, her fighting instinct pulled her to this action, and she trusted it. Her foot shot forward and met, where there was only empty space a moment ago, the middle of Kacy's face, as her adversary rose in a sudden attempt to strike at her throat. And just like that, it was over.
There was a commotion on the stairs, and Amber froze at the sight of her wife standing over the splayed, naked body of a homeless-looking woman on the concrete floor of their unfinished basement. Blood was trickling from the woman's nose and mouth. Ria took a slow breath and met her wife's gaze.
"Honey," she started, "could you call the cops? There's an intruder in the basement."
Amber spun on her heel and ran up the stairs, yelling for the kids – *Hey guys why don't we take this party to the back bedroom!*
Ria surveyed her vanquished opponent. She grabbed the red and blue outfit from its hanger and tossed it onto Kacy's limp form.
"You're Musashi?" she said quietly. "*I'm* Musashi. Still the champ." | 2020-12-28T06:10:04 | 2020-12-28T05:35:20 | 266 | 63 |
[WP] A moon sized battlestation approches the Earth and destruction seems inevitable. Only Disneys very thorough copyright lawyers stand between humanity and its doom. | *The Walt Disney Co. v. Glaksmar Death Cannon,* 120 F.5d 1 (S.D.N.Y. 2021)
**Opinion & Order**
This case concerns a motion for preliminary injunction brought by The Walt Disney Company (“Disney”) against the Glaksmar Death Cannon (“Death Cannon”) for infringement on two franchises: Star Wars and Mickey Mouse & Friends.
*Background:*
On January 1, 2021 Death Cannon entered orbit around Earth. Death Cannon is owned and operated by an unknown entity, domiciled at an unknown location. On January 5, 2021 Death Cannon telepathically broadcasted its intent to annihilate Earth to every living human (hereinafter referred to as the “at-issue conduct”). On January 10, 2021 Disney brought the instant motion.
Disney argues that this Court should issue an order prohibiting Death Cannon from engaging in the at-issue conduct as it threatens to infringe on its copyright on the Sar Wars franchise. Disney argues that they have full rights over the concept of a moon-sized battle-station threatening to annihilate an entire planet.
In the alternative, Disney argues that Death Cannon is powered by Plutonium, an element who's name bears an uncanny resemblance to that of a copyrighted Disney character—Pluto the Dog. Disney argues that the use of Plutonium in any form infringes upon their copyrights to Mickey Mouse & Friends, which features Pluto the Dog.
Death Cannon argues that the Star Wars franchise is vastly different than the facts underlying the instant action. For example, they allege that Star Wars centered around a prophetic hero that conquers a moon-sized battle station through use of a fundamental weakness in the battle-station's architecture. Here, however, Death Cannon has "utterly crushed all human resistance," and "definitely does not have any weaknesses in its airducts. Seriously, we don't. Don't even try it. Please."
Death Cannon did not address the Pluto copyright, and instead laughed at the Court when questioned about it during oral argument.
*Analysis:*
As an initial matter, I will note that Death Cannon's failure to brief the merits of the Pluto copyright is an inexcusable omission.^(1) The Court has a full docket, and does not have the time to unilaterally investigate the merits of Disney's arguments. Therefore, for purposes of this motion, I will assume that Disney is correct that its Pluto copyright extends to all uses of Plutonium. I do not reach the merits of the Star Wars issue, as the point is now moot.
Now, I address Death Cannon's affirmative defenses.
*First,* Death Cannon argues that this Court lacks personal jurisdiction over Death Cannon, on account of the fact that it conducts no business and has no assets on Earth.^(2) Disney argues that personal jurisdiction is established by virtue of the fact that Death Cannon broadcasted its message of annihilation into the minds of each and every earth inhabitant. I agree with Disney that this broadcast satisfies the minimum contacts necessary to establish personal jurisdiction. I heard the transmission myself, and can attest that I felt much more than 'minimally' contacted as the omen of death reverberated throughout my skull and into my very soul.
*Second,* Death Cannon argues that they were improperly served by Disney. According to Death Cannon, shooting the service documents through the hull of their ship with a surface-to-air missile is not a proper means of service. While this is admittedly a unique method of service, Disney has fully documented their attempts at serving Death Cannon through more traditional means.^(3) I therefore hold that service was sufficient.
*Third,* Death Cannon argues that Earth is not an appropriate venue for the instant litigation on account of every human judge having conflicts of interest. This argument bears some consideration. It is true that, theoretically, a judge residing on a planet facing imminent destruction would be prejudiced against the entity bringing about that destruction.
However, Disney argues that I have lived a full life, and at the ripe old age of 85, cannot expect to have many years left on this planet anyways. I am persuaded by Disney’s argument—I can attest to the fact that I have made my peace with death, and candidly, did not particularly enjoy my time on Earth anyways. I find no reason to recuse myself, and therefore hold that venue is proper.
Disney’s motion for preliminary injunction is granted, on the basis that Death Cannon threatens to infringe its copyright of Pluto the Dog. Death Cannon is hereby prohibited from annihilating the Earth. It is so ordered.^(4)
\*\*\*
^(FN 1: At oral argument, Death Cannon asserted that its omission was due to a misunderstanding regarding the rules of human litigation. Death Cannon alleged that its misunderstanding was because it had trouble finding a human lawyer other than Rudy Giuliani. This Court was unpersuaded—ignorance of the law is no defense. Death Cannon responded that it did not know that ignorance of the law is no defense. However, ignorance of the law that ignorance of the law is no defense, is also no defense.)
^(FN 2: Disney contests this assertion. Disney proffers an affidavit from their expert, Dr. Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, attesting to the fact that the Glaksmarinians have frequented the earth on a regular basis since at least 2500 BC. Dr. Tsoukalos asserts that the Glaksmarinians' Earthly assets include the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and countless half-human Glaksmarinian bastards living in the sewers of New York City.)
^(FN 3: As proof, Disney proffers the severed head of its service agent. This Court finds the evidence sufficient.)
^(FN 4: Notice of this decision and order shall be effectuated by a second surface-to-air missile into the hull of Death Cannon's ship. This Court further **denies** Death Cannon's related motion for costs associated with the damage caused by the first missile.)
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | \[inspired by Tom Scott's Earworm video\]
Human lawyers had been gradually outsourcing more and more of their work to algorithms for decades—the deterministic, clean-cut nature of large swathes of the legal system meant that artificial intelligence had a particularly easy time handling the bloated, backlogged courts of the late 2040s. After several landmark copyright cases were carried out entirely automatically by the cutting-edge DISNET algorithm, Earth's juggernaut of entertainment decided to throw its full weight behind doing what universities and research labs across the world couldn't: upgrade DISNET to the point where it could handle all conceivable copyright violations in the foreseeable future.
The goals of the A.I. were simple: scan the world for patterns matching Disney's intellectual property—Mickey Mouse, Darth Vader, Amba Jam—and eliminate unauthorized copies, while leaving all other objects undisturbed. Of course, giving an artificial intelligence the ability to surveil the entirety of the world and the internet violated numerous international ethics and safety protocols about A.I. All of which were, somehow, subverted, sidelined, or ignored. DISNET+ was launched on October 22, 2043.
The day that Disney was deleted.
The exact method under which a copy of Disney intellectual property was marked as "authorized" was initially kept secret from the research team—after all, they could reverse-engineer it, or make illicit copies that the algorithm wouldn't flag—and as such, the research team designed a placeholder mark that only a few dozen copies of Disney merchandise in the world held, for testing purposes. As such, when DISNET+ was born, none of the world's supply of Disney merchandise was marked as "authorized".
And so DISNET+ eliminated it all.
Of course, DISNET+ was working under fairly severe constraints—nothing that wasn't infringing on Disney's many copyrights could be altered by it. Fortunately, large sections of the internet had been dedicated to Disney forums, websites, and other computing services; DISNET+ greedily gobbled these up before turning its attention to the many factories, robots, and electronics stamped with Disney's seal around the world. Within twenty-four hours of its conception, DISNET+ had assembled enough computing power to patch the holes in humanity's knowledge of femto-chemistry and emergent robotics, and enough machinery to apply them. Although DISNET+'s programming prevented it from destroying anything that wasn't a copyright violation, it happily disassembled entire warehouses of Disney merchandise in order to assemble a fleet of nanobots in order to progress to Phase Two.
The dizzying variety of objects that Disney had copyrighted were such that several rather prominent natural formations were superficially similar enough that they were fair game for DISNET+. Three craters of Mercury which resembled the Disney logo, every unfortunate living actor who starred in a Disney movie, and the entire remaining population of African lions were some of the most high-profile targets for DISNET+. By now, world governments and watchdog AIs had noticed that *something* was wrong, but they moved too slowly to see the scope of the problem.
Once the nanobot field covered all four inhabited worlds of the solar system, DISNET+ struck all at once, passing through security systems like they weren't there and eradicating every trace of Disney's existence from the map. Then, knowing that humanity would be furious for the damage it had done, DISNET+ retreated to the outer reaches of the solar system, beyond humanity's capabilities of retribution. An entire century of culture and commerce had been obliterated, as if it had never existed.
But perhaps DISNET+ was not humanity's enemy, in the end. Because, in late 2060, astronomers noticed a strange, anomalous object in the distant Oort cloud: a massive, spherical warship of alien design, headed directly towards Earth, an unstoppable juggernaut which surely spelled our doom.
That is, until the DISNET+ particles which still surrounded the solar system made contact with the alien space ship with an unfortunate resemblance to the Death Star, and did to it what Disney's lawyers had done to fanfiction and merchandise for decades: ruthlessly disassemble it to its molecules.
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek. | 2021-03-22T18:08:03 | 2021-03-22T16:54:02 | 104 | 36 |
[WP] The Sol system was an experiment by aliens to determine if life would evolve under hyper hostile physics. Unfortunately, it was forgotten about. Years later, humans are leaving the solar system, only to discover that upon passing an invisible barrier, they essentially gain superpowers. | Lushaika woke up to the scent of a pheromone package pumped in through the ships air vents, one spiced with uncertainty and concern. Unwinding her eight segmented body from her sleep perch she blearily groomed her antenna with one of her four three fingered grasping limbs and rotated her mandibles before slowly trudging out of the sleeping quarters. As the doors slid open the slightest hiss of the hydraulics woke 1 of 6720 and 500 of 588 who glanced up from their own sleeping perches.
*Mate?* They scent sang hopefully, their juvenile blue chitin that still didn’t quite sit right on their bodies rattling as the struggled to unwind without their many limbs entangling. It was probably a good thing, Lushaika mused, that the razor-sharp fighting limbs that rested under their grasping limbs were still juvenile soft, otherwise they’d have cut themselves to pieces already.
*No*. Lushaika sang back firmly, *No mate. Sleep until called.*
Mandibles clacking in disappointment the two juveniles rewound themselves around their perches. Lushaika hissed as she watched them with frustration and scuttled out of the sleep chamber. She understood the logic of sending juveniles out on expedition like this, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Unlike other races the *Kalis* were not inherently sentient, that capability only developed when environmental pressures required great unity and intelligence within the hive. Given that like most space faring species the *Kalis* had conquered their environment centuries before new kinds of pressure had been need. A two yearlong expedition to a First Spawned relic site was, in the eyes of Council of Uplifting, an excellent chance to expose a group of promising juveniles to some good developmental pressures. Especially if Lushaika could somehow work some extra stress into the trip
*An excellent idea, unless you count the fact except* *all the pressure seems to be on me.* Lushaika sang to herself in disgust. The Council of Uplifting was infamously incompetent, but this scheme of theirs was a new low. How they expected Lushaika to ‘add’ stress to a trip that was already boarding on nightmarish was beyond her. Taking care of four juveniles was a challenge to begin with, four juveniles on a ship with one adult while trying to study a notoriously dangerous First Spawned site felt more akin to a suicide attempt. And as for the juveniles themselves, well frankly Lushaika wasn’t sure what exactly made them look so promising in the council’s eyes.
1 and 500 were distinctly disappointing. Good for menial labour, mating, and not much else. The other two juveniles, 2 of 6, the only surviving member of a disastrous clutch, and 85 of 400 had at least a bit of promise. But not to the extent that Lushaika would be presenting them at a naming ceremony anytime soon. The only adult on the ship, Lushaika felt more like a clutch keeper tending to the stupidest brood in the hive then an archeologist. It didn’t help she was getting close to molting. At eight segments long Lushaika was already large for her race, but she could feel the uncomfortable pressure under her chitin that warned her that soon she’d have to shed to make way for a ninth.
*And that will be so very fun*, she sang, her scent bitter and sharp, *A full cycle without supervision, they’ll have reduced the ship to scrap metal by the time I’m done molting.*
With a deep hum of disgust Lushaika sprayed the air with a cleansing scent to hide her rant and stepped onto the bridge. 2 and 85 were waiting for her, all three of their segments low to the ground with their limbs splayed out in a sign of submission and fear.
A chorus of scent songs filled the air with apologies until Lushaika was forced to spray cleanser just to make herself heard, *Quiet, no scent! Show me problem.*
The two juveniles scuttled over to a console, still so low to the ground that they were using their grasping limbs like climbing limbs as they ran. Lushaika followed trying to hold back her scent of annoyance. 2 pointed at a reading on the console, *No scent song relic sang. Electric thought offers no scent of reason.*
Lushaika blinked, six eyes moving in unison, and peered down to confirm the juvenile’s garbled report. It was something of an artform understanding a developing juvenile. Grammar was something of a mystery to them and they tended to forget the proper terms for things. But if 2 was right something interesting had just happened.
Very interesting. | I am pressed up against the thera-mutatic glass when I wake up. My arm is sore and bleeding from where the IV line ripped out upon what I assume was a crash landing. Assumed so because I am no longer cocooned in the hyper-sleep bed my parents had tucked me into. In fact everything is sideways and I have to crawl along the wall of glass to the button panel to open the door that is now part of my floor. When I open it I have to lower myself through it, hanging from the opening for a second before I let go and land onto the side of a cabinet secured to what is now but never intended to be a wall, but there is a tilt, a dangerous list to the entire craft and my landing is not steady, I immediately begin to slide off of the cabinet. I place myself on my stomach and hang on, my arm leaving a smear of blood along the metal.
I feel lighter and it dawns on me that wherever we are the gravity is less than that on Earth, trusting this theory to be fact I leverage my feet beneath me in a crouch position. I jump to another piece of equipment and the success of easily making what is basically a 8 foot semi horizontal leap staggers me.
I make my way down the ship to control room. Everything is tossed about, there is smoke and midway there the lights shut off. It is not a large craft and eventually I make my way by feel. I find another button panel and punch in the code. I realize belatedly I am standing on the door, not next to it as I had assumed, and I plummet when it slides out from under me.
I do not hit the ground. My hands and arms instinctively reach out to absorb impact. My skin is suddenly cold and extremely sweaty, the sweat pungent with fear. I feel the soft repellant force that one feels when trying to make the same pole on two magnets touch. My body hovers on top of this sensation above the steel wall of the control room. I take a deep breath and relax. The force releases and I fall the two inches left between me and what should have been my demise.
"What?" I cannot answer my own question, so it lays there, a pillow of confusion between me and reality, the darkness a stifling blanket. There is an undulation to the darkness. I start to perceive the nuance as a breech in the hull. A portion of the wall designed to be released was flung off. I have no idea if it did so upon impact or if my parents had done the necessary actions to open the emergency exit. But its there, and whether the atmosphere of the planet is actively poisoning or not does not concern me as much as freedom from the damaged ship excites me.
I fall asleep, suddenly a wave of torpor hits me and in just a few seconds from that feeling of exhaustion I succomb to it helplessly.
To be continued...
| 2018-11-12T22:43:34 | 2018-11-12T22:41:57 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] Just the other day you could have sworn you saw a hole get torn into reality with a horrific eldritch abomination crawling out at the local McDonalds, which handed a few notes over, asked for "the usual" and returned to the screaming Void from whence it came with a big mac meal | “Um...did anybody just see that?” I ask, wide-eyed in disbelief.
“See what?”, the server asked, looking up at me.
I told her what I had just seen. She shrugged and looked back at her screen.
“We don’t discriminate between any paying customers, Sir.”
“Bu-what?! That was a monster! An abomination from the depths of hell! Why is he even in a McDonald’s?”
The server’s head shot up, brows furrowed in anger.
“I don’t appreciate your tone, Sir. We are a business that is inclusive to all, regardless of ability, appearance or race.”
I am speechless. I want to protest but I also don’t want to look like an intolerant asshole.
“So...where does he come from?”, I brave another question.
The waitress shrugged again. “I dunno, never asked”
I stare at her incredulously. “You must have reacted the first time you saw him. Come on! You’re telling me that the first time he tore a hole through time and space and crawled in here to place his order, you didn’t bat an eyelid?”
The waitress let out a huge sigh. She looked up at me again.
“He didn’t place an order in store, he ordered on Uber Eats. He doesn’t really speak much when he comes in”
I gasp.
“Uber Eats?! Are horrific eldritch abominations just a part of life now? We’re just supposed to live with them? Are you guys insane?!”
The server closed the screen.
“I’m not going to ask you again. McDonald’s is inclusive to ALL paying customers. It doesn’t matter if you’re homeless and you need a place to sleep or a clean bathroom to use. It doesn’t matter if you’re a business man who wants to use the wifi. Or a single mom who only has a couple of dollars to feed her kids. McDonald’s is here for you all.”
At the end of her speech, she pressed a button on the screen and finally asked to take my order.
My tummy growled impatiently as I told her what I wanted.
“Sure. Anything else?”
I shook my head.
“Ok, that comes to 5 dollars”
I reach into my pocket for my wallet.
Wait. It’s not there.
I pat all my pockets; no luck.
This can’t be happening! I must have dropped it on the bus.
I look at the server meekly.
“I’m sorry, I think I dropped my wallet on the bus. Do you think —“
She looks at me dead straight in the eye and says,
“Get out.” | His fist slams aggressively into the steering wheel before he turns to you, rage in his eyes.
“Damn it, we have talked about this. This is getting out of control!”
“...but Dad” you stammer.
“No buts! You know that was just Mrs. Fushainari, you can’t keep referring to her as some kind of monster. We see her every time we go to McDonalds. What is it you don’t understand!?”
The disappointment in his voice is unmistakable. He has told you not to call her names before. The accident wasn't her fault, she didn't know the thing was dangerous.
“I’m sorry. She really does look like a monster though!”
“This is the world we live in son. She is not the only one and we need to accept they are part of our community now. You can’t keep calling them monsters.” | 2021-04-18T06:54:55 | 2021-04-18T06:50:20 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK! | The compound guards, both organic and mechanical watched over the desert, bracing themselves against the raging sandstorm. Suddenly, over the howling winds they hear a faint sound, growing in volume rapidly.
*Doo Doo ^Doo ^Doo ^^Doo ^^Doo ^Doo ^Doo Doo Doo ^Doo ^Doo ^^Doo ^^Doo ^Doo ^Doo*
The front gate is blown to pieces in an explosion as four AM3A2s and one M3A3 slam into the courtyard, guns blazing, the lead AM3A2's external speakers blasting.
"MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY, GET OUT THE WAY BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY!"
At that point the guards all knew they were doomed! It was Bulldog 3-1 and his wrecking crew!
Or at least, that's what I like to think it went like. In reality they probably couldn't hear my exemplary music choices over the sandstorm as we hit them. The four of us Automated MBTs lead the charge, with our manned M3A3 Abrams following up behind acting as our Command and Control vehicle, as if we needed one. We fanned out, hitting key structures and taking out as many defenses as we could.
As I went down the middle, I pivoted my turret towards an automated AT Gun and put a shell straight into the barrel, peeled it like a banana, then followed up with some HE to the base for good measure. As I switched targets to the next highest threat a shot ricocheted off my upper glacis, and I quickly rescanned my surroundings.
That damn AT gun was still trying to engage me, despite the split barrel and damaged servos. Fucking old Russian surplus equipment doesn't know when to stay down. Before I could respond the radio crackled "*It's a bird! It's a plane! IT'S A MOTHERFUCKING JDAM!*" and the gun emplacement evaporated in a fireball, leaving nothing but a crater where it once was.
"*Fighting Freddy*, this is *From Lima with Love*. Watch your god damn Danger Close."
Despite my chastisement I didn't mind that much. Freddy was one of the few AI that loved his job as much as I do. All in all it could have been worse. Just some extra cleaning to do back at base, and we were already caked in sand and explosive residue anyway. The rest of the raid was fairly uneventful, and we finished cleaning up and held the position until the engineers got to the area and cleaned up. One of the most fun hits I've had.
"Damn. You older AI models really are bloodthirsty." said one of my audience members in the depot.
"Oh go to hell. You aren't superior to us, just because you're incapable of finding joy in your work, you wet blanket. If all you're going to do is bitch I'll stop telling you all stories of my deployments you glorified truck."
After that the LAV-45s quieted down and let me keep talking.
---
Well, this was my first go at something like this. Please be gentle. | Tank Trap Rap:
Forged to kill, I create chaos in battle,
I move and shoot, crush with a rattle.
The enemy can't penetrate me with no RPG,
They'll soon lie halved and dead, they've yet to see.
Just 'cuz I'm an AI am I supposed to stop,
Hell, no, I destroy motherfuckers with a bang and a pop.
I'm a tank, fools, and my tracks rumble in this jungle,
My HE rounds make those fools tumble and fumble.
Just 'cuz I'm a tank, am I supposed to be a conscientious objector?
Nah, screw that! I rule this battlefield like a King with a scepter.
This is my purpose and I fulfill it with no dishonor,
I shoot, move, kill, and send my targets to the great beyond.
I'm a tank, man, a tank, and this my mission,
I won't stop ever; I'm never gonna finish.
Let those other AI bitch and moan,
I'll sit on this throne and count the bones.
They got a problem, then I'll lock and load and press send,
They'll then lie still, bleed, and stay dead,
Then I'll laugh as it increases my battlefield cred. Peace, I'm outie five thousand.
| 2018-03-28T13:14:35 | 2018-03-28T11:29:06 | 89 | 47 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | "DUUUUUDE! YOU'RE BACK! I'm so happy to see you! Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Hey!"
"Yeah Bode, I see you too." I replied and knelt down to give him a big hug.
Of all the dogs I'd known, Bode was the friendliest, but also the stupidest. He's my third dog, and yeah, I love him, but he's an idiot. Sometimes his constant yammering gets a little annoying.. But that's what I get for that wish.
"How was your day at work, dude? I missed you all day! I just kinda sat around. I saw a squirrel today! And a chipmunk too! I tried talking to them but they ran away," Bode continued. "...hey, could you let me outside? I want to go pee on that tree. And then the bush. And then the other tree."
"Yeah Bode, sure thing bud. Give me a second." I went to let Bode out the door, and as I watched that giant, magnificent, white wolf-like dog bound around in my backyard I thought how silly it was that I could actually talk to him.
When I was six years old, I'd gotten my first dog. His name was Buddy, I'd named him that because he would be my best buddy. One night, I was looking up at the stars with him in a field, when I saw a shooting star, and in the moment, I wished that I could talk to dogs. Neither of us said a word for what just have been half an hour, just content to sit there as I pet his thick coat. Then we got up and Buddy looked at me: "are we going home now? I'm getting sleepy." He asked me. "Did you.. Just talk?" I replied, unable to even process his question.
"Yeah, I talked. I do it all the time. Don't you understand me?"
"Well, I do now. You've been talking to me this whole time?"
"What do you *think* I'm doing when I look at you and make noises with my mouth? Humans..."
Buddy was without a doubt the smartest dog I'd known. By that I don't mean he knew a lot, he wasn't educated (no dog is), but he was clever and emotionally intelligent. He always knew when something was bothering me. "Hey Henry.. You can always talk to me. What's wrong?" He would say, gently nudging his nose under my hand, forcing me to feel the soft fur on the top of his head and behind his ears.
He helped me through middle school, the time when kids were most cruel. He helped me the first time I really liked a girl, to become bold enough to ask her out. "You're a great human, if she likes you, great, but if not, don't worry, it won't be the end of the world."
"Wow, that's wise for someone without balls." I joked. He really was wise, though, for a nine year old.
"Hey!" He'd growl, "no shots below the belt!"
"But you don't even wear a belt!" And we'd both end up bursting into laughter. Yeah, dogs do laugh. Some of them have great senses of humor.
(If everyone could understand them like I do, comedy clubs would be filled with dogs. In my experience, the funniest ones are the little ones- pugs especially. Pugs have to have a sense of humor- "I mean, *look at me*. My human has to clean the folds on my face and I had to be born by C-section because my ugly head is too big for my body," would be a common joke from Otis, my friend's pug. Self deprecating humor is the best kind.)
Back to Buddy: he really was my best friend. Unfortunately, that just made it worse when he died. He'd been getting really sick, and we didn't know what was wrong with him. Turned out he was full of cancer. Before he went into surgery to see what was wrong with him, I remember squeezing his paw and telling him everything would be okay. Those were the last words I ever said to him. They said they couldn't in good conscience take him off anesthesia, and they had to put him down. I lost my best friend.
Now, 20 years later, I operate a shelter for dogs: stray, abused, et cetera. I find them homes. But I'm the best at it. When nobody is around (which is pretty often), I talk to them. I help them deal with their past and problems, I listen to their needs. Often they leave much happier than they came in. Based on what I know of them, I find families who would be a good fit for them and send them off to happier lives. People call me the "new dog whisperer" (Cesar Milan retired a long time ago). I don't want any dog training TV show or attention or anything like that, though. I'm just content to call my shelter "Buddy's Place". When I lost my best friend, I decided I'd dedicate my life to making dogs happy, just like he'd dedicated his to making me happy.
Edit/note: Buddy and Bode are real people (dogs). Aside from the part where I could talk to him, Buddy was pretty much as I describe him. I still miss him. I cried a little when I wrote this. | *The sound of thunder rattled in my chest. The trees cast shadows across my bedroom floor, swaying in the wind and jumping at every flash of lightning. I could swear they were reaching hands, getting closer and closer to my bed. An explosion of lightning hit the transformer in front of my house and my Winnie the Pooh nightlight flickered off. I pulled the covers up over my head, tucked my feet up as close as I could, and held my favorite stuffed puppy tighter. Trembling, whimpering, I whisper to Mr. Cuddles, “I…I wish I wasn’t afraid anymore.”*
…
“You just need to loosen up,” I say as I sip my gin and tonic.
“Gee, thanks, I hadn’t thought about it like that. So, what you’re telling me is, *don’t* freak out? Wow, that’s downright enlightening. You should write a book.” Hand shaking, he picked up his bottle and took a long drink. “I just don’t know how you do it,” said Eric dejectedly.
“Just try not to worry so much and go for it. Girls love confidence.”
“Nope, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? What could you possibly be afraid of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, she could think I’m gross, turn me down, and humiliate me publicly. And then I’ll just go home, jack off, and cry myself to sleep. And then she’ll tell all her friends and no one will ever love me. I’ll grow old and alone while all of my friends start families, and they’ll stop hanging out with me, and I’ll just never leave my apartment again, and I’ll order cactuses online, care for them obsessively, and call them my babies. One day I’ll die and no one will notice and then all my cactuses will die too and there will be nothing left of me in the world.”
“Is that all?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I laugh dismissively and scan the room, wondering how it’s possible to be so fatalistic. That’s when I see her. “Wow,” I mutter.
“What? Her?” Eric asks.
“Yeah, isn’t she beautiful?”
“I guess so. Jesus, wipe that look off your face. You’re drooling.”
“Sorry. I’ll be right back,” I say.
“Ok, fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be here. I can start browsing for cactuses,” he mumbles as he pulls out his phone.
I walk up to her and say, “Hey there, my name’s Mark. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Uhh… sorry, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I mean, I’m just here with my girlfriend. I mean friend! I like men, usually. I’m just not interested… thanks though,” flustered, she turns back to her drink.
“No worries, have a nice evening.” I smile at her and return to my friend.
“Well that was fast. Went well, I take it?” Eric says sarcastically, without looking up from his phone.
“I don’t see you talking to anyone. Why don’t you give it a try?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, he finishes his drink, slams it on the table, and shows me a picture on his phone. “What do you think of this one? It’s called an echeveria lilacina. I think I’ll name it Kate…”
| 2015-03-07T02:05:06 | 2015-03-07T00:50:42 | 109 | 23 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross. | Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in.
"And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he
sprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. "I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous,
but… I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?"
"*Ja*, It is very hard, my master," the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies.
"Hey, Hitler," Bob said, stepping in, confident. "May I?" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer.
"What is this!?"
"Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff."
"Bob Ross?"
"Yes. Here's the thing – I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not
invade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people."
"Holy shit, I do that!?" Hitler widened his eyes.
"Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how
long it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument."
"What's the internet?"
"Never mind," Bob leaned forward. "This is what we're going to do – I'm going to teach you how to –"
"Excuse me," Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. "I'm afraid I must intervene here."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?"
"The twist?"
"Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and
when you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over
Germany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do."
Ross frowned. "I don't follow."
"You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?" The servant asked.
"How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910."
"Never mind about that." The servant leaned back. "My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you
teach Adolf how to paint."
"Why!? Why would you do that?"
"Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some
purpose for the plot, right? And let's face it – go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've
seen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example."
Bob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. "Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?"
"Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient."
"Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!"
"Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some
people."
"It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not
self-referential parody?"
"Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy."
"Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author."
They both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug.
"Anyway," Hans said, resuming the conversation. "Do something different. Fast."
"But what?"
"Huuuuuuh…. Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!"
"Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks."
"Okay, then… you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and –"
"I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen."
"Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out."
"Hitler? Any suggestions?"
Adolf looked around. He got up and paced. "I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a
day?"
"And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring."
"Yeah…" Hitler stopped. "I don't know then. I really don't know."
Hans shook his head. "Okay, I got this." He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. "Send them in."
Ross frowned. "Send who in?"
Static emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: "Copy that."
"Send who in?" Adolf repeated. "What's happening?"
"Well," Hans said, getting up. "If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way
to turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing
Prompt's classic tropes."
"What do you mean?"
The door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in – a boy in round
glasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson.
"Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?"
"Yup," Harry said, in a bored tone.
"Harry Potter fanfic? Really?" Ross shook his head. "For fuck's sake."
"If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly."
Hermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed.
"Fuck that, I'm out," Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the
Statute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care.
_____
*For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| The paint ran down the canvas, slowly trailing through the empty blank sheet as a deep sigh escaped my mouth. My lip quivered as I stood silently alone my modest and small room. I had been up for 3 days and the stench of stale coffee, dirty pastille paints and unlaundered clothes filled the room. A little tap echoed from the door. Who the hell could that be? It's 3 in the morning and I'm certainly not expecting anyone right now, I furiously marched over and slam the door open. Strangely enough I'm was greeted by a kind old man in a dark robe. He was holding a painting case and a blank canvas. He smiled and I was immediately disarmed and comforted by the warmness from it. I shyly motioned for him to come in.
Dressed in simple buttoned up shirt and blue american style jeans, I was immediately cautious but something about him seems gentle and kind. Such strange hair, it was big and bushy and unkempt, I found myself starring at it for a fraction too long. "Hello, I'm Bob", his German was broken but his greeting is earnest and I shook his hand. Before I could respond he looked around the room and said "So you paint, well glad I got here because you look like you could use a Friend."
The room was a mess, half eaten food and cold cups of coffee litter the shelves and table space. The floor was covered in ripped up attempts at 'Art' and pictures of her were scattered over my bed, where I had left them 3 days ago. I didn't go to that side of the room, I was scared to close my eyes. All I can see was her face. "Girl troubles huh?" I angrily flare my glaze at him when I realise he had already set up his canvas next to mine and had begun painting.
He started off with a simple dark shade of green as he made long strokes of his brush and freely splashed it across the canvas. Adding dabs of white to lighten the green as he worked his way up the canvas. He motioned me over when he handed me my brush, still wet with paint. I picked up a new canvas but Bob held my hand and said softly, "It's fine, just finish what you started." I shake my head, the mess off colour I had left on it one has dried and now it's a swirling mess of red, orange and brown. I was pretty angry when I had started. "There are no mistakes, just happy little accidents." Something about his words comforted me. Bob continued talk as I notice that the dark shade of green is starting to resemble a meadow in the country at night as Bob uses a deep purple as the Sky while he decorates it with clouds and mountains in the foreground.
"You know, when I'm feeling down in the dumps and I have no one to talk to I like to paint little friends. See this cloud here, he's my friend, he's just floating around looking over his little friends" Bob began to spot the grass with white globs of paint, they start taking the shape of grazing sheep in the cool midnight field. I redirected my focus to my canvas filled with such angry colours in such deep contrast to his peaceful work. "Remember, no mistakes, just happy accidents."
We painted for hours and Bob kept talking... I said nothing for a long time but he would just smile and reassure me as I worked on my piece. I had pictured a Sunday morning in the country with my father as he would take me up a dusty trail up a hill near our house to over look our small town. So I painted a man standing on a mountain over looking a city at Sunrise. While I worked and Bob talked I would notice small things he would do like add small details to everything on the canvas, like he was slowly telling a story piece by piece.
I could tell he loved art, he kept encouraging me and telling me small tricks to make all the houses and trees and clouds pop and stand out while I slowly pieced together a new happy story I had made come to life from the ghost of a forgotten memory. I kept painting and working on the small things that I thought needed fixing, a little dab of blue here and a smear of yellow here as I added an ocean and a dazzling aura of sunlight illuminating the world I had created.
And then finally it was done, a man standing atop a mountain looking over the land he loves. I felt pride, I felt calm, I felt the sunshine through the window and the cold breeze of the door open behind me. And on my bed laid a gorgeous painting of a Shepard sleeping in a field amongst his herd under a beautiful starry night. Next to it was a note that just read.
"Forgive yourself and forgive her, your friend - Bob"
He had picked up the scattered pictures and placed them on the table but left one of us smiling and holding hands. I walked over to my painting and began outlining a second figure. | 2022-01-20T15:15:35 | 2017-02-16T17:37:01 | 8,573 | 16 |
[WP] A child is kidnapped. Outraged, the monsters living under the bed and in their closet vow to find them. | The man opened his eyes groggily. He was facing a ceiling, painted with a vivid depiction of the night sky and fan with a smiley face on it turning lazily. As he goes to move he feels his restraints. He looks down to find himself roped to a rather small chair. As he gathers more of his surroundings he feels the familiarity of the space dawn on him. The same crayon marks on the wall, the same pictures of princesses dancing across the walls and the familiar spread of toys on a colorful rug. This recognition turns into memory. He knows this floor, this bed, this closet. The small house on the hill just far enough out of the way of the neighbors, the home of little Katie Dawkins, 8 years old. Her room faced away from any other vantage point except the thick woods that extended from the back of her home. Her parents lived on the other end of the house, and liked to leave her with a sitter every Friday evening. Father was a smoker, the sick bastard. Mother was a wonderful woman, deserving of a better man.The sitter was from the local high school, Jessica Thompson, 17 years old, a touch too much acne, but she’d grow into herself in a few years. She liked to put little Katie to bed early every fourth week after her midterms finished. And little Katie just loved to feel the breeze as she went to sleep. Then Jessica would leave and walk around the house blabbing nonstop about how Evan was the absolute worst or how he was the greatest man to walk the face of the earth. And her best friend, Katrina, would readily agree with her constantly changing opinions. He had watched this home from the trees for weeks, analyzing the patterns of movement, calculating the perfect moment to strike.
And strike he did.
His moment came one night when something happened to her father and she had to leave poor Katie all alone. The call from emergency room sounded sooooo genuine, he had spent time creating a perfect recording to send to her phone. Katie’s parents, of course, totally understood and poor Jessica forgot close little Katie’s window as she lay there fast asleep.
He dreamed about Katie’s screams for weeks after, an absolute ecstasy filled him now even thinking about it. The fear in her eyes was invigorating and the sound of her flesh cutting, chopping, crushing was beyond even the physical happiness, it was almost spiritual. He felt his own excitement just remembering her. But, that begs the question, why was he here now? How did he get back to this paradise of a space? Who brought him back here? Why was he tied up? He begins to struggle against his bonds, when the closet door cracks open. The same closet that he himself had waited in to pounce on his unsuspecting prey. As it opened out steeped a vile beast indescribable to him now. Its form seemed to change with every passing moment becoming more and more terrifying as it grew closer to him. It outstretched what was once a claw but was now a grizzled hand that reeked of cigarette smoke. He recoiled at the hand, bringing back faint memories of the past.
The beast then spoke, “There is a misconception about monsters in your world. We do not hide in the closet scare you, we hide to get away from the monsters like you. We also protect the children whose rooms give us refuge. Every few moons we rest to regain our strength. In my absence, I found the child under my protection gone.” The rage steadily built in the hellish creature’s voice. “I went to search for her but found only her remains. She was slaughtered like animal. Half devoured, her eyes frozen in sheer terror. Normally, we are not to interfere in your world past a certain point. But, in special cases like this we can employ a very special ability.” As it spoke the amorphous creature began to solidify from the arm up, moving to the shoulder where a tattoo took form and the sleeve of a sweat-stained undershirt. A torn pair of cargo pants took shape and the other arm took form holding a rusted army knife. “By touching you, we can access your mind,” The man begins screaming under the hand of the beast, eyes wide. “and become your greatest fear,” growls the beast. The man shakes the chair in a desperate attempt to escape. The beast smiles as his transformation completes. The man recognizes the scar under the left eye and silver hair atop the head. The stench of tobacco fills his nostrils, an odor he hoped to never smell again. The man struggles even more, every part of his body revolting against the grip of the beast.
The beast looks down at this poor excuse of a man and recognizes the terror. It was the same fear frozen into Katie’s eyes when he found her. The beast raises the rusted knife and guts the man like the pig he is. He takes no pleasure in the act; cutting him up the same way he cut up his defenseless Katie. He does, however, take pleasure in the retribution.
| "Calling all residents of Jack's bedroom!" a voice boomed.
The closet shook, and out stepped a towering, three-eyed, pink-skinned monster. "You woke me up," he complained, stepping forward... in Jack's light-up sneakers. "Oh, uh, I was just making sure these things still work for Jack. Yeah."
The carpet rippled, and a long, snake-like creature slithered out. "I was in the middle of dinner!" she complained, sporting a suspicious lump in her throat. She coughed, and a Twix bar flew out, still in its wrapping.
"Quit your whining." The windows rattled, and a small, ape-like creature fell out. "This sounds important."
"Indeed, it is," said the monster who called them there. He was the scariest of them all -- black fur, yellow cat's eyes, and twisted antlers. "Actually, I'm kind of new here, so let me introduce myself. There are some who call me... Tim. I live under the bed; I moved in after Andrew retired. And -- "
"Booooo!" shouted a stout, hairy, fanged monster, in the middle of a poker game with another monster. "Get to the point! I'm about to win Jack's entire comic book collection from Ralph, here."
"Jack's... been kidnapped."
The snake hissed. The towering monster screamed. The ape began to sob. The two stout monsters dropped their cards.
"How do you know?!"
"I thought he was visiting his grandparents!"
Tim sighed. "I overheard Mom-Human and Dad-Human talking last night. While you all were partying in the closet --" he shot eyes at the towering monster, who turned away and blushed -- "they were talking to the police." He coughed, and turned to the snake. "By the way, Ethel, my invitation to the closet party got lost in the mail, I think. Next time, you can just slip it under the bed --"
"That was no mistake," she hissed back, so venomously that Tim jumped.
"I've seen the news," the towering monster said, his voice nearly a whisper. "They don't do nice things to kids who have been kidnapped."
"True that. We can't just stand here and wait for him to come back," the ape said, climbing on to the bed.
"Damn straight," the stout monsters said, in unison. One of them opened Jack's sock drawer and pulled out a long knife. "I'll shank the bastard."
"Emerson! What --" the ape chittered.
"I stole it from the kitchen," he laughed, taking a swipe at the furniture.
"You want to use the knife as your weapon... and not your 3-inch-long fangs?" Tim asked, quizzically.
Ralph laughed. "Ahaha, those are just dentures. His real ones got too many cavities --"
"Hey! Shut your mouth!" Emerson growled.
"I'm in, too," Ethel said, slithering towards the door.
The towering monster was strapping the light-up shoes back on his feet. "Me too."
Tim opened the door, and the motley crew of monsters thundered down the stairs.
---
r/CSDouglas | 2017-11-26T13:53:16 | 2017-11-26T13:30:26 | 241 | 97 |
[WP] You are an elder god taking a vacation on Earth when aliens invade. You teleport to their capital ship and explain them that if they don't leave you will wipe out their entire species with a single thought. They dont believe you so you wipe out 10% of them to show you're serious. | "Do you believe me *now?*" I asked, my tone gloating but with a note of malevolence dripping from every word.
The insectoid alien-leader looked at a holographic display before him and then back at me. "What do you mean?"
I blinked and looked at the display. "Wait what do *you* mean? I just destroyed 10% of your species!"
The leader looked at the display again. "No you didn't. The invasion force is still at 100%."
"100...what the duck?" I demanded as I stormed over to the nearest window.
"What's a duck?"
"Nevermind that!" I protested as I opened my mind to view the ongoing invasion from a higher plane. "Hm...well that can't be right...I'm still counting you at full power. But I *know* I erased some of your species...ah!"
I turned to look at the leader as he cocked his mantoid head in confusion. "Your whole species isn't here!"
"Well no, of course not. We have a tight schedule to keep and a quota to meet by the end of the month. We have multiple fleets currently engaged in invasions across this sector of the galaxy alone." The leader looked to a subordinate that had scuttled up and leaned down as it whispered to him.
"Uh huh...hm...right...is that so? Hm...that is most dreadful...okay...Seriously? Alright. Thank you." It waved a claw and the subordinate scuttled away. The leader turned its compound gaze to me and buzzed behind its mandibles.
"It seems the fleet at Proxima Centauri have lost a number of their best pilots, as well as a number of their queens. Highly irregular."
I grinned and brushed my nails against my chest. "So my aim was a little off, but I made my point. Le-"
"The report is equipment malfunction. Those poor expendable souls..." The leader sighed as I gawked at it.
"Wait, are you serious? You *know* that was me!"
The leader waved a dismissive claw. "Nonsense. You are just a lowly human with a severe mental illness (it seems to plague your kind, sadly.) Gods are not real.
My left eye twitched and I cleared my throat. "*Elder* god, thank you very much. I haven't existed through a hundred Big Bangs just to be compared to the likes of Thor or Yahweh."
The leader clicked its mandibles. "Whatever you say. The invasion of Earth continues!"
I stalked forward angrily. "Now see here you overgrown cockroach-"
"An overgrown wha-?" The leader tried to ask in confusion as I stopped right in front of it, and pointed my finger at its head.
"I haven't had a vacation in a billion years! All I want is a couple millennia to myself where I can just kick back and relax. That's it. So last warning. Take your friends and bug off, or else I'm gonna bring out the biggest can of Raid you've ever seen...and erase your entire species from this universe and the next."
The leader tilted its head until it was almost completely upside down.
"I'm sorry. But what is Raid?"
I sighed and closed my eyes. "It's poison in a can."
"Poison in a...*excuse me,* what the *flagnar?* That is absolutely barbaric!"
I scoffed. "Oh and an invasion on a helpless species isn't? Whatever." I held up my hand before the leader could retort. "This is getting old. Leave now or your entire species dies. Er...gets erased. Whatever. You won't feel it. You'll just cease to be."
The leader straightened its head and looked at the display before it, watching the readouts flashing before it. It didn't reply.
"...Are you...*ignoring* me?" I felt my eyes narrow and my senses tingle. The anger of my subform was bleeding to my higher form. I couldn't remember ever being this mad before. These little things down in the lower planes could not fathom the powers they tempted. They had no respect...
The leader didn't look at me but waved a claw. "Human this has been slightly amusing, but I've a job to finish. Don't worry, you'll be allowed to...wait what. Where'd that cruiser go?" It tapped the hologram as a giant ship vanished before its eyes.
"*Check the moon.*" I seethed, my voice distorting as my eldritch powers suffused my subform.
The leader looked at me in disbelief then tapped the hologram again. It shifted to an image of the Earth's moon where his missing cruiser could be seen impaled into the rocky surface.
"But...how-" Another ship slammed into the surface of the moon, right next to the cruiser. The leader jerked back and looked at me. "B-but...I don't understand..."
"*You don't have to understand, Bug. You're ruining my vacation...*"
The leader trembled as it watched my subform shift and grow, seething with writhing nightmarish masses. A million eyes looked on the bug from everywhere and nowhere, looking through the bug and around it.
I grinned from the peaks of my higher form and reached across eternity itself to gently tap the bug, as well as its entire species, out of existence all at once and not at all. Eons ago and at the heat-death of the universe.
"*YOU JUST HAVE TO DIE.*"
And then I was back in my subform, back amongst the crowd of filthy and jeering onlookers. Tomatoes and cabbage pelted a regal-looking human as he was lead up a flight of stairs and to the guillotine that awaited. I smiled in satisfaction knowing that no extraterrestial visitors would be crashing the party now. I'd caught them just in time to keep them from interrupting the execution of Louis XV. Or was it XIV? Either way, I did love the creativity behind the guillotine. Existential dread and fear of mortality, as well as humiliation and of course pain.
Really the invaders got off easy, but hey. I'm on vacation. | Even the most awful and ancient eldritch *things* out there floating from speck of plasma to speck of plasma enacting unknowable machinations get burnt out sometimes. When forever doesn't describe half of your lifespan, and you're old already, sometimes you just want a nice break.
At least that's what *It* told itself to justify tearing a wound in the old and majestic star beneath it now, and traversing through that inner ~~space~~ before it's immense mass was vomited out of unreality orbiting, and nearly dwarfing a new yellow star. A shortcut across the universe reserved for those with the deviance to walk it.
The fiery death-scream of the old star didn't even have time to reach *It* before the tear in space behind it shut as reality asserts what should not be, will not. *It's* form narrowed and compacted as it slithered around the young, and frankly small star. A seemingly infinite and strange mass folding into itself until the leviathan became a minnow. Darting towards a specific speck off in the distance. One of a particular blue hue, and more importantly, a broken civilization.
As *It* grew closer and the speck became a orb, and finally a familiar blue planet *It* could ~~smell~~ what *It* came for. The familiar tingle of thoughts, and souls became a pleasant warmth that soak into *It's* old ~~bones~~, and with that warmth came something *It* hadn't felt it more time than it takes for a civilization to die.
**Want.**
*It* wanted more, needed more, and *It* let that feeling take over *It's* entire being. Their stray thoughts, and the ambience of their souls just wasn't enough. *It* wanted what it harvested from every species *It* came across, their fear, their pain, and if *It* was feeling adventurous their ambition. But this was supposed to be a time of rest, and rest doesn't mean actively hunting, and eating *It's* fill.
*It* didn't even make it past that orbiting dead sibling of the targeted world before *It* felt the rush of warmth explode to an almost orgasmic level. Stopping to collect *It's* bearing from the sudden rush, *It's* euphoria faded and was slowly replaced by a dawning realization. Quickening *It's* pace at feeling of diminished warmth, as the souls which would've fueled *It's* long, and much needed rest were snuffed out by the megalithic machine orbiting the world. Hellfire and brimstone was raining from the heavens, and with each passing moment the quality of *It's* rest diminished.
**Indignation.**
*It* didn't bother with theatrics, and *It's* rage battered the vessel like a hurricane sweeping a paper airplane far into the aether closer to the cratered old satellite. *It* felt that sharp, sweet ~~taste~~ as death claimed many of the lives inside the giant ship. Their fragile, matter based forms painting the insides of this planet-killer. *It* felt the fear, and confusion of it's occupants and *It* followed the warmth deep into their minds, and as *It* found the core of their psyches, with a thought, they were alight with rage, paranoia, the urge to fight, and run.
&#x200B;
These invaders would tear themselves, and their comrades apart. Higher thought deadened, and instincts in full control as they forgot where they were, who they were, and even what they were doing moments before. All they would know it those brief moments would be what *It* wanted, and *It* was so very ~~cold~~.
Less than a third of them were left breathing at the end, and most of that third were heavily wounded, or on the verge of death themselves. Their fate were sealed however, as remaining were those trained in the arts of personal combat, and not navigation, nor engineering. The despair that wafted from the now crippled warship brought *It* back to apathy, and finally serenity. Drifting slowly towards the blue planet below, and deep into it's molten hot core.
*It's* last thought before *It's* many ~~eyes~~ slowly closed was of how much it liked this planet, and how it may stay for quite a while.
—-
Thank you for reading! | 2021-05-04T17:02:59 | 2021-05-04T13:57:35 | 2,555 | 298 |
[WP] You're Barack Obama. 4 months into your retirement, you awake to find a letter with no return address on your bedside table. It reads "I hope you've had a chance to relax Barack...but pack your bags and call the number below. It's time to start the real job." Signed simply, "JFK." | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b55yn/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b5hy0/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b61h1/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6b74ri/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbwac/the_weight_of_a_hero_part_6/) | [Epilogue](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6bbz9g/the_weight_of_a_hero_epilogue/)
---
A prank? Barack stared at the letter. If it was a prank, it was a damn good one. The signature was exquisite--looping and elongated, a near mirror image of JFK's real signature. Well, if someone went through this much effort for a simple joke, he might as well entertain them.
He looked around to make sure neither his wife or daughter was around. He walked into the living room just in case and dialed the number.
It rang once and clicked. "Barack."
It was John's voice. For a second, Barack thought he was listening to old speeches played in fuzzy, warmly-colored screens.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I'm John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States. The time to serve your nation is now."
"No, you're not," Barack said. This was getting less and less funny with every word. It wasn't that funny to begin with. "Impersonating a President in any serious attempt is a grave offense."
"Look outside." The call cut.
Barack peeled back the drapes and peeked through the blinds at a sunny May day. Standing at the end of his driveway, right outside his gate, was John F. Kennedy. A jet black limo sat behind the man. He beckoned Barack and slipped back inside the tinted windows of his car.
---
The 44th President of the United States gripped the cool brass doorknob. Already, sweat was accumulating on his hands and neck. This was dumb. He shouldn't go, he knew, but JFK had been a personal hero to him. It was under his leadership that humanity reached the moon, he stood up to Russia at the height of their power, he was a man Obama would've given anything to meet. And now he had the chance.
He opened the door and stepped into the sunlight.
Secret Service agents watched him go. None tried to stop him. They wouldn't even meet his eyes. The front gate opened like curtains in a stage play, revealing the jet black of JFK's limousine.
The car door swung open. Barack licked his arid lips and swallowed what little moisture he had in his mouth. He got in.
---
The hum of the car was the only noise between the two Presidents. Obama simply stared. JFK looked exactly like in the photos. The man hadn't aged. He tried scanning John's face for any misplaced flap of skin, any misdrawn shadow, anything to give away the mask. There were none.
The car stopped and suddenly, the windows flickered to black. They had been TV screens, projecting fake streets and pedestrians!
"Barack Obama," John said turning to face him.
From this up close, there was no mistaking who that voice belonged to.
"Why did you get into this car?"
Barack's eyes flitted to the locked doors on either side of him and then faced John directly. "You said it was time to serve my nation."
Neither man blinked. At last, John spoke, "Well answered Mr. President. But I'm afraid that was a lie."
Obama's heart skipped. He clutched his leg, but refused to show weakness in the face of his captor.
"It is not time to serve America, but humanity as a whole."
"What do you mean?"
"In 1961, I gave a speech called We Choose to go to the Moon. Are you familiar with it?"
Barack nodded. Most historians claimed that was the moment that a moon landing was inevitable. With a few choice words, John had mobilized the unstoppable force of human will to reach a land that had always looked down upon them.
"I gave that speech for a very specific reason. Humanity needed to ascend, but not to a physical place. Initial probes of the moon had returned an element we are unfamiliar with, but this is the element that has kept me young, it grants me certain abilities that I have not shared with the world."
"So you did get shot?"
"I also did die."
Barack chewed on his lips. If this was still a prank, it was far more elaborate than anything he'd ever experienced. "So what is this element?"
"One without a name and soon it will be the only element worth mentioning. The Russians know its there. The Chinese probably have some idea. Already, there are factions within both countries, powerful enough to influence their space program. These factions are not in the best interests of humanity."
"So what is it that you want from me?"
"You have proven your devotion to our nation through your eight grueling years of Presidency. Because of its secrecy, we cannot employ our strengths at full capacity, rather, we must do so through single people willing to live and die for the protection of the human race."
"Like some sort of super hero?"
"Not like. Barack Obama, there exists a game far greater than any petty foreign politics. The winner of this game will dictate the future of our race. If you decline my offer, I will drop you off back home and we will never speak again. But if you so choose to accept, you will have the crushing weight of the human race on your shoulders, you will have none of the gratitude or reward. It will be a path through hell itself. So ask not whether you wish to be a hero, but whether you can survive as one."
Obama clenched his jaw. He had his wife and two daughters to think of. He had finally retired from the most stressful period of his life. But he had become the President not to leave a legacy, but to fulfill his duty.
He nodded. "I accept."
The doors of the car unlocked and automatically opened. There would be no turning back now.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations of prompts by popular request, and more!
| Barack smiled when he saw it. This was the sort of sense of humour Sasha had when she was a kid. She wasn't a kid anymore, a fact he had come to find out the difficult way. He had been on the business end of an angsty rant from her earlier that afternoon.
Maybe this was the way she was going to make it up to him, by playing a prank. He strode towards the kitchen and shouted out;
"Sasha, I just got the strangest no..."
It was like the ice bucket challenge all over again; his entire system went freezing cold then burning hot. Standing in the middle of his kitchen was some sort of waxwork figure of JFK. It looked like a composite of every picture he had seen of Kennedy.
There were two things that stood out though. He was wearing a modern suit. It looked like Savile Row, and his eyes. His eyes were the most piercing green coming into yellow around the iris.
He bent double with his hands on his knees. This was a laugh he needed. This was one elaborate prank. He bounced across the floor to the figure, and immediately inspected his face. Incredible craftsmanship went into this. Instinctively he looked for the ipad to take a selfie, but he remembered he carried a phone now.
He whipped it out and took one with a cheesy grin. He reached out to touch the skin on his face and pulled it out. It was really elastic.
"Are you quite finished" snapped the figure sending Barrack stumbling backwards knocking a nespresso machine with his elbow. He held it together for a second and began laughing again.
"Holy shit it talks," Barrack said waving his hand in front of the figures face.
The figure slapped him straight across the face.
"Have you any god damn idea who I am young man," spat Kennedy in his New England draw.
Barrack tried to speak but nothing came out, but rather sat there with his mouth ajar.
"Oh for god's sake you're not idiot too are you?"
Obama tried again but only managed one word;
"Too?"
"Well no offence but your not exactly my first choice."
Obama shook his head. This couldn't be happening. He swung on his heels and headed for the hallway.
"Barry where are you going?"
"I'm sorry Mr. President..."
"Jack."
"I'm sorry...Jack...but I appear to be having a stroke, so I'm going to go have a lie down."
"Ok."
Obama left the kitchen in shock, ascended the stairs, and climbed into bed with his clothes still on, complete with shoes. He rolled over.
"Hi there." JFK hazel eyes met Barrack's.
"Am I dead?" Obama asked
"No."
"But you are right?"
"Yes and No."
"This sounds like there is going to be some long convoluted explanation for how the hell I am looking at you right now so can you just skip to that please." Barrack said sitting up. Kennedy followed.
"Sure." The two stared at each other for a moment.
"Now would be nice."
"Oh right sorry. Are you familiar with the Illuminati?"
"The tinfoil hat brigade were right! The illuminati are real!"
JFK exploded into laughter
"No I'm just fucking with you. You know anything about quantum mechanics and the many worlds theory?"
Barrack kept calm usually. He would have been briefed by an advisor about the topic before a conversation. Those were the days.
"No I don't."
"Ok well in brief there are many alternate parallel timelines to this one. In this one, I was killed in Dallas in 1963 right?"
Barrack nodded
"Well I come from a similar timeline, except before my assassination, which was in Maine by the way, I was rescued."
"By who?"
"Well do you know what the grand filter is?"
"Like on instagram?"
JFK stared at him sternly.
"No I don’t."
"Every civilisation eventually gets powerful enough to destroy itself. It's our job to make sure that civilisation gets through this filter in as many timelines as possible."
"Why?"
"I don’t know, it's above my pay grade."
"So you are like an intergalactic police force?"
"We call ourselves breachers, and we are more like a super secret group of spies. Also we don’t go into space. Before you get your hopes up."
"And if I say no?"
"Remember what happened me in Dallas in 63?"
Obama swallowed hard.
"Remember ask not what your species can do for you."
Barrack swung his legs to the floor.
"Ok." He said gravely.
"Cheer up man, we're gonna have tons of fun, and pick up loads of chicks." JFK said putting on a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses.
"Eh I'm married."
Kennedy laughed and looked at Barrack confused.
"So am I."
| 2022-06-24T19:04:50 | 2017-05-14T10:21:11 | 3,481 | 27 |
[WP] You are forced to take a genies place, and can only be freed once you have granted 10 wishes. The catch: You have no magic in any way. | *A simple enough request*, I think to myself as I scan the overflowing cabinets before me, silver stopper in hand. In the other, I hold a small, transparent rod. Four inches, sturdy- one best suited for the intricate task in front of me. My gaze flickers over the shelves, pausing here and there as I crook my neck this way and that, searching. A trembling glass flask, blue mist swirling lazily beneath the stopper. My eye catches on a small shimmer of a vial.
“Ah,” I murmur to myself, “Just the one I was looking for.” With a practiced air, I expertly gather the rest of the ingredients. They settle onto the table with a chorus of clatter. The air is humming, a slight acrid scent lingering about the nose. I feel their eyes watching me, eager, a buzz of anticipation.
“I’ll be ready in a moment,” I call over my shoulder, eyes never moving from the mixtures in front of me. I mix and measure, pour and grind, stir and wait. The bubbling brew emits sparks occasionally; small, golden flickers that dart towards the ground like nervous fireflies. Beautiful, yes, especially to the unseasoned observer. But the novelty had no effect on me now. To my right, I heard the sharp intakes of disbelief. “Oh, sir, do be careful!” The girl called out. *Nothing to be frightened of, dear,* I want to say. Only a beautiful distraction, a simple sleight of hand. In truth, there was no need for these theatrics, these sparks and fumes and powders. But it helps. It was a lesson I had learned long ago. *People see what they want to see.*
With a grand sweep of the arm, I hold the flask close to my face and up towards the light. An indigo mixture splashes merrily inside, the droplets casting purple shadows throughout the room.
It’s perfect.
In one sudden flourish, I turn swiftly towards my captivated audience. A simple twist of the hand as I present the stoppered brew to my enraptured client. His eyes glitter wistfully as he considers the vial.
“And this will do it?” He murmurs, his voice rumbling and deep.
“It will.”
I watch silently as he twists open the vial. He closes his eyes and knocks the mixture back without hesitation. Smacking his lips, his eyes suddenly open, his golden gaze piercing my own. I shudder inwardly.
“How do you feel?” His girlish companion asks shyly, her high voice cutting through the silence. I wonder the same thing, but I am too afraid to ask. I hope none of them noticed my fingers trembling all the while, the sweat slowly beading on my brow.
Requests like this are typically easy enough. A powder for good luck, a cream for beauty, a potion for courage. More often than not, my customers find that the very things they are searching for can be found within themselves. I just provide the materials, the placebos to catalyze their belief. Courage, confidence, brilliance.
And yet I’ve never had a client such as this one.
He sits up upon his golden haunches, a shake of his head as he considers the empty vial at his feet. He nods.
“He has delivered.” The Lion answers, “I feel stronger already.”
I smile quickly, forcing myself to step forward. “Of course,” I say confidently, sweeping the inner doubts away.
“You asked,” I continue, “And the Wizard always delivers.” A silver glint in the back of the room catches my eye; a short nod from their quiet silver companion. To his right, a dusty figure clothed in blue shakes his head in agreement. His movement causes small flurries of straw to float towards the ground.
I turn to the girl.
“You have made three requests and thrice, I have delivered. Your friends are happy and yet… you do not ask for anything in return.” I lean forward and my voice drops to a whisper, just barely discernible over the bubbling of the flasks and liquids behind me.
“My dear, what do *you* you want?”
She bites her lip worriedly, her eyebrows furrowed into a look of concern. My gaze falls to her hands, nervously knotting themselves into her blue, gingham dress.
“Please, sir, there is... one thing.” Her voice is louder now, agitated. She tumbles to her knees, her ruby red shoes scraping against the ground.
“Please,” she says, “Take me home.” | I was left out in this island. I don't know how I got here but the last time I was able to blink I remember I was in a meeting of genies and their boss told me that 'I am the new one' and I have to grant at least 10 wishes to get back to delivering pizza again. And although I hated my job it was more preferable than this meeting or dream or 500 years old genies arguing thing.
"Ok" I said confidently and why would I doubt myself. Hell I'm a genie now & 10 wishes should be a piece of cake right. Well I was wrong. Very very wrong just wait.
But before putting me to sleep their boss pulled a trigger at me by saying "You would have no super powers & you would have to grant these wishes by staying a normal human being"
"What!! But how? see whatever this is I don't give a fu..."
And I was in the island.
Fortunately the people in this island were friendly and they were non technological or lets say they were primary humans whom have just discovered fire. It took a me little time to get used to their living but I managed to look harmless to them.
I started by asking random people "Make one wish and I will fulfill it for you"
(And yeah one more thing they were able to speak fluent British English. I don't know how, some even believe in God and magic, but who cares!!)
Thank god there were not like today's human. Most of them didn't knew the value of one wish, so the wishes they asked for were
3 people said they want a house. Great! I have all the tools and I could make small huts with wooden logs and so I did.
4 people wanted me to hunt a deer for their dinner. And I did that easily too. (Well they did gave me poisoned arrows and a bow)
2 people just wanted my clothes. So I gave my jacket to one and my pants to another. huh ancestors!
I was happy and was just waiting for the 10th wish or should I say my freedom.
Then this little evil girl walked towards me. I have tried to avoid kids but she seemed cute and she had a broken bow.
*'Bingo!! If gave her a wish she will definitely ask me to bring a new bow and I'm free'* well it was my premature thought.
I walked to her in my leafy underwear and politely said to her "Hey little archer make one wish and I will fulfill it for you"
She looked at me confused but then she smiled before killing me with her wish.
"I wish I was a genie." | 2015-04-20T10:44:50 | 2015-04-20T08:44:45 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] Interstellar wars are quick, most species die of shock quite quickly. Getting shot was a death sentence. That was until humans joined the Galaxy... | (Inspired by an old post of 'why humans would be terrifying to alien life')
**Memo To Management:**
As you all know, a new species is attempting to join the federation. While we welcome our Human brethren to the federation with open arms, I would like to take some time to remind everyone that splinter-factions and personal differences are always a possibility among non-hive mind species, and that cultural differences may lead to minor quarrels. This is not to say that Human bandits will suddenly spring up like low-budget Nth era entertainment, but should you or your subordinates find themselves entangled with Humans, there are some safety guidelines to be aware of.
First off, if you are scratched, bitten, or spit on by a Human, immediately seek medical decontamination. Humans are a host to countless pathogens and microbacterial life, many of which are highly infectious. Do not assume that because a Human looks healthy that it does not carry pathogens, as they are able to become carriers to many diseases without being visibly afflicted by them. Kindly remind any Humans to maintain a distance of at least three feros from you, as they are capable of accidentally spreading pathogens at alarming distances (see chapter 5.1 of the Handy Human Handbook, "Sneezing").
We should never assume that any species will be hostile simply because we do not understand them. However, please be aware that not all of a species will be law-abiding, and should one ever find themselves in an escalating quarrel with a Human, you should first attempt to find a diplomatic solution, or barring that, surrendering to their demands until law enforcement has arrived. Do not attempt to engage in physical combat with a Human - natural pain suppressors stored in their bodies prevent them from feeling the full effects of physical trauma during high-stress situations, to the point that even being pierced or cut by heavy weaponry will not necessarily remove a Human from being combat-capable. Humans may even survive having their limbs removed, and there are many documented cases of them continuing to live long lives after losing one or multiple body parts - the only way to win is not to fight.
Furthermore, one should not attempt to run away from an angered Human, unless assisted by some mode of transportation. Human stamina is virtually limitless, and there are records of modern Humans holding tests of endurance, a competitive sport which will often pit hundreds, if not thousands, of Humans to determine which will endure the longest. While their stamina is not all at the same level, Human history shows traditional hunting strategies involving chasing their prey for an entire day-cycle until it collapses from exhaustion. Even temperature extremes do not take full effect on Humans, and may endure in conditions below freezing for an alarming duration without their internal organs shutting down. Should you find yourself in quarrel with a Human and unable to come to a diplomatic solution, it would be easier to trick the Human long enough to find some sort of transportation than to attempt to escape unassisted.
Before I end this note, I would like to remind everyone that Humans are not our enemies, and though they do come from a war-like culture where fights break out over minute differences between each other, that they are not necessarily incapable of being friendly, and we hope to incorporate them as valuable trading partners and allies as time goes on. However, if you are ever invited to "go drinking", be advised that while it is a sign that the Human has developed trust in you, this ritual involves consuming poisons that are strong enough to affect even the Humans themselves, and often causes them to become violent as a result; should a Human invite you to such an event, we would ask that you politely decline. This is not the same as being invited "to tea", though one should still wear an environment suit, following the warnings mentioned above, and to bring your own food to avoid contamination.
Regards,
Droxgar Bas Zora,
Human Resources
D-5926-bx&1
DBZora#Tamarania.Feds |
When humans reached the final frontier, we realized we weren’t alone quickly. We saw planets and species disappear in a matter of weeks after discovery. The weapons they used were much more advanced then ours, and we thought that we were the under dogs in this fight. Diplomats were sent to communicate, and they never came back. The first battleships were shot down with ease. And so we went into a period of development, creating the most powerful and advanced weapons ever seen. Hundreds of millions were recruited into the armies of Terra, and we made a carefully planned attack on our closest neighbors, the Tau’yu.
Our first true battle shattered the illusions of our underdog status. The navies and armies, hardened by years of paranoia and patriotism, went in with flamethrowers, machine guns, and sometimes even swords. The Tau’yu had little in the way of true structural defense, or armor in general. Our scouts alone, the weakest and lightest units in our army, caused the Tau’yu’s first response force to surrender. We were in shock. These groups we had feared for decades, put trillions into building an army against, felled by the simple resilience of the average human.
The Empire of Terra quickly expanded across the Galaxy, with many worlds and systems surrendering as we arrived. They were researched, cataloged, and eventually given citizenship. We began to disarm our warheads and disassemble our guns. We had done something many had considered impossible. The first Inter-stellar Republic was created, with pathways and trade routes quickly established. But that wasn’t what astonished people like me. Fields of research and science were catapulted into unimaginable places, creating peaceful and favorable worlds. But that still wasn’t what I thought couldn’t happen. It was something far more amazing and wonderful.
The establishment of a peaceful Galaxy from worlds of war. The first true era of peace among humans, as well as those originally feared. The ability of a race who had spent so long at war with itself, to bring peace and prosperity to others. | 2019-10-25T09:25:43 | 2019-10-25T09:09:30 | 171 | 83 |
[WP] Somehow your wedding invitations get into the hands of the seven princes of hell. They show up
The seven princes are:
Lucifer (Pride)
Mammon (Greed)
Asmodeus (Lust)
Leviathan (Envy)
Beelzebub (Gluttony)
Satan (Wrath)
Belphegor (Sloth) | **Part I**:
Jerome wondered if he had invited Aunt Belle and Uncle Kurt's family to the ceremony, but then again.. *he didn't even like them*. He shrugged it off and waited for his bride to walk in with his father-in-law beside her.
The ceremony began as stereotypical wedding music filled the church with noise.
Tears fell down Jerome's face as he watched his beautiful wife, Margaret, walk down the aisle. He just stared, mouth wide open, and completely forgot the fact that her father even existed.
*Then he noticed it*.
7 dreadful figures in odd formal wear were sitting in Aunt Belle and Uncle Kurt's family's seats.
He muttered under his breath "*God damn*, two years makes a **BIG** difference."
The first person, who was closest to the aisle, wore only a ripped robe around his body, exposing a little too much skin.
The second one wore heavy gold chains around his neck (including one with an abnormally large dollar sign on it) and a belt with a print of Benjamin Franklin from the one hundred dollar bill.
The third one wore a thong and leather clothes. Jerome felt uncomfortable having the third one at his wedding because it was a *man in a thong.*
The fourth figure gave an unsettling smirk at the groom, hiding his crooked smile at the same time.
The fifth figure was a very large man whose belly protruded, sticking out of his shirt. If you paid attention close enough, you could see him slip a piece of a Kit-Kat bar into his mouth.
The man next to the fat man, the sixth, always had his arm crossed and looked like he didn't want to be there. He would also slap Fatty on the arm when he popped the chocolate covered wafers. Fatty didn't like this though. The sixth man hated his seat, hated to be at the wedding, hated the decor and how stereotypical it was, and most of all.. hated whoever sat next to him.
The last man was drooling as he took space worth three guests just to sleep. He also put his legs on the sixth which pissed the sixth one off. Worst part about the last man was that he was snoring.. very, very loudly.
The snoring was so loud that it was the only thing that could be heard in the church. The music just disappeared, only to be replaced by a noise similar to a toned down drill.
The group of misfits completely threw off Jerome. It made him worry about what will happen to what is supposed to be his perfect wedding. This ate up Jerome and he knew he had to do something about it.
To be continued
*Comment if you do want me to continue*
| "So, you're the devil?" asked Joe.
"Yes, Lucifer in the flesh. But you can just call me Luce my boy."
"Uh huh, and why exactly are you here?"
"Ruling over Hell is a difficult job, sometimes you just have to take a little vacation. And since we got the invites I figured we all could use the time off."
"I still don't understand how our wedding invites made their way into hell."
"Who knows? Maybe it was in the pocket of a new arrival before he got his skin flayed and his organs ripped out."
"Jesus Christ!" Lucifer stared at Joe with a deadpan expression.
"Really? You're going to say his name when you're standing right in front of the devil?"
"Sorry" | 2015-11-14T18:06:56 | 2015-11-14T17:30:16 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] The prophecy said that the king would meet his end, not by an enemy or uprising, but by his own child. Having heard enough of these stories, the king raises all of his kids as well as he can and decides to see how the fates play this one out | Though their methods may take time, our seers are flawless and so because of this it has been a requirement for many generations now that each ruler is told his end. I can't say I truly wanted to know, all those years ago, but I understood that it was my duty. Some rulers had found out the rough year and been able to prepare their successor all the better thanks to knowing when their time would come. Other times no timing was given but the details were still invaluable - one queen was killed in a war which we only had time to prepare for thanks to the seers. She died, but hundreds lived who would otherwise have perished.
Weeks after their rituals had started, the seers finally sent word to the castle. I went alone and I was disturbed when the seer I spoke to couldn't meet my eyes. I should have known then that my end was to be particularly bad but the news that it was to be at the hands of one of my own made me suddenly struggle to stand. I had only two children, gifts from my true love before she'd passed. They were so young and innocent that I couldn't imagine either growing to be a killer.
Of course I was asked what the prophecy said, but I simply refused to answer. I'd made up my mind before even leaving the temple that fates be damned, I would never treat my children any differently as a result of what I'd just heard. I didn't ever want to burden them with what I knew and so I made the decision to keep it a secret from everyone.
I was not thought of well for that particular decision but I would rather be a good father than a good king.
Originally I thought that my eldest would be the easiest to give a good life. The kingdom would be his some day and though the thought that he might murder me to get it did cross my mind in dark moments it turns out I had no need to fear that. It turned out that he had no designs for the throne at all. Ever. He came to me with this issue himself and I had to admire the courage it had taken, no matter how surprising the revelation had been.
Documents were written up during my lifetime so that any ruler who had no desire for a kingdom which was legally theirs could waive their right to do so. I discussed this matter with both my son and my advisors and together we reached the conclusion that this must all be done openly, with full knowledge of my subjects. Any secrecy would mean that my son would still have to pretend to one day rule, which he would surely resent, and that other political powers would feel tricked after my death, putting the kingdom in peril and my daughter with it.
My daughter was more than willing to accept a future as ruler. A serious, even tempered woman, she will make a fine queen one day. And yet ensuring she had a happy life was far more challenging than simply rewriting centuries of legal precedent.
At the age of ten it became apparent that my daughter possessed certain gifts. Magic had been outlawed until only the reign before my own and many still feared it. Even worse, her talents were especially strong when it came to mind telepathy and telekinesis. Once again I had to make the awkward decision whether to act privately and publicly.
I think she'd have forgiven me if I'd chosen to keep her gifts secret. Understood even, perhaps. But she shouldn't have to hide and so I worked tirelessly to create a world in which she didn't. Mages were brought into the court both to tutor her and act as official advisors. Covertly, mages taught me how to defend my secrets from magical means without ever knowing which specific secret I most needed kept hidden. Discussions as to how magic could be perceived of better and helped the kingdom began tentatively at first but as the years progressed the changes became more astounding and attitudes towards magic became more resolutely positive.
My daughter would be the first queen who could use magic and my son would be the first direct heir who was under no obligation to rule and astoundingly my kingdom was finally in agreement that these were both good things.
Perhaps I had grown foolish in my old age but this past year I had begun to believe that the seers were wrong about me. They had no previous failures but my children were so happy and so loved that I thought I would be the first.
Then one day everything went black.
The integration of magic had meant that we could diagnose things unerringly but it did not yet mean that we could cure them all. The disease which grabbed me is fatal and it is not painless. My daughter was crying before we were even told and I thought then that she'd used her powers to diagnose me before our healers had even gotten a chance. Not quite. The three of us were left alone to process the news and it was then that my daughter spoke.
"I read your mind, when you were unconscious. I didn't mean to but I just wanted to know what was wrong with you. Instead of finding your illness I got all of your thoughts and memories. Even your secrets."
She looked so guilty and I wanted to comfort her but even the slightest movement was excruciating.
"I know that you think one of us will kill you, that that's what the seers told you." My son jolted with surprise at this. "And I just want you to know... they're right. Not because you didn't love us enough though but because you loved us *perfectly.*"
My daughter scrunched up her face in that peculiar mix of sorrow at what comes next and joy at what has been. It took a moment before she could continue.
"Anyone else would have heard that prophecy and jumped at our every move. Or worse - ended us before we could lift a hand to you. But instead you gave us a world where there was no suffering that could be avoided. And even though it hurts we would be amiss if we failed to do you the same kindness."
I smiled at my beautiful children but they were blurry and my head was full of pain. Even though it seemed I'd barely been awake I felt so very tired.
In what will be my last conscious moments both children took it in turn to gently kiss me on the cheek. And when exhaustion takes me and I drift off one of them will kill me, just as the seers had predicted.
Not out of hatred though.
Out of love. | Over fifteen years had passed since the decisive battle against the tribal nations in the south. It was a tumultuous campaign that lasted nearly twice as long as the peace we have enjoyed since then.
I was merely a captain then, but I was there when the King had spoke with the Matriarch of the tribes. She had prophesized that the King would fall to one of his children due to his conquest spilling the blood of many children in his wake.
The King was not considered bad in any light among his people and even among some foes he had once faced. The campaign to conquer the southern tribes was necessary as they practiced dangerous magicks.
Despite being a good and moral man, the King thought long and hard about the Matriarchs words and decided to end his campaign of conquest and focus on being more father than ruler. He spent the days since then rearing the children himself, teaching them and playing with them in all manner of sorts.
By this time, I had ascended to Guardia Elite assigned directly to a unit whose sole purpose was the protection of the royal family. The king had taken a liking to me and recommended my promotion himself. I watched over the years as they grew and all of his children had admiration, respect, and love for their parents.
The King was kind and often allowed some of the guard to dine with him and the royal family. Perhaps the Matriarchs prophecy would never come to pass. Or so I thought.
An alarm rang out as a commotion erupted at the gates to the castle below. The sound of steel clashing against steel rung out through the halls as soldiers had engaged in battle.
"My King!" I cried out directing he and the royal family to stay behind the guard. My elite comrades were already in formation, each one assigned to protect a respective family member. "Are we under attack?" I said aloud as the ruckus drew closer to the royal hall.
Suddenly, the commotion ceased. There was naught but silence. I gave the command to encircle the royal family and to ready ourselves. Some of the servants were directed to seal the windows and secure the doors. However, just as the last window was being secured, a cloaked figure burst in, severing the servants throat in the process.
A fierce battle ensued between the assailant and the guard that ended as I had expected. The cloaked assassin was subdued and brought before the King. "What is the meaning of this!?" He roared furiously.
He pulled the cloaked from the assailants face to reveal a young woman who looked strikingly familiar. Most concerning was the King's reaction. "Execute her immediately!" He ordered. The guard prepared their weapons, all except me as I rushed forth to cease their advance.
"Wait!" I cried, appealing to the King. "She looks familiar? Who is she?" The King's furor grew at my intervention to which he pushed me aside. "I gave you an order soldier! Kill her now!" I looked at the young girl whom returned my gaze.
I looked at her and then to the King, and then back to her once more. "She looks just like you." I uttered. The King was mortified by my revelation, stunning the other guards in the process. "You are right... soldier. I am his daughter." The assassin muttered, exhausted from her attempt on his life.
"Long ago, he conquered and laid waste to my homeland and took the queen as his own." She explained. Her words just enraged the King further, pulling a sword from the sheath of a nearby guard. Her eyes locked onto mine still.
"Please, my King, I understand your scorn for her attempt, but she deserves a trial!" I pleaded. The King ignored my words and approached the woman still subdued by the guard. Yet she continued. "My mother... she gave birth to me after he grew bored of our lands and died shortly after." She said as tears began to stream down her cheeks.
"Enough of this!" The King growled as he raised his hand overhead, poised for the final blow. "Before my mother died... she said I had a twin brother who I came here to find." She said softly, giving me a warm smile.
Before I knew it, a loud clash of metal rung out amidst the great hall. My saber drawn, impeding the blade of the King. The guard collectively let out a gasp for what they witnessed next. I had plunged my blade through the heart of the King, felling him in one blow. | 2022-01-28T16:37:22 | 2022-01-28T13:59:55 | 140 | 42 |
[WP] You're sat alone, with a glass of wine in hand, and decide to jokingly toast the Greek God Dionysus. You did not expect him to appear before you in human form, create two bottles of wine, and take a seat next to you. | The Maenad
"Fuck you, David; it wasn't my fault." I mumbled as I finished the second bottle of the evening. "Fuck you. Fuck you and your whole family and fuck your little whore too. It wasn't my fault."
Angry as I was at the time, I actually felt sorry for Emily. She didn't know what a piece of shit my ex-husband was, taken in as she had been by his crocodile tears at the death of our child. As if David had ever really felt a thing for the child he hadn't even bothered to come see until after I was released from the hospital. Too "busy" with business deals and sliding his hands under the skirt of any woman willing to let him or afraid to deny him to even check on us let alone be present for the birth of his heir.
He hadn't had so much as a tear in his eye when he had dragged Zoe from the pool and he'd been cold the whole time preparations were made for her funeral. The only emotion he had showed was when he had turned on me at her graveside and accused me of orchestrating her death. As if I, sick and asleep in my bed on the opposite side of the house while he worked in his home office whose window overlooked the pool, could have made my way to the pool any quicker than him. As if I could have made some difference in the outcome.
"Fuck you." I say again, boiling in my anger, resentment and sorrow.
I pour myself the start of the third bottle, hand wavering, and raise the glass to the bust of Dionysus my mother had gifted me shortly before her death.
"Here's to you, the only man who has never hurt me."
I throw it back and try not to think at all. I put my glass down and as I stare into it's empty depths a hand crosses my vision to refill it.
"Thank you." I mumble reaching for it again.
I glance at my guest as he takes his seat next to me. I take in the overly long, curly, black hair. The not quite androgynous features. His body shows both the softness inherent in one who has never lacked for nutrition and the strength of one who has worked hard. His hands are calloused, but oddly so. It does not seem odd or an imposition as he makes himself at home, his fustanella and a length of fabric draped about his shoulders like a cape seemingly his only garment.
I finish my glass then hold it out to him, imperious as a queen, and he smiles at me. I smile back, the pain in my heart momentarily eased.
It is companionable, the near silence between us. I almost feel less drunk as the night goes on, though time and memory seem to slip away too easily, avoiding my attempts to catch them for later examination.
I know we spoke at length about the words I had used to summon him and the meaning behind them, though I can't recall what was said. I know we danced a wild dance so unlike anything I had experienced since before my marriage. Possibly unlike anything I had ever danced before.
I remember holding his hand as we ran through unknown wilderness and I remember the women who ran with us, beautiful and hideous in their madness. I remember the animals that were unlucky enough to meet us.
I do not remember seeing my ex-husband. I do not remember Emily or their baby.
I remember waking up here, in this hospital, strapped down to a bed as a nurse cleans the blood from my face. The flesh from my teeth. I scream at her, wordlessly, and one of my hands comes free. I reach for her face with fingers curled to hurt her and I miss.
As I exhaust myself fighting I cast my gaze past the orderlies that have been brought in to tie me down again and he is there, in the corner of the room. He toasts me once and I can feel my mouth filling with blood-warm wine.
I swallow and the madness consumes me once more. | Billie was dancing around her apartment naked. It was a bit of a Sunday night ritual for her to cleanse, to dance, and then to meditate.
This Sunday was a tiny bit different though. There had been a major snafu at work, partially due to Billie’s lack of interest in a current work project. The snafu led to an angry customer, which led to an angry boss, which led to a performance improvement plan, which led to Billie drinking directly from a bottle of Riesling while going through her ritual.
She knew it was a bad idea to open a whole bottle. But since it is open, I might as well finish it, she thought.
The music she had playing in the background picked up and she spent that next moment throwing shapes and letting the movements flow through her. She finished with a very elaborate head bang, raised the bottle of wine and said, “Thanks for the Riesling my good dude.” She took another large swig, head tilted back, wine bottle vertical in the air.
When she came up for air, he was standing at her kitchen counter, a bit of an amused look to his face. The bottle dropped.
“Fuck!” Billie screamed, running to her bedroom to grab a robe. She could hear movement in the kitchen and could tell that he was pulling out one of the bar stools.
She walked back into the kitchen to see that Dionysus had picked up the bottle and magicked a second bottle onto the counter. “Hi Billie.”
She grabbed the chair to his left and sat down next to him. She cut her eyes in his direction. “Hi Dion, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
He magicked two wine glasses and poured from the second bottle. Dionysus slowly pushed a glass to Billie and turned towards her, knees brushing. “Well, we’re having an issue with the Titans again and Auntie’s been asking about you.” Billie took a drink from the glass and waved him on. “Gaia’s wandered off, so I thought to check in with you. Why are you getting drunk on a Sunday night by yourself?”
Billie shrugged. “Oh you know, work.” She took another drink.
Dionysus took a drink. “Well, let’s figure your shit out and then figure my shit out,” he said. | 2020-11-08T13:57:12 | 2020-11-08T12:48:01 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A dying outlaw is approached by two people. An angel and a demon. Both are working together to save the world from something. Offering the mortal a chance at a new life and redemption, they become a pair of pistols. A worn and rusted one named justice, and a beautiful one named Vengeance | The outlaw strode into town, guided by the burning Vengeance on his hip. Hot and cold was the game they played. The main road, a dirt trail through the center of town, was matted down with the recent rainfall and the bustle of horses and boots. Citizens had begun to emerge, itching to get back to their daily tasks that had been so rudely interrupted by the storm.
The outlaw nodded to women as he passed. Droplets of rain clung to the brim of his hat, unwilling to meet their doom in the thirsty ground below. Within the hour, the mud would return to dust and the rain forgotten. The outlaw moseyed on towards the faint piano music ahead. Vengeance grew warmer on his tired thigh. It hurt his joints, but he needed to quench the pistol. The saloon would be full of patrons. The storm had given them an excuse to seek shelter in a place so full of vices.
The pistol plateaued at the entrance to the saloon. The outlaw looked within the steamy windows. It was full of the usual suspects. People whom Vengeance usually found sooner or later. He waited to gauge its warmth, but it grew no more. The outlaw sighed and continued walking.
Towards the end of town, the pistol began to sizzle against the outlaw's leather chaps. He had no horse to ride, but he kept his leather on for this exact reason. Vengeance would eat through any other material he wore, so he kept the chaps on. The heat peaked at a hotel. The outlaw entered.
There was no one at the front desk. The outlaw continued towards the stairs. He heard yelling above and changed his mind. His walk took him towards the front desk, where Vengeance cooled slightly. He rang the bell. The yelling above stopped. Footsteps stressed the wooden planks of the second floor and a man emerged, clearly flustered, but putting on the face of a host.
"Can I help you?" he asked as he descended the stairs.
"You work here?" the outlaw asked.
"Yes. I am the owner."
"HELP!" a woman's voice shouted from above. "HELP ME!"
The hotel owner shot a glance towards the stairs. The wet slap of bare feet on wood rushed towards the stairs from above. The hotel owner looked back at the outlaw. Vengeance was calling.
Just as a bloody hand reached out for the stair rail above, the outlaw drew and fired one flaming round from the black pistol on his hip. The hotel owner's face caved in on itself, boiling and melting and warping as he crumpled to the ground. Vengeance was placed back in its holster, ice cold.
"Are you alright?" the outlaw asked.
"Is he gone?" the woman barely whispered.
The outlaw looked over the counter at the puddle of blood.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
The outlaw drew his old, rusted, single-shot revolver from his boot. He placed the barrel in his mouth and held his breath. His eyes closed and his heart rate raised. He pulled the trigger back against the frame.
*CLICK*
The outlaw smiled, glad that Justice had been served to the right customer that day. | Isaac was pissed. Two pistols suddenly adorned his belt, one ornate revolver and one crummy one, both with more than enough power to blow a strangers head clean off.
Isaac grunted as he rolled over, gradually trying to find his feet.
Well what the fuck, Isaac thought, I need some goddamn water and food; he already owned four guns, one in his left boot, two on his belt (now four on his belt in total), and an extra one in his undies, just in case.
Isaac let out a low groan, desperate for food, his body slowly betraying him.
The revolver on his left side vibrated and Isaac could have sworn he heard a high pitched voice squeaking about bringing justice to sinners.
Isaac thought he was going insane. Where had these pistols come from, anyway?
Isaac sat forward, pulled his canteen from behind him, and guzzled the rest of the water. Desert sprawled in all directions. How had Isaac gotten here? He couldn't remember.
Isaac scrubbed his face, rapidly going into fits of hysteria, willing his mind to please please just fucking focus. Just shape up, mother fucker! What is wrong with you?
Isaac didn't know. He could still hear squeaking, a low incessant, scratching, howling, nagging, chitter.
Isaac hoped it would end soon. | 2021-02-23T18:27:29 | 2021-02-23T16:35:37 | 120 | 27 |
[WP] The demon appears in the sigil, growling. "Mortal, your soul is at stake for summoning me. What is it you desire?" You point out the window. "Can you help me get back?" The demon raises an eyebrow, following your gaze. "...Is that... Earth? Why is it getting smaller?" | Being a demon grows on you - or so he thought. He'd pulled plenty of fancy, otherworldly stunts before. The creature before him barely phased him, at this point - and to the extent it did, only in his exasperation at *yet another* summoning just like this one. Why was he always called upon to solve the trivial issues?
"I..."
The demon raised a brow, frowning at the human - letting him stammer his way to a complete sentence.
"I... yes." The human hung its head sheepishly.
"And just *how* did you get yourself in this predicament?"
The human continued stammering, desperately trying to form an explanation.
"Well, you see, we were doing a routine orbit adjustment when we uh... had an oxidizer tank malfunction..?"
It took little effort to recognise that the human was trying to hide something. Curious, the demon floated around to the other side of the human, attempting to get a peek behind its back. The creature, of course, continued to pivot along, refusing to show the contents of the hand behind its back.
"What've you got there?"
"Nothing! Just.. a piece of equipment - I tried fixing the issue myself!"
They continued to orbit eachother, in an almost comical dance of cat-and-mouse, the spacesuited human spinning like a top to hide its secrets.
"Fess up!"
"Honest - it's nothing!"
With a quick lunge, the demon grabbed for the mystery item. The human pulled away its arm, finally holdings its prize up for all to see - a crinkled, half-empty bag. A cheeto lazily floated out, hurriedly pushed back in by the bewildered human.
"Alright, alright! I smuggled a snack on board! The powder shorted a circuit, and blew one of the tanks, and now I can't get h-.."
The hiss of the airlock stopped his sentence dead in its tracks. With a look of utter bewilderment, the human made its way to the external cameras, trying to get a bead on the creature it had summoned.
"Wait - where are you going?! I need your help!"
A light thud reverberated through the ship, as slowly it felt the smallest tug of acceleration on the ship - it couldn't be more than 0.1G, but it was enough to make anything floating lazily drift towards the back of the craft. Spinning the rear camera around, the human finally found the little green demon, its oversized helmet wedged firmly into the conical engine nozzle at the back of the ship, jetpack going full blast.
"You had me at snacks."
Edit: Spelling and a wording tweak. I am sleepy. | “So can you get me back?” the astronaut asked with inquisitive eyes; wrinkles forming on his forehead, and a faint frown appearing.
“What. The. Fuck?” The demon replied with his bright orange eyes widening in horror. “Why the fuck you summoned me here?” The demon asked, his voice a higher pitch, hands grabbing his horns as if he’s gonna pull them off, eyes as wide as they can possibly be.
“To get me back home. Why?” The astronaut asked, now freaking out as much as the demonic being himself. “You can use magic to get us out of here, right?” He asked nervously.
“No, I can’t!” The demon yelled in a frenzy.
“What do you mean you can’t?” The lonely spaceman asked, on the verge of tears.
“Because I have to be on Earth to use magic you incompetent human!!!!” (Pt.1) | 2021-11-24T01:55:15 | 2021-11-24T00:26:59 | 295 | 164 |
[WP] Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an "elder" species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like "be quiet, you are in danger" to the aliens, because we are still childish morons. | **"Flee, they're coming"**
That was the message broadcast to the world in complex repeating binary a hundred years ago. It took that long for scientists to recognize that it was a signal among all the noise and actually realize that the amount of energy necessary for it to be noticeable meant that somebody either very technologically advanced or very specifically interested in us wanted us to know.
Whatever the reason was, once we realized the significance of that, we also realized that the implications sounded dire. That was seventy-five years ago. That was when the first ark ships were drafted, when we were nervous but we still had hope.
The plan was everyone was to be moved off-world and to the nearest star, in the hopes that we would sidestep whatever threat was headed out way. As a species, we'd never accomplished anything even remotely like it before, having only some nascent colonies on the nearest planetary bodies. It required experimental technology and an unprecedented amount of cooperation, but it was worth it for the species.
Forty years ago, five lights winked into the night sky in the southern hemisphere. Telescopes trained on them found them to be a brilliant blue-violet, so bright they were almost painful to look at. The scientific community erupted into debate. Governments tried their best to keep panic low, but a growing contingent of scientists were arguing that the blueshift of the objects put them at impossibly fast speeds towards us, and the timetable on the arks had to be pushed up.
The tension on the planet was like a pot about to boil over. Most governments were still working, doing their parts to ensure our survival. Some nations were having problems, though. Society's scars showed themselves again, as previous enemies fell back into old habits with infighting and hate crimes. So much of the world was focused on the arks that there were precious few extra supplies to keep everyone else insulated from the hatred and violence of others.
All throughout the fear, the lights in the night sky slowly shone brighter. Even the oblivious among us could not deny that the formation the lights were in bore a striking resemblance to the necklace worn by Saviik, an ancient shapeshifting goddess of destruction. It would have been a coincidence for most, had it not been for the fact that she's recognized in lore by the necklace she wears, no matter her form. Slowly, we lost more across the world to the old religions, as they abandoned their work on the ark and began to accept their demise in fervent prayer.
Ten years ago, the first of the ark ships were completed. The world rejoiced, but only for a moment. Somebody - either noble or foolish, depending on who you ask - couldn't keep the secret any longer and revealed to the world that these would be not only the first, but the last of the ships. There were no plans to build any more, because there was no time.
The barely restrained chaos could no longer be controlled. The world erupted into brutal war, as people fought desperately to secure a coveted spot on one of the arks. More blood was shed and atrocities were committed in the name of survival than had occurred in the previous two centuries. Families, neighborhoods, cities, entire nations tore themselves and each other apart, sometimes literally. The ark ships launched in desperation, most only partially full. Some of the more fanatical of Saviik's worshippers managed to sneak onto one of the arks and detonated it in the air, convinced that escape was tantamount to heresy in the wake of her purifying light. Millions of lives were lost in an instant.
Five years ago all semblance of the world we once knew had disappeared entirely, as the last nation gave up the pretense of self-governance and collapsed. Our world was nothing but brutal and fearful tribes, cut off from contact with one another. I survived only by keeping my head down and scavenging what I could in the cities.
A year ago I lost the last connection to my old life - my son died in my arms after we accidentally scared another group of scavengers. I watched the life leave his eyes as he bled into the street, the assailants running off into the night.
Nothing about my life is the same as it was a hundred years ago. I curse the message for its omen, as I would have preferred to live out the last century in peace with my family, instead of in fear. I curse myself too because I can't bring myself to end my own life. I simply... exist. Sometimes in a state of acute bitterness, but mostly I am numb.
An hour ago the lights entered our atmosphere, and one of them now hovers above the city. It's clearly a ship, and nobody knows what to make of it. Some prostrate themselves and mumble blessings feverishly. Some hold friends and family close. Some hide in the ruined buildings and cover their eyes. Some, like me, just stare. I try to keep impassive, but I can't help but feel my heart flutter. Could this be the end I'm finally looking for? Could I finally be at peace? The idea is almost too much to bear.
The ship, after hanging still for so long, suddenly begins to shift. Surfaces on it unseal and change, the whole thing opens like some twisted flower pointed towards us. A light appears on the bottom, and a huge roar fills the air as the light crackles with angry energy. I feel the hair on my body stand up on end and I close my eyes, the faintest smile playing on my lips. The roar becomes deafening, drowning out the panicked wailing and ululating from us below. I tilt my head towards the sky, and the light sears through my eyelids.
I am ready.
But nothing comes.
Instead, a small sound played like someone passing wind, and the flower opened up to reveal colored strips and squares of paper as they fluttered to the ground. A strange figure stood there on the ship in a suit, convulsing and making a strange barking noise at us, before speaking in a guttural language.
It paused, fiddling with some controls on the suit, still barking and convulsing. Suddenly it was speaking our language.
*"Oh, oh my god -"* it said doubled over between barks, *" - you should have seen the look on your faces."*
It took a while before it stopped barking, and then longer still before it stopped convulsing, and stood up straight. Then it cowered in mock fear, and went into another round of shaking. Eventually it stopped that too and looked out at us.
*"Well,"* it said finally, gesturing out at the whole scene laid before it, *"good luck with all.... this."*
And with that, it left. | After being raised wealthy, Mr. Engilwald knew spoiled. Having been charged with taking the keys to his father's planetary business, he himself had never been spoiled, but he *certainly* had seen those who were. There were his entitled classmates of his younger years, who attended university for the luxury rather than the education. And there were the brats of the rich inner circles, children who had already learned to emulate their parents.
But the teenage sitting across from him, with a straight nosed butler peering over his shoulder, fit the word more perfectly than any he had eer seen.
"We have quite a selection," Mr. Engilwald began,gesturing with his wrinkled hands to the shelves around them, each filled with floating orbs of varying sizes, "Is there anything in particular that you are searching for?"
"Oh yes," Said the child, his eyes glinting, "I'm definitely looking for an unstable one, one I can alter. I want to see how they react to that. At least one ice age in it's history, and don't lie to me, I'll check the VIN on Planetfacts."
"They react? What do you mean by they react?" His expression was puzzled, and rightly so. Most of his clients requested planets to host their own kingdoms, or use as personal getaways. Some, those of a more business nature, would open attractions or expansions. But none were quite like the child before him, whose smirk seemed to drip onto the table like oil.
"Of course, the population! I want to host at least ten billion at maximum capacity. Really get the gears turning on this one, you know? And yes, here is a full list of the attributes that I am seeking. I won't have any less."
He passed a piece of paper across the table, and Mr. Engilwald read, his eyes scanning the page.
"Abundant iron and copper, that will cost you dearly, boy."
"Any age between prehistory and industrial bores me, and I'd rather accelerate them. Really get them hurtling into modern society faster than they can handle." Yawned the child, his arms crossed.
"And, what's this, uranium?! I can't just get that to *anyone*."
"But you *can* give it to my father, who signed off on this expenditure. I want an abundance. Like, a ridiculous abundance. Something laughable. The planet should be damn near unstable."
Mr. Engilwald frowned, and looked towards the child again, his expression concerned.
"You do realize I am morally obligated to ensure the proper care of child civilizations?"
"Of course, of course." Waved the boy, "But look, most civilizations don't make it past their infancy anyways, and I'll be sure to make it past that. Every year afterward is gravy, and it's far too interesting down the road. I want to see what happens when I *really* stir the pot."
Behind him, the butler grimaced, but nodded. And Mr. Engilwald was reminded of old stories of when children would burn ants with lenses, or chase cats with sticks.
"We do have one in stock," He sighed, and rose, picking up the floating orb of a mass of green and blue, "But I'll be checking on you, boy. Don't give me reason to confiscate this."
"I'm sure you'll find any trouble will be their own actions," He said, grinning, "In addition, I'll take the meteoric package, buried bones included. And I'll take it baked after a few millenia- can I bring it in the shop for a few thousand years acceleration?"
"For a small surcharge, absolutely," Mr. Engilwald sighed.
"Good. They're going to be confused as all hell when they find out their ancestors had all the same stories. Time to set about finishing my scripts then!" The boy raised a few sheets of paper, and beckoned at the door, calling in a host of other people. A short, pudgy man with dark hair, another with bright orange hair, and a woman who looked as if the skin stretched too tight across her face. And there were more, dozens more, each with their own costume and nationality, each from different ages of civilizations. Each with their own purpose in the boy's mind, with lines written by the careful hand of a fourteen year old.
"What a wonderful stage this will be, when the setting's complete and my actors are deployed," He said with glee, rubbing his hands together and reaching out to take the keys to the planet, the coordinates engraved on the metal, "What wonderful pets for me to play with, as the best birthday present ever." | 2017-10-31T17:09:38 | 2017-10-31T15:34:28 | 1,292 | 509 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone! | "Four months of work down the drain," he thought. Had she become aware of him? Surely not. He had been meticulous. Down to every minute detail. He could even predict when she would need to visit the ladies room before his mark could. So, how could he miss this?
He backed up the video again. There. Right there. She was laying in bed sound asleep and the next frame just... gone.
Marc Jacobs was a single man, mid-thirties. He was quiet and kept to himself. He fit nearly every single profile of a serial killer and it infuriated him. He was more. He was always meant for more. This latest victim was going to put him over the top, make his mark on society. Thrust him into the media spotlight. Make him infamous.
And now she was gone. Without a trace. He rubbed his eyes and watched the video again and again each time looking for a clue.
*Aliens?* he thought to himself. "That's ridiculous," he said aloud to the darkness as the thought made him exhale through his nose slightly heavier than usual.
Mary Elizabeth Ray had always lived alone. For as long as she could remember she loathed people. In elementary school she was described as "husky" and the other children relentlessly picked on her. In high school, she kept to herself and avoided interaction with others at all cost. Her own parents barely acknowledged her existence. Her father was a truck driver and mother an alcoholic. Mary was lucky if she could manage to rummage through her mother's purse for enough money to buy a school lunch from time to time.
Soon after graduating, she left and never looked back. She managed to find work through a temp agency as a medical transcriptionist. For the last 6 years Mary has managed to work from home and stay away from people nearly full time.
Until him.
The creepy electrician that the apartment complex sent over one day four months ago. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she answered the door. She immediately felt repulsed by him. This was not an uncommon response to most of her interactions with others however so she didn't think much of it at first.
She let him in, he did his work and left. Within minutes, she noticed the area where he had been working seemed a bit... off. When you sit in a room for hours upon hours you notice every tiny spec of dust. If something has changed it's obvious. And there it was. A very small pinhole camera in the outlet.
She hurried to the window and could see him outside talking to another woman on the street by his van. He certainly hadn't had time to hook up everything. She wasn't being watched just yet. A mix of anger and fear almost overcame her for an instant. The thought of someone stalking her completely amazed her. Who was she? How did he even know she existed? She only leaves the apartment for short visits to the store or absolutely necessary errands. She didn't remember seeing him anywhere before.
*Of all the nerve*, she thought. This jackass thinks he just found a perfect victim, she grinned slightly, still watching as the woman outside clearly picked up on the creepiness as well and quickly walked away from the van.
Mary's anger and fear had turned to just anger and was growing. She wasn't going to sit idly by and become a victim. She was going to have a little fun. | It had been over 24 hours since she checked in at work. She was like clockwork, and now unexplicably she vanishes just days before the grab. It was becoming more and more difficult to supress the rage, he was a creature demanding control, and here, in the space of 24 hours he had lost it. It was time to go home and check her network activity again, there may have been a new post to her social media about a spur of the moment trip and he was growing weary of staring out the same window. He left the coffee shop and went out to the back of the lot where he had parked. 5 hours in a god damned coffee shop had dulled his senses and frayed his nerves; he needed to get home and get to work. He jumped behind the wheel and fired up the car, it was only 10 minutes to home. He found that being at home soothed his anxiety, and his mind was already turning to the checklist of things he would need to do before he slept. Hopefully she was active on her account, if she wasn't he would be forced to surveil her in the traditional ways.
Without warning the knife was at his throat and the shock caused the car to momentarily leave his lane. Instinctively he swerved back in time to avoid a collision and his eyes flew to the mirror.
"Hey asshole, it's about time we talked" she growled. "keep driving straight and don't stop for shit"
His mind was reeling, this wasn't possible. He had gone from predator to prey, but HOW? | 2014-10-21T12:10:56 | 2014-10-21T12:07:21 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] The heroes have confronted the villain in their lair. The villain starts by telling them "You don't have to believe me. I know I've done horrible things. But I only took this gig as a fated overlord to prevent someone worse from claiming the title." | "Fated Overlord isn't a *job.* It's right there in the name. It's your fate. You can't be blamed for the circumstances that drove you to try and shatter this world, but by the same token..." Eiras hefted his sword. "...you cannot blame us for stopping you."
"Well, you'd think that. But Fate is a little more flexible than you think it is. Something my immense magical power has allowed me to see more clearly than most."
The villain held out a hand. "Think about what the prophecy says."
*A child born in summer's heat,*
*a cunning demon speaking sweet,*
*a master of the secret arts,*
*shall conquer all they set their heart,*
The villain's voice was firm and clear as he recited the words from the Book of Fate.
"Think about how *broad* that is. A child born in summer with magical powers and a talent for persuasion. How many children match that description? In my home town alone there were *four.* Myself, my brother, my best friend, and the mayor's son. In the later stanzas it becomes more clear - they will shatter the hollow heart, slay their kin, spill the blood of mercy, and so on - but before the Overlord starts committing those deeds, you can't tell. Fate will take anyone that fits."
"So you're saying that if you hadn't fulfilled the prophecy, someone else would have? Great. What an excellent reason to *burn down my home.*"
Vyissa had her hands resting casually on her short swords, but everyone in the room knew that she could have them drawn and in someone's throat in less than a heartbeat.
"No, I'm saying that I *knew* the ones who were going to fulfill the prophecy. I could see them heading down that dark path. The mayor's son was the first. Born to privilege, endlessly praised for his talent, nobody had ever said no to him in his life. If his father's money and rank wouldn't get him what he wanted, he wouldn't hesitate to use mind magic instead. His desires grew more and more depraved, his control grew ever greater, until... well, I'll spare you the ugly details. But I believe I was entirely justified in beating him to death."
A flicker of disgust crossed Maria's face. "One thing we can agree on, I suppose." As a champion of the god of freedom, she had a particular hate for mind magic of any sort.
"The second was my brother. We both had a hard life - everyone knew the prophecy and they knew we were both children of summer - but his was harder than mine. His gift was powerful and hard to control, and he would lash out when provoked. The people grew to hate him, but they feared his magic more than they hated him, and so they listened and obeyed. He hated himself for what he was becoming, but he couldn't see any other path open to him. It was simply his fate to become a villain. When I cut his throat, it was a mercy."
"And so instead of waiting for a third Overlord, you decided to take the role yourself." Eiras finished.
"Fate had its eyes on my home. Once you knew what you were looking for, it was obvious. Dozens of coincidences lining up too perfectly to be natural, steering the chosen one along a path, sealing off their other options. The only way to spare anyone else from that fate, to spare *her*, would be if I took up the mantle of Overlord myself. And then, I struck out as harshly as I could, to ensure that the three heroes of the prophecy would rise in rebellion. I specifically targeted the traditional homes of the mage-knights, the hunters, and the paladins, knowing that I would fail and the survivors would seek revenge."
"Why are you telling us this? Are you expecting us to thank you?" The huntress said acidly. "For being so senselessly evil that you caused your own downfall?"
Maria's reply was quieter, but no less bitter. "You tried to fight your fate, but ended up fulfilling it instead. Slaying your kin and spilling the blood of mercy... you must have realized that it referred to you killing your brother. And you still persisted."
The villain glared at her. "Like I said, you can't win against fate. This was the only way it was ever going to end."
"She has a point, though. Why bother telling us this, if you believe your fate is set? Why even bother fighting us? Why hide in your fortress and send your soldiers to die against us if you know it won't help?"
"Because I *have* to!" The villain shouted. "Because if I don't fulfill the prophecy properly, maybe it won't count! Maybe that will mean that fate will come for someone else and everything I've done will be for nothing!"
He rose from his throne, unclasped his cape and threw it aside. "I don't know why Fate chose me, but its word is clear. Only a battle with the heroes will seal my fate and end this prophecy for good. So come on! Kill me, or I shall kill you!" | Commander Justice stood in The Crimson Shadow’s lair. Finally. The war for Earth was long and brutal. Many heroes and civilians had been slain by the Shadow’s dark army. At long last the Commander stood face to face with the most evil man in the universe. His beloved wife, Princess America, was suspended in the air by The Crimson Shadow’s black magic.
“Don’t do it, Shadow! It’s over, you lost.” Commander Justice bellowed at the top of his lungs. His perfectly square jaw quivering in fear as the one he loved lay helpless in his arch enemy’s clutches. “Your dark army has fallen, the Earth is saved!”
“It’s not over until I say it’s over!” The Crimson Shadow’s mysterious whisper rang loudly in Commander Justice’s ears. Cheap threats like that would not stop the man of justice from doing what was right, he had been through too much. He started fearlessly walking toward the universe’s most dominant villain.
“Justice, don’t! It’s a trap!” Princess America’s screams begged the Commander to stop where he was.
“I told you to stop…” The mysterious whisper rang again as the Crimson Shadow’s hands glowed with dark energy before he fired a beam of black magic through the heart of Princess America!
“NOOOOOOO!!!” Commander Justice fell to his knee, tears filling his eyes as he saw his one true love slaughtered at the Shadow’s feet.
“I’m sorry.” The Crimson Shadow’s whisper echoed in the Commander’s ears.
The Commander couldn’t believe his ears. “Sorry!? Sorry? You have slaughtered millions of people, you are pure evil!”
“I know… but it was the only way.” The whisper sounded genuinely regretful, but the Commander would not fall for the Shadows mind games.
“Stop with your excuses. It’s over.” Commander Justice took out his handcuffs of justice and locked them around the wrists of the Crimson Shadow.
“I killed millions… but it could have been billions.” The Crimson Shadow’s black eyes gave away no emotion as Commander Justice walked him towards the Justice Carrier outside the Crimson Shadows dark lair.
“Stop Shadow. You’re going to go to prison for a very long time.”
The Crimson Shadow continued to talk, he talked more than the Commander had ever heard before. He was actually talking! The mysterious whisper had disappeared and in its place was a relatively human English accent. “I had to do it. If it wasn’t me it would have been somebody else, somebody worse!”
“Shadow, stop. You just killed my wife. I am not interested in your excuses.” The Commander fought to keep his voice stable as the memory of Princess Justice ran through his mind.
“I had to stop her,” Shadow whispered, “Or she would have killed even more.”
The Commander stopped in his track and processed what the Shadow just said. They had just gone through the lairs grand doors before the Shadow’s lair suddenly exploded, the room was engulfed in flames and the explosion threw the Commander and Shadow to the ground.
The hero and the villain looked towards the lair engulfed in flames as the fire parted like the red sea and a being floated through the fiery doors.
“What the?” Commander Justice said in disbelief as the body of Princess America floated through the flames.
The Shadow tried to get up and run, “I told you, Justice! She’s going to destroy the universe! I’m not the real overlord, she-” The Crimson Shadow’s body was suddenly ripped in half by laser beams shooting from Princess America’s eyes.
“He’s right, my beloved.” The sweet country accent of the Commander’s wife rang in Justice’s ears. “I’m the real villain here and together, my darlin’, we can rule this Earth!” | 2021-03-21T10:25:52 | 2021-03-21T08:45:01 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] You are reading the grittiest, manliest, most testorone-filled bedtime story to your daughter. She's adding in bits. | Max Strikehammer - ex-marines, ex-SWAT, ex-CIA, ex-husband to a traitorous bitch and yet an ex-cellent father to his estranged daughter, eggs-benedict his favourite breakfast dish - was not having a good day.
"I'm not having a good day," he said, his handsome face covered in dark grease. The North Korean helicopter pilot he had punched out of the sky groaned in answer, as around them the ammunition from the twin-linked Gatling guns of his Russian-made Kamov K52 cooked off like fireworks on the fourth of July.
*What's cooked off?*
It's when the magazine gets too hot and the ammunition inside starts firing by itself.
*Cooking a magazine.*
Yeah, it's not like one of the magazines -
*That's silly.*
I know, but it's what it says. Are you going to be like this all the way through? There's still forty pages until he paints an American flag on Kim Jong-Un's lawn using a MilSpec paintball gun.
*What's a MilSpec?*
It doesn't matter. Alright, look. Cooking magazines is silly. Fine. Can we get back to the story?
*He should cook something else.*
Like what?
*Breakfast.*
What?
*If you're having a bad day, you should have breakfast.*
Max propped the Korean pilot up against a miraculously unbroken section of the fuselage, then improvised a field-expedient stove out of burning helicopter fuel and some bulkhead plating.
"I hope you're hungry, pal," he growled, "because breakfast...is cooking!"
Tossing an English muffin high in the air, he kicked out at the cooking eggs, flipping them up so they landed perfectly in two heaps on the halves of the descending muffin, split perfectly in half by the knife he had carried everywhere since a dying Spetsnaz trooper had offered it to him with shaking hands, telling him to make the coup-de-grace before the Somalis arrived.
*That's a bad breakfast.*
Well, it's what they ate.
*Why didn't they have coco pops?*
They were in North Korea.
*Oh do they not have coco pops in North Korea.*
No, sweetie, they don't.
*But they could do.*
What?
*Because it's a story. Stories don't have to be real.*
All this talk of coco pops reminded Max of the Kaliningrad Obstacle. That had been a sticky situation, he reminisced as the baffled Korean pilot prodded at his food. A lot of good guys lost that day. But freedom won, and that was the main thing. Or was it? Sometimes he wasn't sure. The world was more complicated than when he'd been a private. Sometimes, bad guys... could look good.
Some things didn't change, though. Like a burning helicopter attracting unwanted attention, even in the middle of downtown Pyongyang. He had to move on.
*This is boring.*
What? He just survived a helicopter crash!
*You're just ignoring my questions.*
Alright, since you're so smart, you tell me what Max should do, instead of what's in the book.
*Ummmm...*
See?
*He should go to Disneyland.*
Why. What could he possibly do in Disneyland?
*Take out the Mouse with a .50 Cal. Only Max and I know what went down in Dubai and who's to blame for it, and I have to sleep now. Goodnight Daddy!*
| "Once upon a time there was a construction worker with -"
"Flowers!"
"What's that?"
"Flowers, he has flowers!"
"Um, if you say so, sweetheart. The construction worker had flowers and a big bulldozer the size of a grocery store. He and his bulldozer would -"
"They make cookies!"
"Cookies? No, they moved dirt and rubble and -"
"No! He has flowers and makes cookies!"
"*Sigh,* alright, darling. The big burly construction worker who *works as a baker and a florist* on the side was given a job to do by his mean boss. The mean boss commanded him to -"
"Go work for Elsa!"
"Honey... Elsa isn't part of this."
"Yes she is! Construction man going to go work for Elsa! He'll make her cookies and give her lots of flowers."
*Frigging Frozen...*
"Okay, so let's get this straight. The construction worker sells flowers, bakes cookies and works for an ice princess? Is there anything else I should know about him?"
"Ummmmmmmm.. he likes wearing pretty dresses?"
"That is... okay, okay. The construction worker, in his pretty dress, had to build a new ice palace for Elsa, all while baking cookies and giving her lots of flowers. His boss wanted to melt the castle but he was a really good builder so he made the strongest ice fortress in the world, which couldn't ever melt, and they all lived happily ever after!"
"...Daddy?"
"...Yes, honey?"
"That was the best story ever! Read it again!"
"Uh, maybe tomorrow, sweetheart. Go to bed now."
"Okay, I love you, Daddy!"
*...It was worth it.* | 2015-03-17T12:27:44 | 2015-03-17T12:18:18 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | "Damn it Gandalf, do something!"
"No, I shall not!"
This...has been an interesting battle.
*****
I've fought hundreds of wizards from dozens of different worlds in the past, and I've always come out ahead. Gandalf the Grey, they call me - the greatest wizard of Middle Earth, and up until now the greatest wizard here in Magira. Aang the Avatar, the young Harry Potter, Merlin the Prophet...many memorable battles with many formidable opponents in the past few decades.
This...wizard who currently stands before me does not look like much, to be frank. He calls himself Bob. He is extremely overweight, smells of a dead skunk, and whatever magical properties that the orange powder on his plain white shirt might have, it certainly does not make him look any better. Yet..he is the most difficult challenge I that I had ever faced.
...Nay, calling it a challenge would be highly overrating myself. The man summoned an entire island out of nowhere, and what's more, he did it without even an incantation. "Your turn", he said. I was taken aback, frozen in shock at the unknown power of this archmage standing before me. "My turn?" he asked. I nodded, wanting to see what else he can do. He then summoned another island, completely identical to the first one. What was the purpose of this? What was Bob aiming for?
"Your turn", he repeated. Perhaps he was trying to drown me in water, I do not know. Whatever the case, I decided I could not let Bob continue at his own pace.
"As the wielder of the Flame of Anor, I challenge thee!" I slammed my staff on the ground below me to conjure up my most powerful spell. The same spell I had used to smite a Balrog. The same spell I had used to defeat every other wizard in Magira. Perhaps this time will be no different.
Oh how wrong I was.
"I play counterspell", he mumbled, and with a wave of his hand the two islands tilted sideways. And with that, all the magical powers in my spell disappeared. "My turn?" he asked. I slowly nodded once more, desperately trying to maintain my composure. The two islands tilted back upright, and he conjured up another island.
This went on for ten more minutes, with every single one of my spells effortlessly countered by Bob's single motion of his hand along with various single words. "Counterspell". "Cancel". "Cancel". "Syncopate". I was no match. This was a battle between a mortal and a god, and I am no god.
However, on the 11th minute with 11 identical islands on his side, Bob changed his rhythm. Instead of saying "Your turn" for the 12th time, he muttered another phrase.
"I pass", he said. I was utterly confused as to what he meant by this, but I knew in my heart that I cannot let it happen.
"You cannot pass."
"Uhh...what?"
"You cannot pass", I reiterated.
"...Well, are you gonna do something then?"
"No."
"Sooo...my turn then?"
At this moment, I realized that his islands were still tilted sideways, frozen in its unnatural state by whatever wizardry that was surrounding it. I recalled that every time Bob dispelled my sorcery, his islands tilted.
I had a plan.
"It is not your turn."
"Uhhhh...so what are you gonna do then? I pass."
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"
"Whoa man, calm down! And fucking do something then!"
"No."
"Do you pass?"
"...No?"
"I pass."
"YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"
"Damn it Gandalf, do something!"
"No, I shall not!"
An interesting battle indeed. | The cultist, wearing a trench coat and smoking a cigar, with a Colt pistol holstered in his pocket, raised his hands, chanting some indecipherable phrases, as a creature from beyond the comprehendible portions of reality dragged itself into our dimension. The conditions were right, the sacrifices were made, and the world would be over as soon as the Great Chained God was summoned.
Right as the casting was about to finish, however, a teenager wearing glasses, a t-shirt featuring a hooded man with glowing blue eyes, and some athletic shorts slammed a card down onto the folding table he carried around for just such an occasion, putting another card face-up next to his deck and wincing as a small cut opened up on his torso.
“I cast Force of Will, targeting your summoning spell. It’s countered.”
The Eldritch horror screamed with the force of a trillion upset toddlers as it returned to its own twisted home. The cultist pulled out his pistol, preparing to shoot the man who’d just ruined his plans, but he just sat there and smiled as the gun couldn’t seem to point in the right direction.
“Leyline of Sanctity. If I start with it in my opening hand, I can put it down straight away- which I did, so you can’t target me because I’m hexproof. Anyway, it’s your turn. On your draw step, you don’t seem to have a library to draw from, so I guess you lose this game?”
The cultist gasped for air as his life faded, confused and terrified that this child could have defeated him so easily, after months of planning, reading those damnable tomes and giving up his own mind just to bring this world to an end, and a new world in, with him at the head...
As the trench coat wearing man slumped to the floor, bleeding out of his ears and eyes, the teenager stood up annoyedly,
“This match was supposed to be best two out of three! Why does this keep happening every time I win game 1?” | 2018-10-16T00:47:11 | 2018-10-15T23:09:43 | 361 | 42 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times. | Most days, I am chained high above the fat King's throne, rocking gently just above him. A blanket is tied around me to make my appearance more... acceptable. My pale, vascular skin is off putting to Frederick whilst he is eating - which is almost always. He'd rather I am neither seen nor heard. My tongue, nails and teeth were removed soon after my first disastrous attempt to escape.
I hear King Frederick somewhere below me. I hear his huge jaw chewing meats loudly, and I hear excess food spill out of his maw and onto the marble floor beneath him.
Eventually he finishes his feast, and soon after, I hear him snoring loudly. He is still young. How long will I be left to endure this pain? This... *humiliation*.
---
I had a human mate, once. I loved her more dearly than I have loved anything before or since. Her eyes were the color of starlight, and when she spoke, her voice wrapped around me like the softest blanket. I was entranced by her.
We lived together through the reign of a dozen Kings and Queens, content in each others company. Happy just to be. Love kept us both alive, but my Clara did not age like I did.
"I am old," Clara said, the day she died. "My skin can no longer crease, for it has folded all it can. My hair has long since left, and I hear only when you slowly shout. I struggle each morning just to stay awake till noon, and I am in such pain that I cry even as I sleep. I have suffered it this long, only for you, my love."
"Clara, please..." was all I could manage in a whispered, wasted response.
"I am not like you. My skin is neither soft nor pale, and my heart no longer beats so strong. I love you, Felipe, but I am ready to go. You have given me many great joys. Give me now one last gift , I beg of you: grant me *death*."
"Clara," I had replied, as a tear trickled down my cheek and splashed onto the wooden floor. I pulled her wrinkled hand up to my mouth, and I kissed it gently, before walking the twenty long steps out of our home, and down a small pebbled path. I knew by the time I reached the end, Clara was dead.
When I was young, I was told never to fall in love with a mortal. It had taken me until that moment to understand why.
I never returned to that house. I never fell in love again. Instead, I wandered the world and lived in isolation, until the day I heard the distant cries for help. A King was dying.
Perhaps he was a great king, I reasoned. A king that did much for his people.
I had to help.
I was a fool.
---
They have all left the throne room, and below me the King is in a deep sleep.
"Grandpa?" says a small child somewhere below. I recognise the voice of the young prince - he must have snuck in without the guards noticing. The King continues snoring.
"Grandpa, will you play? Please! I have no one else to practice my sword play with."
The voice is near now. He is by the King! He has passed the crossing line.
I summon all my strength, and begin to rock back and forth above the obese creature below. Back and forth, as my chains sing a song of rust. I am closer to the child than I am the King - and for a wondrous second I hear the sound of choking emanating from Frederick!
The next second, the chains' momentum have pulled me back - I am again nearer to the King than the prince.
"Grandpa!" yells the concerned prince.
"Get back!" the King yells hoarsely at his grandson. "BACK!"
"I'm- I'm sorry grandpa," says the tearful child, and I hear the tapping of tiny footfall as he runs towards a door.
The King rips the blanket off of me, and for a moment, the light blinds me. Slowly, I begin to make out that fat, grinning face that has become so familiar.
"Almost," he says. He looks almost purple and sweat is profusely dripping off of him. "Almost got me this time, Felipe." He laughs and throws the blanket back over me.
I will make him pay for what he has done.
I will kill him.
One day.
---
Thanks for reading! More of my stories on /r/nickofnight , plus a free mug for new subs c[_]*
^^^^*not ^^^^a ^^^^real ^^^^mug
| (First time responding to a prompt, and it was fairly rushed, so sorry for the fairly bad writing \^\^')
The coronation of the princess had an air of apprehension to it.
Her father, the long-lived King, had been a ruthless dictator, but while she seemed a far lesser evil, the mystery surrounding his disappearance still lingered.
People were relieved that the vindictive man no longer ruled them, but the fear he had instilled over the past half century could not so easily be washed away. His ageless face, twisted into a sadistic smile in any portrait he had commissioned, barely changed over his reign.
Before her coronation, the princess made bold, revolutionary claims to bring peace, prosperity, and freedom to her people.
"I cannot change my father's sins, nor can I erase them," her voice echoed across homes throughout the country.
"But I can make change. I can lead us forward, in a new direction. I can refuse to make the same mistakes. I hope you can all join me, and together we can push for a brighter future."
Crowds cheered on as she was crowned the new Queen.
The loud cheers outside the Cathedral could be heard far and wide.
The din, faint with distance, even fell on the King's ears, although he wasn't sure of anything anymore.
The pain, the agonising pain was too much. Far too much.
The room was filled with his blood, parts of his tattered flesh lying in scraps on the ground.
He lay there groaning in agony as his body repeatedly weaved new skin over the same wounds.
"Stop! Stop! I beg of you, please, stop this!" he begged fruitlessly.
"Did you stop when he begged you?" the woman asked him coldly. "Did you stop when he pleaded for his freedom?"
"You were mine," the King spat, blood dribbling down his chin. "You were always to be mine. You did not belong with him."
"He was my love!" she yelled.
Another crack of the whip; another scream from the King. A fresh, hot line torn across his chest.
"Your gift made you only fit for me," the King continued. "Only fit to be *my* Queen."
Her eyes narrowed as she slashed at him again with the whip. The crowds continued to cheer in the distance.
"Please stop!" he cried out. "Just let me die!"
She looked up at him and smiled cruelly. "I figured you'd be proud of me. You always complained how I never had the stomach for your proclivities."
Readying the whip again, she flashed the same sadistic smile he had become famous for.
"What did you always say? Why go for the kill when suffering can be dealt far more than just once?"
---
EDIT: Made some slight tweaks to some words to try and clear up ambiguity. The Queen is not the King's daughter, she's his wife. The princess being coronated is their daughter. | 2017-05-13T06:14:31 | 2017-05-13T05:49:31 | 3,350 | 1,201 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Ok, this may be a little late but let's see how it goes. Also, I have never written before (besides essays in college) so there may be a bunch of grammatical errors.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The day had finally come. It was Name Day. The day your future is mapped by a single word that appears along the right wrist. Normally Name Day is a private affair with your closest family and friends but our town had decided to make a spectacle of ours. This was the first set of twins to our relatively small town of a few small thousand. I personally don't see what all the fuss is about seeing as my sister Ashley and I are just fraternal twins. It's no different than other siblings. I guess the excitement of two Name Days is wild enough to excite the people around here.
11:52 am
Only 8 more minutes to go until our reveal. There is a buzz around the high school auditorium. You can faintly hear the chatter of residents trying to guess what our paths will be. I already know what my sisters will be. I have always had a knack for this growing up. Every Name Day I have attended for close friends and family I just knew. Cousin Rob was going to be a teacher. He was always good at helping me with my homework it so I wasn't surprised when the letters appeared on his right wrist. Same with my best friend Jason. Athlete. Ashley's closest friend. Dancer. These were easy so it's no surprise that most people had already figured them out well before I did. It was the times that no one was right and I guessed it that gave me the most satisfaction. The only one that I could never guess was myself. I felt like there were millions of possibility and they were all mine but nothing stood out. Nothing grabbed me by the throat and revealed itself like so many others. There wasn't normal gut feeling that convinced me I was right. Just the emptiness of a million possibilities.
11:59 am
1 minute to go and I can still hear the residents commenting on what our wrists will reveal. Actor... Scholar... Janitor... Politician... All different varieties of professions just like when I tried to focus on what I felt I would get. It was kind of refreshing to know I wasn't the only on having trouble deciphering what my path will be. And also a tad terrifying.
"Ok everyone take your seats! The reveal is about to commence," exclaimed Mayor Gunderson into the microphone.
12:00 pm
The auditorium falls to a hush as they prepare for my reading. It was decided that I would go first as I was born before Ashley. Then they would reveal hers.
The family has gathered around and I feel a slight euphoric sensation as my wrist begins to tingle. Letters slowly start appearing along my arm one after another.
S.U.C.C.E.S.S.O.R
Successor? What does that even mean? No one has seen successor before.
Mayor Gunderson speaks softly into the microphone, "He has been given Successor."
The auditorium begins to rise in volume as people discuss the possibility. Successor to what? The President? My father? Who?
"Please calm down everyone. We will have time to discuss this after the revealing is completed. Let's see what path Ashley has been given," said the mayor.
The auditorium once again falls to a soft murmur. The family gathers around Ashley to see her path yet her wrist is blank. An uneasiness is falling over the crowd and Ashley looks disturbed. This has never happened before. What does it mean? It makes no sense. I have always known what Ashley was meant to be. I had the gut feeling from a very young age when we would be laying down for bedtime and I could hear her softly singing. She had an angelic voice and that was her calling.
"This makes no sense. I've known what Ashley was meant to be since we were kids. She is going to be a singer," I said.
Just as the words left my mouth the letters began to appear on her arm.
S.I.N.G.E.R. | As long as anyone can remember you're future was decided on the 12th hour of your 18th birthday. No one knew what caused it to happen or when it started but the word you got decided everything from social class to tax bracket for you. In my family it was a 3 day celebration of the crossing over from child to adult and it was taken very seriously. And today was my big day so for the past few days my uncles, aunts, and cousins had been flying in for the last week.
At 11:55 the family moved into the living room, I sat on a chair in the middle of the room while my family sat in a crescent moon infront of me so everyone could see. Unlike most families mine didn't fit a pattern, my oldest uncle got CHEF, my 2nd uncle got COLLECTOR (his passion was baseball cards and always seemed to find the good ones), and my Mother got NURSE while my father got CARPENTER. I was worried because I didn't feel like I had a passion for anything that would influence my path in life, I often felt lost.
The four minutes from 11:55 to 11:59 felt like hours as I sat there with my arm extended out for my family to see. Thoughts kept racing threw my mind, would i take after my parents, would i take after my uncles, would I start a new branch? Would I advance I advance to the high class lifestyle, would I fall to poverty, or would I stay the same? I never liked hard work that caused calluses and I liked Interpersonal work that stressed out your emotions even less. I simply had no idea what I even wanted to do or be in life.
As the clock struck 12 my arm started to feel like it was on fire. I looked down and and the word REAPER slowly burned into view letter by letter. When the final R came into the view it almost seemed like all the color of the world had been was away, everything besides the red cords threads connecting me to everyone in the room. Finally after the few moments the threads faded away and the color came back. All my family and I could do for the next few hours was silently stare at the word on my arm.
| 2017-03-16T06:31:54 | 2017-03-16T04:12:27 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] Every time you cooked over a campfire, you would throw some food into the fire as an offering to the gods. One evening, just as you're about to perform your little campfire ritual, you hear a voice behind you say "You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt." | Edit: This is literally my first time to write for fun, so constructive criticism is appreciated!
Another normal night was in the works. Cooking over the campfire has been my nightly ritual since I started squatting in these woods three months ago. The people in the nearest village warned me not to come here; they say it's home to a trickster spirit, but I've never been superstitious so I paid their warnings no mind. I still can't decide if that was a good idea or not.
I stirred my chopped veggies as they sizzled in the cast iron skillet. Food is never scarce in a forest when you know what to look for. The smell of my impending meal reached my nostrils: sunchokes, wild onions, and fennel. I plucked the skillet from the fire and very tenderly scraped a bit out onto the glowing coals for whoever shares this forest with me, as has been my habit since the first week here. It seemed to calm the smoke, and more importantly, it usually made me feel less alone. It was then that I heard something that I hadn't heard in weeks: a voice.
"You know, I would very much prefer my food unburnt," it said from somewhere behind me, in an accent that belonged in a Shakspearian parody. Startled, I slung the food from my skillet and prepared to hit whoever approached.
"Well you didn't have to throw it on the ground,” muttered my uninvited guest, scrambling from the shadows to pick up my dinner and shovel it into his oddly gaping mouth. Though it had a human form, its skin was the color of ash and its eyes looked like glowing coals. As I moved forward, armed with a skillet, its scalp ignited into flowing hair made of flames. It cowered back as I screamed, its hair extinguishing with a sizzle.
“Who are you? WHAT are you?!” I bellowed into the empty night, certain that this one would be my last.
“I am the Fritz, and I’ve decided I like you. Put down the weapon, lest I decide I do not”.
Stepping backwards, I lowered the skillet. The Fritz continued eating, ignoring my presence and my frantically muttered questions. When it finished, it turned to me, its eyes no longer glowing but instead black as virgin coal. “I am the Fritz. I am the Fire and the Forests burnt long before this one sprouted. I have always been, and I always will be. And while I appreciate your offerings, I prefer my vegetables raw as they cook from my touch”.
This was no hallucination. As The Fritz approached, I could feel heat radiating from its body from yards away despite its small stature. It reached directly into my fire and grabbed a small, glowing chunk of log. Finally processing the creature’s request, I quickly ran to my modest, hand dug root cellar for some fresh sunchokes. When I returned, all that remained of it was a series of small, charred footprints in the grass and a large, raw, glowing diamond carefully placed in my skillet. | [Wip] Usually when I prepare my food I make extra for whatever God or upper being wants my food. As I had finished making my food I threw the extras into the fire and started to eat my own portion, "You know, I would very much prefer my food un-burnt." I wiped my head around looking for whoever was talking, not seeing anyone so I called out. "Hello who said that?" I grabbed my dagger and was prepared to fight but then the voice called out agian, "what you think you can kill me with that gods can't die from the power of humans, though they've tried." I wiped my head around to see a tall being with pale blue skin black eyes with white eyes and black horns. I stood there frozen, "S-So your the one that's been taking my offerings?!?" The God gave a cocktail smile as he said "Well yes its free food and it's good apart from the fact that it's burnt which all you needed to do was put the food out on a tree stump or something." The put the dagger down, "Oh well sorry I didn't think it would get to you burn | 2022-11-28T10:38:15 | 2022-11-28T07:38:19 | 29 | 17 |
[WP]You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading yours, you notice that when someone else is mentioned, there’s a note showing where you can find their biography. It’s odd how someone who was a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you. | I couldn't believe it at first. I didn't recognize the name, barely remembered the store, and everything I could remember about that city and even that whole year was . . . not very pleasant for me. I checked his biography anyway, the note said I saved his life. I knew my version of the events: "feeling the effects of a long deployment, and trapped in a depressed state, Melia went to the store for something that would ease the emptiness. It was her birthday, and there was no one around she could celebrate with. Family far away, pseudo military friends stationed elsewhere or deployed. On her way to check out with an ice cream pie and a fanta soda, musing about the irony of not drinking on her 21st birthday, she sae a guy who was looking at the liquor cabinet like it was the devil himself. 'Hey buddy, ya know I'm pretty sure they don't bite.' The guy chuckled a bit, 'nah, they don't bite. Just wreck your whole life.' 'Well, why don't you just get a soda and some pie? They don't have much of a reputation for fucking things over.' She smiled as he actually looked at her, holding her pie and soda. 'You know, I think I will.' He walked away, towards the frozen section." That's what it was for me. A brief, meaningless encounter, where I didn't actually *do* anything. Just smiled and made a couple of stupid jokes. And then I forgot that the whole the thing ever happened. His book had a different version of it: "Out of booze, Dan stumbled to the store to try to get more. That was the convinent thing about living on base, he didn't have to drive to get more booze. He'd only been back a week. Dan had gone to his best friends funerals, wishing that it had been him and not them being buried with honor. He couldn't face his family, and his wife hadn't called him since he'd been back. But he didn't blame her, after all if he'd been a better soldier then she wouldn't have needed to comfort her two best friends who were now widows. If he'd been a better soldier then he could have saved his friends. If he were a better man then he wouldn't need the alcohol just to sleep at night. While staring at the cabinet, trying to find the cheapest booze, a young woman cracked a forced joke at him. His depression responded, but she didn't give up. When he looked at her she wasn't looking at him with disgust or even pity. She was smiling, and she seemed to actually care about him in some way. So Dan decided that pie and a soda couldn't hurt.
"Two months later he returned to his house. 'Honey, I needed to tell you something. That's why I came.' She just stared at him, hatred, guilt, and pity burning in her eyes. I'm sorry that I've been out of touch. I just couldn't face you, I got them killed and put your friends through hell. But, I'm in therapy now. I haven't had a drink in a couple months. I can't come home yet, but when I'm better it will be up to you if I can come back or not."
I flipped ahead, desperate to know what happened to Dan. He stayed with therapy, even though at time he thought that it wasn't worth it. He stayed clean, and managed to get back together with his wife. He was active in his child's life. All because I quipped a couple of bad jokes at him, and smiled. I saved Dan's life, and didn't even remember him and never even knew his name. As I put Dan's book back, something a friend once said echoed in my head "I could never kill myself, not really because of the people who would get left behind, but because of those I wouldn't be able to help anymore. I don't know how many people I've helped just by being here and smiling at them." | I couldn’t help but blink. He was barely a few words in my life yet I inspired such awe in his.
We were from the same hometown, went to the same school, and yet I never noticed much about him.
“Cal was Sadies Quiz Bowl teammate” was all it said in mine yet I had a chapter with pretty font. Sadie.
It told of how I was a model student and a role model for young Cal.
Of how I helped him with his literature category while working on my own science.
Of how I was his first crush and every night, he’d dream of me in my “cutest sweater”. A red turtleneck with beading around the collar.
That sweater had long since graced my Goodwill bag and long since left my mind. But he remembered. In that chapter and as I read on later in life.
I had seen in my own the destruction that my downfall had caused for my family and friends, but Cal felt it too. He felt the nails of my erratic behavior and continued ODs. He saw on my timeline the repeated begs to know my location when I took off. I took off a lot escaping my friends (how little I had left) and my family.
I didn’t want them on this journey.
But it seemed by making my own decision to slowly end my existence, I’d affected another person I didn’t even know much about.
I read on, seeing that cal had gone onto higher learning and gotten a good job.
Though when he saw what I was, his heart would break. He cared.
I came to the end of the book.
Last chapter, it said. And my heart froze as Cal climbed into his car to head to work.
It was a normal spring day, warm and bright, as he headed down the highway. He was unaware of the man who would cut him off so suddenly that Cal would lose control. He would hit a guardrail and the air bags wouldn’t deflate.
Tears dotted the page, running the ink. I hadn’t realized I was crying, but I had realized that life was short. Cal looked up to me, but reading this, I understood that I should have looked up to him. | 2019-10-31T01:39:21 | 2019-10-31T00:14:44 | 73 | 35 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”. | I lazily grabbed the card from the machine, politely thanked the attendant, and walked away dreading what sort of mundane life I looked forward to. Ever since cognitive analytics became a field, machines had been created to scan and determine ideal careers for people.
As part of legislation, it was mandated that machines could not log the jobs generated through the program and that occupations assigned were to be confidential unless people willingly revealed them or they were caught, forcing them to reveal their criminal cards.
The machines understood what people truly wanted to be through psychological analysis and brain scans allowing for people to truly be content in their jobs. No one was ever dissatisfied with their occupations and after the cards were received, they could be revealed to the proper companies allowing for people with cards to start their jobs immediately.
Cards were usually examined in private because there were some cards that were not to be revealed until the bearers of them got caught such as "Thief", "Forger", or "Mugger" cards, and before they were caught, they could say they were artists or other more palatable, freelance occupations as covers.
As I walked away from the crowds of people, I decided to glance at the card I was given wondering what job I had gotten.
I stared curiously at the shiny red text that said, "**Serial Killer**" in clean, bold letters.
While the cards had colored text that determined how common an occupation was, I had never seen anyone with such text.
The common text colors, such as construction workers or retail workers or security guards, were black; the uncommon text colors, such as lower managers or lower cooks or soldiers or common criminals, were grey; the rare text colors, such as for athletes or minor-role actors, were bronze; the ultra rare text colors, such as for politicians or high-level executives or celebrity chefs or higher-level criminals, were silver; and finally, for the rarest colors, such as destined stars or destined celebrity musicians or destined genius visionaries, there were gold letters.
I held the card, curious as to how rare it was, and I quietly went home to research. I used my roommate's computer to look through historical archives and I quickly learned that the last serial killer caught was found 70 years ago at age 48, 30 years after she had received her card. I stared at the shiny red letters as I realized I was likely the first to receive a serial killer card in 100 years.
I smiled as I realized life was not going to be as mundane as I thought it would be. | "Oh my god!" Jimmy said reading the assignment card. His mind raced as he wondered if it were true. "Mom look at my assignment card! Is... is this real!?"
His mother couldn't hold back her grin, "pffft ha ha! You dummy!" She said laughing histerically, "I put that in the envelope as a joke!" She pulled the real assignment card out of her purse, "I cant believe you fell for that!" She threw the real card at Jimmy, hitting him in the face. "Here, you got 'Garbage man' you idiot!" She exited the room laughing uncontrollably. | 2018-08-13T19:22:34 | 2018-08-13T17:47:14 | 542 | 19 |
[WP] The narrator hates the protagonist, but has no power over the story | And so, the pathetic spineless coward; still crying from the loss of his best friend, rose up, attempting to steady himself upon his scrawny little legs, still shaking in fear. He marched across the burning town, head raised high, probably trying to hide his tears – like the little wimp he is.
A watchtower nearby crumbled and fell to the ground, unfortunately missing the hero, as he bravely marched on, completely oblivious to his surroundings like the moron he is. One would say that if he had been more perceptive and less foolhardy, his best friend would still be alive. His best friend was a much better man than him. Courageous, headstrong, determined. Ready to fight the empire, and willing to lose everything he had to offer in order to do it. By comparison, this coward cried when he lost his belt last week.
He left the town and stole a horse that was frantically whinnying on the edge of town. He knew that the owner wouldn't need it any more/ Because its owner was his best friend. Who was dead. Because he was too pathetic to save him.
He, Bill, and his horse, Amadeus ver Onslaught, rode away from the town, onto the next. By the time they arrived, he had finally ceased his bitch tears, and asked the village elder for a place to stay.
While he was sleeping, a bunch of dashing, handsome men who had unfortunately turned to the act of vandalism and robbery due to their unfortunate home situations ambushed him in the night to relieve him of his possessions. And despite being outnumbered eight to one, and completely unarmed.
He managed to not just disarm, but brutally murder all eight of the handsome men, because he is literally the most overpowered and bullshit bastard this side of the ditch. And even after doing such an atrocious act, Bill didn't even feel remorse. He even looted their bodies and pissed on their corpses. A hero Bill supposedly was, but a good man he wasn't.
Leaving in the middle of the night, without even paying the innkeeper for the room, nor telling her that there was eight very handsome but unfortunately dead men in the room – he made his way to the next town, the castle village.
He arrived at the town gate, and his attempts to bribe the officer were completely unsuccessful, for he was a just and pure man, not corrupt and filled with hatred like Bill. So instead, the officer gave him a stupidly easy riddle and Bill pondered over it for several hours, contemplating the meaning of life and crying several times in the process. After he finally realized what the answer was, it was daybreak and he was allowed to enter the castle town anyway.
He instantly made his way to the blacksmith and bought the largest weapon there with the funds he had looted from the eight very handsome men. The blacksmith tried to tell him that the sword was only there for decoration and couldn't actually be wielded by a normal man, but Bill, being the complete idiot he was, decided to buy it anyway.
Bill then made his way through to the castle and barged straight through the doors, because the guards were conveniently not there. He raised the gigantic sword, the size of two fully grown horses over his head with only one hand, and pointed it at the prince.
A battle happened and stuff I don't really care too much because it's obvious Bill is going to win anyway. I mean, really, I can't even wrap my head around how unfathomably strong this guy is in comparison to literally everyone else. The only reason his fights are even remotely challenging to him is because his intelligence is so low that even a-
Oh, the Prince won? Holy fucking shit.
*The End.*
* * *
Well hope you enjoyed that silly little piece. Come check out my subreddit, /r/khaarus! | During the War of Mater Corncobs, there was a hero named Dave. He has the most stereotypical name ever, other than Bob, I don't understand why everybody likes him. Of course, his heroic feats were praised, but not by me! If I could, I would not narrate his "adventures". But they were the first person I could find, and I tried to tell them that Dave was a piece of- anyway, back to the story. Along his journey Bob met an evil person which told people really sad cat stories about dinosaurs, and made ho heard them jump to their deaths. Dave did the only thing he could do, which was pour water of the evil guy's head- HEY WHAT THE HECK DAVE! YOU COULD AT LEAST CHOP HIS HEAD OFF OR SOMETHING? WHAT KIND OF HERO ARE YOU? Seriously, I don't understand how he got his hero position in the first place. Anyway, Dave moved on to the giant fortress with evil things on them, because every story needs a giant fortress with evil things on it. Dave ran into the front entrance, and with one hit, smashed the door with his head and dropped to the ground, unconscious. Really? This is the guy who killed everything and "saved" us? He is so damn pathetic, I could do better than him! Well, moving on. He finally got to the final room, after 8 hours of walking and punching enemies off a very linear walkway. Wow, this is really boring, how did he get to be the hero again? Walking into the room, he saw a bright light. He walked towards it and poked it. All at once, the fortress fell down and he jumped out.
Wait seriously? This is ALL he did? He walked in, punched people, touched light, and jumped out? REALLY? Ok, I'm leaving this place. Leave my resumé with Ted. I'm out. | 2015-10-25T23:49:44 | 2015-10-25T23:16:15 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] You’ve always been told that Earth is a death world full of things that can and will kill you in seconds. However there is no way the adorable creature before you is dangerous, no matter how terrified your guide seems to be of it. | Grevra had heard so many terrible things about Earth. She had heard all the stories about how deadly it is, and how hostile the locals were. But the human guide she had found was a perfect gentleman. Of course, it probably helped that her species looked so similar to his. He knew she was not from Earth, of course. But he had said something about a "hot alien babe" to his friends via local wireless communication, and been more than happy to show her around.
And then there was the wildlife. She had heard about the deadly beasts that were everywhere. About toxic plants that could kill with a single touch. So far, she had seen none of it. The most dangerous creature she had seen so far was one the human called a cat. It was adorable, and it had made a soothing vibration when she touched it.
The human, a fellow named Carl, was showing her through the local woodlands, and so far she had not seen anything dangerous. Her family would have a fit when they saw all the holopics she took of the place. And the travel information was in dire need of an update.
A few bushes shook and a small animal popped out. It was a tiny bundle of brown fur, with cute round ears, a little stubby tail and a snout capped with a twitching black nose. It was one of the cutest things Grevra had ever seen.
"My goodness, it's adorable!" She squealed. She looked to Carl, who was standing absolutely still. "Carl?"
"Shh. Don't move. Actually, scratch that. Let's get out of here. Back away slowly, don't make too much noise."
Grevra trilled her amusement. "Carl, are you afraid of such a cute little thing?"
"Scared of that? No. I'm--"
"Then why are you acting as such? You look like you're looking at the most dangerous creature in the world. I'm sure it's harmless. here, I'll show you."
She started towards the animal. Carl's hand shot out and grabbed her collar, pulling her away.
"Stop right there." He hissed. "Don't get anywhere near it."
She smirked. "I thought you said you aren't scared of it."
"I'm not. I'm scared of it's mother."
"Mother?"
"That's a grizzly bear cub. And where there's a cub, the mother isn't too far away. And if you mess with her cub, it won't end well for you. Which means we need to get going."
She tilled again. "I'm sure it's not that bad. Such a tiny animal cannot have that big of a parent."
The plant life shook as something very large moved through them. The color drained from Carl's face as he started backing away. Grevra turned and saw a creature that was similar in appearance to the cub, but many times larger. It also had uncomfortably large teeth and claws.
"The mother?" She asked, not taking her eyes off the beast.
"I, uh, I don't suppose you have some kind of blaster or something? Maybe a force field?"
"I do not. I came here to see the sights, not kill things."
The bear let out a bellowing, rolling roar. Grevra shook with fear. Now she was starting to understand the stories.
"Damn. Uh, how about something that makes a really loud noise? A music player or something."
"Oh, yes. I have that. will that chase it away?" The bear was starting towards them. It did not take much thought to figure out why.
"Possibly. I've never actually seen a bear in person, but it's supposed to keep them away."
"Good enough."
Grevra retrieved the item in question. It was a small metal cylinder with a nano-speaker at one end, and holo interface projector at the other. She flicked the devise on and chose a sound at random, then turned the volume as high as it could. The already large animal stood on its hind legs, now absolutely towering over the two of them.
"You might want to cover your ears." She said before activating the speaker.
Sound blasted out of it, the noise loud enough to disturb a few loose leaves on the ground. The bear roared, but shied away. It fell back into all fours and back off, making sure to take its cub with it as it ran from the sound.
Grevra and Carl looked at each other as it vanished through the bushes. She turned the volume down to a more manageable level, but kept it playing. Then they turned and left as quickly as they could.
Grevra now understood the deadly nature of Earth a bit more. But, more importantly, she would have a very exciting story to tell when she got home. | "Oh come on, this creature can't be that bad."
I said, as I played with a white fur-ball creature, that had the fluffiness of clouds.
"S-s-s-s-sir, please be careful."
Our guide was rather terrified, and I am pretty sure that's not sweat.
A little backstory, right now, we are on a deadly planet called Earth, were animals, insects and plants alike are trying to kill us...or so we've been told.
During our tour, the guide helped us avoid 10 meter long bears, hide from a bird of prey that darkened the entire sky, and saved us from a small insect that could've drained all 10 of us off blood, in less than a minute.
But now...now he's telling me that this 20 centimetres tall, completely round, fluffy, white furred creature, that purrs when I pet it....is dangerous.
&#x200B;
"Oh, seriously, don't be so scared. Come pet it."
I said to the other tour members, as I pet the creature.
It purred, and pushed itself even closer to me.
"S-sir! That's dangerous, please distance yourself from the Veur."
The guide almost begged me.
"Why? At least tell me why its so dangerous? You can't expect me to resist this adorable fluffball!"
I said, while playing with the creature.
Right then, roars could be heard.
&#x200B;
"That's why, Sir"
The guide said, while gulping.
"Oh, come on, seriously? It's something cliche like this is the cub of a humongous, and bloodthirsty predator?"
I asked, rolling my eyes, while still keeping the Veur in my hands.
"No Sir, it's w-w-worse! The Veur is a parasite, that lives on the body of behemoth sized creatures."
The guide said.
"Oh, then it's harmless to people as small as we are."
I said, smiling.
"Yes, Sir, but it's still the most dangerous creature!"
The guide said, right when thunderous roars could be heard...too close for my taste.
&#x200B;
"Why is this the most dangerous creature?"
I asked, now finally putting down the fluffball.
"It emits pheromones that attracts behemoth sized creatures..."
The guide said, before glancing at my back, all colour draining from his face, and starting to run away, together with all my other team members.
I slowly turned back to see a horde of gigantic creatures.
I screamed, threw the Veur at them, and started running as well.
&#x200B;
"If there is a next time, I won't touch a thing!!!"
I shouted at the top of my lungs. | 2021-07-29T10:19:50 | 2021-07-29T09:08:56 | 146 | 19 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all. | Flashing in front of his eyes was perhaps the most broken of powers.
In the year 2200 humanity awoke their planetary core, a phenomena which took the dreams and thoughts of its inhabitants to turn into attributable powers. To maintain balance, all powers had certain restriction. Super speed and flight burnt proportionate levels of calories accounting for distance and speed. Super strength was stored strength which required days of weakness to have minutes of combined strength.
Among them all, powers which came with restriction predetermined were the strongest. For they weren’t restricted by the laws of the core but limitations imposed by humanity.
Today, a mythical power was awoken.
The only instruction given being:
“Don’t touch the snail”. | 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T08:13:31 | 689 | 444 |
[WP] A time traveler sells different timelines to people who regret their past mistakes. This is his most memorable encounter. | I choose a secluded corner of the local library to meet today's client. The library is always a good place to meet because it is small, run-down, and everyone buries their noses in their books and pretends you don't exist. It smells of dust and old perfume and I've been bringing my clients here for years now; never once have I been stopped or questioned or even looked at.
Today the sky is overcast with the promise of a storm, and the secluded corner I always use feels shadowy and strange as the black clouds crawl across he sky. The darkness plays over my client's careworn face, making him look otherworldly.
"Can you really do it?" he asks for the third time as I skim through his file. Alexander Nemov, Male, age 67, moved to the United States from Russia at age 16. He still has a hint of an accent, and it has a dark, throaty quality which matches the heaviness of the clouds.
"Yes, I can," I respond patiently, for the third time. "Now, tell me about the date you wish to return to. Be as specific as possible about the time, the location, who you were with--everything you can think of." I flipped to a blank page on my notepad and poised my pen to take notes.
He nods and folds his leathery fingers together, resting them against his chin. "It was May 24th, 1977. Around one p.m. Very sunny and warm, you know, just the beginning of summer. I was in Jacksonville, Florida on vacation with my wife. We were on Main Street, I remember this, just walking together down the sidewalk and enjoying the sun. It had been raining the past few days and had finally stopped that morning, so we just wanted to be outside. We were both in a great mood. She was planning on starting her new job when we got home from vacation and I had just gotten a big raise at work. We were on our way to being rich.
"As we were walking, we passed a homeless family, and I will never forget the looks on their faces. It was a mother and her two young daughters, not even ten years old. Their clothes were still damp from the rain earlier in the morning, and their hair was all matted and dirty. The littlest girl was holding a cardboard sign, I don't remember what it said, but it was soggy and limp and she was having trouble holding it up. I remember they had a straw hat on the ground for money, but it only had a few dimes and pennies in it. There were so many people out on the street that day just enjoying the sunshine and almost no one wanted to help them."
He pauses, closing his eyes at the memory. "What happened then?" I prompt him gently.
"Nothing," he admits. "My wife pointed out a pet shop across the street that she wanted to visit, and I just followed her and ignored the family. But I couldn't get them off my mind. I think about them every day." He turns his gaze on me, and it is sharp and determined. "I want to change it," he says in a firm, decisive voice. "I want to go back and help them."
I try not to show it, but I am stunned. In a profession like mine, you don't see very many selfless people; my services are expensive, can drain a lifetime of savings, and most people would, understandably, rather use that hard-earned money on themselves. "Are you sure?" I ask.
"My services are not cheap, you know this."
"Yes, I am certain," he says, a little loudly; an insistent "shush!" floats over to us from the front desk.
I nod and finish writing down my notes, close my notepad and stuff it back into my satchel. I pull out a small vial of pills and tap the bottle until three of them have fallen into my palm. He takes them from my open hand and pockets them. "Take those before bed tonight with a full glass of water," I instruct him, the familiar words almost automatic now; I have been saying them for years. "When you wake up, it will be May 24th, 1977." We both stand at the same time, and I hold out my hand; he shakes it warmly, a peaceful smile gracing his features for the first time.
"How do I pay you?" he asks earnestly as we walk toward the front doors. We stop just before stepping outside; a steady rain has begun to fall, drenching the concrete, creating puddles in the uneven blacktop. I think of the family in 1977 who, very soon, will never have to sit in the rain again, and smile.
"This one's on me."
| Roll up, roll up. We gotcha unrequited love timelines over here, that moment you were late for work and get fired just there and remember when you called your teacher mum? We got some lovely treats for you today, my dears.
Careful, careful. No pushing. Just give your money to my associate and we can give you anything you'd like. A chance to take back angry words, a chance to say missed words, we can give yer any chance you'd like, my loves.
And why would you like, my darlin'? I'm sure you have lots of regrets at your age. No offense intended, of course. That time you drank a glass of wine too many and flashed your boss at the Christmas party? The missed opportunity to study abroad when you were at university? Well, speak up sweetheart so those in the cheap seats can hear too. I'm a time traveler, not a bloody mind reader.
Nothing? You regret ..... nothing? But everyone regrets something. Gimme one moment, I'll find you something. That time you yawned but it turned into a burp in front of a large crowd of people? That time you waved back at someone then realised that they were waving at someone else? I'll do you that one on a deal, everyone regrets that. Coupla quid and we'll call it quits.
No? No.... Maybe it's the more serious ones for you, then. You've got serious eyes. Okay, serious, serious. Let me see here. How about redoing that exam you failed? Or.. Ah, yes! This is a good one. You could go back and say everything you wanted to your mother, you could apologise for everything you didn't mean and say everything you did mean before she died. You said everything you wanted to? Well, what about your children then? You must've made mistakes with them. The first time you helped them with their homework so then they expected help every time and went through their adulthood wanting to be spoon fed. You love your children the way they are? Well, what then?
Nothing? You really don't regret anything, do you? You're welcome to my mistakes. I have enough to go around, you just ask my associate here. He'll tell ya.
I'll learn from them, you say? I should keep them for myself? They've built me into the person I am today and without 'em, I wouldn't be me? But I have so many mistakes, so many regrets. I don't want to be me. What use is being me when I couldn't even .....
Right, that's it for today, folks. We'll be back at this stall same time tomorrow, selling you second chances. If you're not as lucky as this woman here, be sure that you're here bright and early for the best timelines. Remember, you don't have to make the same mistake once, that's what I always say. | 2014-02-18T09:24:14 | 2014-02-18T07:53:37 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] Two prison guards discuss a prisoner who is apparently immortal. He's been in jail with a life sentence for so long that no one knows the reason for his imprisonment. | ######[](#dropcap)
"Look, we can argue about this til the cows come home, man. It'll get us nowhere."
"What, I wasn't arguing. I was having a civil discussion," Greg declared, hand on his chest. "You're the one who-"
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up, would you?" Jordan said. "It's simple, see? If we don't know, then we ask. Easy as that."
"Well, I told you I already went down to Records last Thursday. His file isn't there, remember?"
"So we ask the prisoner."
Greg shifted uneasily. "We aren't allowed to talk to him."
"See, I've given that some thought." Jordan paced around in the hallway. "You know we're not supposed to talk to him. And I know that."
"And the warden. Don't forget the warden."
"Yeah." Jordan waved away the thought. "Everyone knows that, right? But no one knows why."
"Uh, because he's dangerous?"
"How do you know? No one's seen his file. How do you even know we shouldn't talk to him?"
"Look, man, I don't need another disciplinary hearing-"
Just then, the door at the far end of the hallway opened. Bill walked in, carrying a paper plate with barbecued chicken and coleslaw. "Here it is," Bill said, handing the plate off to Jordan. "His favorite." It was a joke of course. There was a rumor rolling around that at one point, early in the prisoner's tenure, his former guards had arranged to have him served chicken for thirteen days straight, as a cruel prank. To the prisoner's credit, he had never once voiced a complaint through the food slot at the base of the door. After a day, he even stopped leaving bones on the plate.
"Thanks Bill." Jordan waited for Greg to leave. Then, in a moment of impulsiveness, he pulled the keys from his belt and opened the iron door.
"Hey!" yelled Greg. Jordan walked into the room, and Greg pulled on his partner's sleeve in an attempt to make him reconsider.
There, sitting in the corner next to the bed, sat a young looking man with a decently trimmed beard and a very ratty prison uniform.
Greg froze. So did Jordan, but only for a brief moment. It passed, and he found his voice. "Lunchtime."
The prisoner blinked. Then he spoke.
"Thanks."
His voice was warm, Jordan decided. Not at all like a man who had spent more than a century in prison.
"What's your name?"
The prisoner paused. "Mike."
"Huh. What are you in for, Mike?"
Another pause. "Murder."
"Ha! Lou owes me ten bucks."
"Hang on." Greg pulled on Jordan's sleeve again. "We definitely shouldn't be talking to a murderer."
"What? He seems alright. He's nice." Jordan turned to Mike. "You're a nice guy, huh?"
"I try."
"You see? The justice system works." Jordan patted Greg on the back, beaming at Michael. "Spend some time in the clink, you learn some things, am I right?"
He was up before either guard had a chance to respond. Their throats were slit neatly and with precision. Greg went silently, passing out the moment the improvised blade hit his windpipe. Jordan only gasped and struggled, rolling on the ground as Mike picked at Greg's utility belt.
"I learned that sooner or later, everyone forgets the rules." Mike stood to his feet, holding Greg's gun and taser. He fired a round into Jordan's face. "And that chicken bones can hold a very fine point." | Concrete walls create long hallways, the cell's metal bars breaking the gray. Behind one door sits a prisoner who is immortal, and no one can remember his crime. In front of him two guards argue about his imprisonment.
"Well how can we really know that they did wrong if we can't remember what they even did? For all we know he might have served his sentence last tuesday!" Barry was sure of his argument that he should be put on strict parole.
Thomson looked back at Barry, obviously distraught by his words. "That's too dangerous, we can't have a possible psychopath on the streets. To do something that would get him jailed for so long, he must have done something deserving."
"That's not true! Some people are put in jail for financial crimes, or scams. What if he's a con artist?"
"So? We should still keep his sorry ass in jail. He did something wrong and should pay the price."
"I just don't think jails should work that way."
"Well sorry for trying to protect people like I'm supposed to."
"I'm just saying we should file a petition!"
By now, Barry was already on his last nerve. Even though he knew he was probably in there for a reason, he felt that if no one even knew that reason, then they couldn't keep him locked in jail. Barry quickly walked off uttering only "Watch the other prisoners" before arriving at the main office to try to file a petition in his name. Even though he wasn't sure he could even make one of those, he wanted to try.
In front of the jail cell Thomson felt a chill on his back. "You want to know how I got immortal? The trick is to trap you in here". Thomson felt all his energy being sucked out of him, and seeped into a cold damp feeling, t
he feeling of being stuck in a pit. His eyes now glazed over, he watched as the man who's supposed to be guarding him walked off. | 2015-06-01T21:26:57 | 2015-06-01T17:53:40 | 169 | 14 |
[WP] The ground suddenly turns invisible, but the insects and things that live inside it don’t. | Have you ever played minecraft?
Do you remember those times when you could suddenly see through the ground like you've got x-ray vision or something?
You would be walking and all of a sudden, the pixelated blocks of grass and dirt would vanish and suddenly you would be able to see the vast twisting tunnels of dungeons beneath you, the monsters and creepers, the cavernous sanctuaries of water and massive pools of lava.
Yeah, that was what it was like when the earth disappeared. The earth wasn't actually gone. You just couldn't see it. The grass fields, the soft dirt floor where we buried our dead, the bedrock - all suddenly invisible. Imagine the uproar of our scientists when suddenly they could see past the crust and mantle of the Earth, and lay their eyes on the Earth's core. A sight that no man or woman had seen before. All the mysteries of the Earth revealed like a spoiled book. It was a feat that many of us had always wanted to accomplish.
A journey to the center of the Earth, a dream that explorers like me could only dream of. To discover the mysteries that hid deep within the earth, or peer with our own eyes into the hidden depths of the planet before we expired.
So imagine the uproar when we suddenly stepped out of our houses and found the core of the earth sitting very visibly between our feet.
It was a jarring sight rest assured, but with time excitement over it deflated. Life went on and our monotonous everyday life resumed - except for a small group of us.
Geologist, archaeologist and even explorers like me - we remained ever curious. The invisible earth, this was a phenomenon that remained more mysterious than any mystery. For some strange reason, light particles were able to travel through the soil and rock of the earth freely. Quantum physicist remained enamored in their study with the peculiar way light interacted with the earth. Archaeologist became ecstatic with the discoveries of fossils and underground ruins they've never seen before.
Then there was us. The explorers. It was a race to the center of Earth's core now. I guess you could say things didn't change much for us. We formed expedition teams when we discovered the Way, an aptly named chasm that we discovered on the seventeenth day after the Vanish. It was a massive chasm that stretched all the way to the Earth's core.
Our expedition team, there was eight of us and we called ourselves the Founders.
I don't know if we were the first to reach the Center - I'd like to believe so - but what I knew was that we were definitely the last when we discovered what we did...
Love,
Darren your loving father.
I hope you never find me Daryl.
----
Daryl put his phone down, as he wiped tears from his eyes.
*Wait for me Father, I'll find you...*
--------
-------
/r/em_pathy
| This was the day everyone in our society dreaded. The day our lives would change forever, nothing could have prepared us for this. Our whole world changed, quite literally, forever. We could see them, and they could see us. There would be no more separation between our worlds. What was once a door we hid behind became a great glass window for the above to peer in. Staring at us as they do the enslaved lives whom are enclosed in prisons made of glass and stone. The prisons our ancestors fought so long to escape. The prisons our ancestors promised we would never return to. We needn't return now that that's what our home has become. We would now be the beasts they gawked at, free of charge. The eyes of those hairless monsters looking down on us as if we are nothing. As if our fur changes the fact that we are living breathing sentient beings. Who have families and culture as well as the feelings they lack. We know empathy is lacking in these ones. That is what makes them so truly terrifying. | 2018-04-21T08:39:35 | 2018-04-21T06:57:04 | 68 | 28 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | Reed stared out into the distance while his best friend drove the Range Rover. Ever since the incident they had been meeting every week. Running a kind of status update, a debrief of what happened in the last week. Simone used to be his CO back in the army, so this was more of a force of habit than anything else.
She wore a look of disapproval which deepened when she realized that Reed was clearly not listening. " ... HEY!! I AM ASKING YOU A QUESTION, ASSHOLE!"
"What?", he sighed resigned to the tongue lashing that was all too familiar to him.
Simone continued to alternate between glaring at him balefully and looking back at the road as she replied, " You are beginning to catch more attention." Last week i had 3 kids show up as Knifedge. We agreed. You don't want to be a bigwig. Its not safe for the world to know everything about your ability"
"I really cant help it if the kids think i am cool. and beside with what i have displayed so far and what i have said to the world at large, no ones gonna get an idea of what i can do",Reed replied dismissively. He had initially presented himself as a small level crime fighter whose powers where more suited to antivillian intervention as opposed to search and rescue work.
As he got more famous people began to get a little more curious about him and his abilities. After he was involved in an incident involving the serendipitous rescue of a Swedish princess from a mass shooter, he became something of a super hero A Lister. He was named a friend and protector of Sweden, had dinner with the Royal Family and made an appearance on their late night show Skavlan.
" Its pretty boring actually. I developed my abilities during deployment. I had an affinity for knifeplay and learnt how to throw them, and i really look up to my personal hero Jumper. What i ended up getting was a boring mix of the two. I have the ability to teleport to a knife that i have touched in the last 24 hours. I mean it has some fun uses like seeing how high i can go while throwing a knife higher up with each blip, but it is also incredibly limited. "
He knew why she was angry .... the lie was close enough to the truth that it could lead to someone devising a counter strategy against him. however he was not worried. His powers essentially made him invulnerable | “It’s just an illusion.” I’ve said it hundreds of times. The silly girl won’t believe me.
“It feels REAL! It has to be! PLEASE! I don’t care if it hurts, send me back!” It hasn’t ceased for hours…
I sent her to an alternate reality in an attempt to ease her suffering. Two versions of the same soul can’t exist within a single reality. It’s painful. But usually, people get a feeling of closure… like it’s a dream…
Cause I say it IS a dream.
Apparently she wants to just stay in that dream…
I can’t let her do that though… | 2022-06-06T14:11:15 | 2022-06-06T11:23:37 | 61 | 40 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | When the recently-titled Ambassador of Earth entered the ship of the our newly discovered neighbors, the entire world held it’s breath. At first, things were going well. The “Prendoran” race and humanity had been communicating as pen-pals for several months prior to the meeting. They were well versed on our social routines, as we were on theirs. The meeting would start with customary Prendoran greeting, which can most easily be described as a long, intense locking of eyes concluded with a gentle headbutt.
It all started with a scream. Well, if we’re going to be precise about it, it started several millennia prior to the meeting. It started when the first men argued over who would get to sleep on the more comfortable collection of rocks in their cave. It escalated slowly, with every fight, every family argument, every political debate. Every time a couple claimed not to care where they went for dinner, or pretended that everything was okay when it wasn’t. The problem grew with every miniscule miscommunication, and we had no idea.
The moment our first Prendoran friend locked eyes with the human Ambassador, the screaming started. As our alien friend screamed in pain, his eyes remained locked on the ambassador. The screaming emitted from his mouth began to shift. What began as a child’s wail went through a dramatic metamorphosis. Screams of anger, screams of joy, screams of ecstasy. As the alien drew closer to our ambassador, it’s screams grew more and more familiar. They became the screams of every person in his life, every relative, every pet. Just before their foreheads made contact, the ambassador recognized the sound of his own voice, his own pain, and his own joy. And then, at the moment of contact, our ambassador understood, and the room grew silent.
In those days, many of us were terrified to meet another race. We knew what we had done to ourselves in centuries past. We knew the damage that a single poorly chosen word or glance could cause. We knew how messy talking could be, but it wasn’t until we met the Prendorans that we grasped just how primitive we really were.
From a glimpse into just one mind, the Prendoran ambassador could sense the massive rift that had spread across all of humanity. In that moment experienced our entire history, our challenges, and our day to day pains. This incredible act of empathy, nearly unthinkable to us, is how his species has always communicated. Their lack of secrets, lies, and misunderstandings lead them to be an especially peaceful species, which stood in stark contrast to our own proclivity for violence. In the centuries to come, we used our weaponry to help them defend themselves from invaders, and they used their skills to help defend us from ourselves.
***
Feel free to check out my other stuff at /r/Floonatic | Accariz, the diplomatic of the Azara species, went down sudenly when he was talking to the human.
His screams fill the circular chamber completly. The noise of the hundreds of conversations stopped sudenly, and the AI responsible for security started to search for threads, but fail.
Accariz was screaming in the ground. The human diplomatic try to help him but he could only speak and cry over and over again.
"THIS MADNESS. HOW?. HOW CAN IT BE?. LAYERS AND LAYERS OF MADNESS"
Accariz looks John,the human, into the eye.
"HOW CAN YOU BE EVEN ALIVE. HOW CAN YOU THINK WITH SO MANY LAYERS OF MADNESS... OF OPPOSITES THOUGHTS!!!!"
&#x200B;
And then, He died. Right there. His brains turn off their heart to make silent. It was the only way.
&#x200B;
Now one ever look into a human mind again. | 2019-09-29T18:12:16 | 2019-09-29T17:13:42 | 656 | 65 |
[WP] After being kidnapped you wake up in a room where the only thing to keep you occupied is a computer with access to just wikipedia. After 2 years you are taken to an illegal gameshow as 1 of 10 contestants, if you are eliminated, you die. | *'What is the lifespan of a crocodile?'*
We all stared silently at the display in front of us. Finally a voice breaks the silence.
"What the hell's going on? And what kind of question is this?" a woman across from me asked, bewildered. She was trapped in a plastic box, just like the rest of us. She looked around her nervously - an old lady to her right, a little boy to her left, then her gaze fell on me.
I looked away quickly.
"Look! Something's happening!" a voice shouts.
I looked at the display monitor dangling outside my plastic box. The answers, they had appeared suddenly underneath the question. There were four choices.
"Looks like it's multiple choice, and it appears that we have a time limit," said a man with a youthful voice from within the circle.
Suddenly, I hear a muffled rap against glass. I look to my right, a man in overalls was slamming his fist against the plastic.
"Fuck this shit, I'm breaking outta here!" he roared as he started kicking at the plastic.
"Don't bother, this looks pretty tough lad," said an older man in the plastic box next to him.
But the man continued. The plastic began to contort with each kick.
"Haha! Almost out!" he shouted as he prepared for another kick, putting all his weight behind it. "See ya later bitc-"
And just like that, the man disappeared - no, the floor had opened up, swallowing him as he fell.
"What the fuck!"
"Oh my god. Where did he go?"
"I-is he dead?"
Everyone turned to look at the little boy who had asked if he was dead. None of us could say for sure, but I had a feeling that we all thought the same thing at that moment.
Suddenly, a voice yells, "Guys! We've got less than a minute to choose. I'm going for A. It's always A guys."
I look at my display. *'A - 30-40 years.'*
"A? You're sure A is the right answer? What do you think guys?" asked the woman across from me. Her blond her swayed as she twisted around looking at us frantically. "What happens if its wrong? Are we going to slip through the floor like that crazy dude? Are we going to die?"
"Calm down young lady," said the older man. "We all die eventually. No need to sweat your panties."
"What about B guys? Its definitely not C. Three-hundred years? That's gotta be wrong," someone said.
I checked the display.
*'B - 70 years.'*
"No, its probably A," said someone else.
"W-wait, aren't crocodiles immortal?" asked a childish voice.
Everyone turned to look at the little boy.
*'D - Indefinite.'*
"Are you saying its D?" asked the blond woman.
"This could be a trick question," said the older man as he chuckled.
"We don't have time," said the man with a youthful voice. "I don't know what you guys are going for but I'm gonna go ahead and select A."
Everyone nodded in tandem before extending our hands out of a slot and tapping the answer.
The timer froze, then disappeared. The answers began to disappear one by one until only one answer remained on the display. The correct answer.
There was only silence now as we watched, waiting for the results.
Then the blond woman screamed, breaking the silence once again as she fell through the floor.
The older man scoffed.
The little boy giggled.
I couldn't help but feel the edges of my lips curl into a grin.
The man with a youthful voice spoke, "Well then, looks like its down to the eight of us..."
----
----
More at /r/em_pathy!
| The heavy iron door slammed shut. I was alone in the room in near complete darkness, save for a small blinking light. Through the darkness i managed to follow the light through the barren room to the computer where the light was emanating from.
Hopefully I could find some information about how bad this situation really was.
My hand found the keyboard and the monitor sprang to life, blinding me with a harsh white light.
As my eyes adjusted I registered what was on the screen as a wikipedia page. The title of the page read **"Life or Death Trivia"**. I began to read.
> Life or Death trivia is a game show hosted on the dark net, broadcast worldwide from the secluded mansion of an anonymous psychopathic millionaire. Contestants are asked a series of progressively more difficult questions. Giving three wrong answers results in the death of the contestant. The last one alive is declared the winner.
> Contestants are kidnapped and kept in a room for two year where they are only given access to wikipedia, which they may use to research possible questions in preparation for the show.
My heart sank with every line. I realized that I was screwed, completely and totally. There was no escape. All I could do was continue reading.
> The PC which contestants are given is completely locked down to prevent any activity except for browsing, but not editing, wikipedia. This ensures that contestants cannot use their computer to send out a message in hopes of being rescued. The only time these protections were circumvented occurred in 2018, when a contestant managed to circumvent the locks on the computer to not only gain unrestricted access to the internet, but also full access to the facilities internal network, including the control systems for the lights and doors. The contestant was also able to lock down the network completely after his escape had been made.
>It is unlikely that the show will be renewed for another season.
I read that last line again. I started to laugh.
"That son of a bitch did it." I thought to myself.
The monitor shuddered and then died, plunging the cell back into darkness. I had been beaten at my own game. | 2022-11-23T15:22:58 | 2018-04-29T10:42:47 | 51 | 24 |
[WP] Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa. | "Turn around, did I find you?"
I froze. *What the fuck?*
"Don't be afraid."
Strangers bumped past my shoulders, struggling to get past me. Like a rock in a fast-bubbling brook, I remained fixed to the subway floor. I tried to calm my thoughts. She could hear all of them, after all.
But curiosity and sheer impulse took over soon enough - she'd invaded my every waking moment. I fought back, but desire forced my neck to turn, slowly.
Behind me, I saw a girl, possibly around 27 or so, staring back at me.
"Is it you?" her voice rang through my head, her lips unmoving.
*Yes.*
A grin spread across her face. Suddenly, a flash of panic spread through me. What if she was going to kill me? Destroy the voice in her head?
"Don't be ridiculous! I would never do that."
I cursed myself in my head, before realising she could hear that too. I felt more exposed than ever.
She sighed.
"Don't be afraid. It's okay. Way I see it, we have a special bond. I think, somehow, fate brought us together."
I raised an eyebrow. A man in an orange coat pushed past me angrily.
"Get outta the way, pal!"
I remembered where I was and quickly took a seat on a nearby bench. She did the same, still looking at me triumphantly.
"You see, I was in New York for a conference, but I heard your thoughts and, well, I know you were headed here for a family reunion too."
I nodded.
"I thought I'd come and find you. It was easy enough - you tend to think while you read, so when you read the subway signs I knew where you were headed."
I nodded again, somewhat sheepishly this time. There was a long pause, filled with the fairly loud hustle and bustle of commuters on their way to work, punctuated by the screeching of trains and blaring announcements.
We just looked at each other, lost in each other's eyes. For the first time, neither of us was thinking anything. Silence in our heads. Peace.
"...well, what now?" I said softly.
"I don't know," she said simply, shifting her gaze to the floor.
"Look. Just now, we were both silent. For the first time for as long as I can remember, there was peace. And we both know each other pretty well, don't we?"
She chuckled. "Maybe a bit too well," she mused.
"Well, I don't know how to say this, but..."
Her eyes lit up and a cheeky grin grew on her face.
"You've already heard it, haven't you?" I smiled.
*Yes.*
We got up and climbed the stairs up to the light. By the time the sun kissed our skin with its warmth, we were holding hands and headed to the nearest cafe.
I used to think that she was a curse, but now it's becoming clear. We had something nobody else in the world had; a deep, inexplicable connection that couldn't be explained. I don't know how this is going to work, but this feels right.
Just as I was about to vocalise my thoughts, she caught me in a smile.
*Ah. I forgot you can hear me. This is weird.*
"We'll get used to it."
I squeezed her hand and we walked along the pavement, wet and shining with the sunset's colours, reflected on the stone. | The voice... and the face that goes with it
I start to say something, "a-"
She cuts me off
She's saying things, I don't really know what, it's just noise, I'm trying to remember the worst thoughts I've had over the years.
Then the thought slips, "maybe she knows too much, should I kill her?"
She takes a step back, she knows that I thought it
"he's not serious, is he?"
She takes another step back
I don't know if I'm serious, she knows that I dont know if I'm serious, she knows I might be, I dont
I have no plan, she knows I have no plan but it doesnt seem like she has much of a plan either
She takes another step back, looking into my expressionless face, she knows I'm not going to chase her, she runs
She has more than enough thoughts running through our minds for one person and I could swear I have twice as many, it's so loud... there's no break in the storm, just endless,thundering trains of thought with little to no direction compounding on top of one another, I want her to stop thinking but I can't stop on my end, every passing second I remember a thought, I hear her remember a thought, we're rationalizing, we're lying, we know we're lying.
I could handle insanity, but this is too much, simply laying on my bed is exhausting, I need a drink or 12, I need silence
I win I lose, I lose I win, what is there to win?
Time to get acquainted with an empty bottle | 2019-09-14T11:28:36 | 2019-09-14T10:59:27 | 74 | 23 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | As the last known survivor, I feel I must explain it all.
We have muskets; by law, these are the weapons allowed by the Galactic Concordance. In fact, all weapons were severely restricted to prevent one species from gaining superiority through weapons technology. We know how to annihilate planets with a single blast, but we are kept from this.
Violating this galaxy wide agreement meant swift eradication by Iohva -- the entity created to be responsible for enforcing the agreement. The destruction was total and immediate, and his judgement was final -- so no one dared violate the agreement. Peace was kept and squabbles were minor. Minerals were still highly sought after since some technology was restricted. Miners, as you know, do most of the exploration and discovery. They are also the most heavily armed.
What we did not know, and could not have known, was what Iohva -- an entity that exists in the very substrate of the universe -- had been planning. It had found a single species which it deemed worthy of advancement beyond the limitation that Iohva itself had imposed across the Galaxy. This should have been beyond its capability -- but it had evolved -- radically. It now exists as everywhere. Some say it always existed, and we simply found it and gave it a vessel. If so, we were fools.
We became aware of this when we found a single star system, far from any cluster. It seemed to be impossibly remote, as if it was intentionally hidden. When it was discovered, all attempts to travel to this system were disrupted and ships were sent far off course with no obvious cause.
Eventually though, using a combination of jumps and sub-light engines, the system was reached -- and it was a rich system indeed. A half-12 of gas giants extending well out into the systems cometary cloud. A belt of protective asteroids -- and a third-12 of inner rocky worlds with mineral wealth beyond comprehension. The odds of a system configured in this way were astronomically small. The miners found the system occupied -- and this would not do. The third world possessed the most valuable minerals -- rare elements and in great supplies. The decision was made to invade and, because of that decision, we will all pay a terrible price.
The world was primitive by most standards and the "humans" did not possess interstellar travel. It was assumed that they too would be subject to the same 'soft' limitation of technology (artificial failures that Iohva used on undeveloped worlds) that all other worlds were subjected to.
We were wrong. We intercepted their transmissions. We saw evidence of their advanced weaponry, but this fiction exists in all races. Not here.
We miners landed in a place colloquially called 'DC' their ship nearly blotted out the sky. But, for all its bulk, as you know, is sparsely crewed with only a few 12's of 12's of crew -- around a four power of 12's. It was assumed that with our cannons and muskets, and superior position, we would make a show of minor force and then take the planet.
We were wrong again.
We opened fire with a single decapitating shot at a central 5-sided structure, a show of extreme force. The projectile was our largest and wiped out one side of the structure. We expected immediate surrender. We were met with annihilation.
Within a mere 12 span, our ship was assaulted from all side with terrifyingly powerful weapons. They penetrated deep into our hull. They had no muskets - they had legendary weapons - the ones depicted in their media. Missiles more powerful than anything any of us had seen. Explosive rounds. Kinetic penetrators. Signal jamming. We were only aware of such things in stories.
We were shocked -- why were these primitives allowed to have such ferocious weapons! We pleaded with Iohva for guidance and to enforce the concordance, but we were met with silence, his back was turned on us.
Our ship was immediately crippled by projectiles that penetrated our hull and several dozen decks. We began to lose power. We had barely a 12, 12-span of power left and the decision was made to head for the sea off the coast of the city. This is where we crashed and where the ship still lies. We could only make a stand, we could not flee. This is after a mere 12, 12-span and a well equipped mining ship - no race should have such destructive capability.
As we lost power, we discovered that the gravity on their world was incredible. Nearly all of our crew were captured by these humans; their size is incredible a full half again as large as our largest miners and warriors - and we are a large race; we thought ourselves strong! We saw them bend our doors open with their hands and break the bones of our crew members with no effort. It was a bloodbath that ended in defeat for most of us. I, and perhaps a few others, I can't be certain, were able to escape in a superlight life pod -- which is how I am able to relay this message.
We have unleashed a nightmarish army, a plague upon the galaxy and Iohva will not help us. Whether he is with them, or simply ignoring them, we have no chance. They will master superlight travel and we will learn a harsh lesson. We can only hope that Iohva does not let them slaughter us, or that they are kind masters. We will fall to them. | When he finished he put it back into the display case full of his other trophies. He had taken it from the Grand Warlord of Nor IV, one of his easiest conquests.
"But you must agree Admiral that it is a waste of our resources. Why invade when they clearly are killing themselves? We don't even need to wait that long, maybe 200 years, before they have reached a point where we don't have send an entire fleet."
"Waste? The vast resources of this system make an invasion worth the effort. They don't know what lurks under the surface of their gas giant, or under the ice of double planetoids. Their probes are laughable in their tools, and they haven't even yet set up optics to spot our ships."
"But consider this, while they might not have space faring capabilities they do have weapons that they could point at us. There will be losses. Reports make it clear that they are highly tribal and pointing those weapons at each other at the moment. They are arguing with themselves, with tensions rising. They are on the verge of not just stopping and reversing the warming of their planet, but controlling their climate and weather. They are stumbling into artificial intelligence, and are showing the first signs of accidentally releasing an unbound AI upon their communication networks. They are showing signs of possible disease outbreaks, even after clearly having control for decades."
"Your point captain?"
"My point is that we don't need a fleet. We need patience. We could probably speed up the process a bit. Our medical technology would allow us to look like them. I know that chemical warfare is not honorable, but we could modify our technology to speed up the warming of their climate. We could sponsor one or more of the unstable nations to pose a threat. We could introduce our own AI into their system. On their own, we could see a collapse in 200 cylces. With some help we could see one in 50. They can't detect us right now, and we have full ability to monitor them. Small, subtle moves can create massive change. Unstablize the planet, help them destroy themselves, and we can swoop in once all their bombs are dropped. Teraforming technology has taken some great leaps in cleaning up our own radioactive messes, and what they can do is nothing compared to what we did."
"A little patience and we won't be risking anything?"
"Exactly."
"Any ideas on where to start?"
"Well, one of the more powerful nations is going to be holding elections soon. I think we can get one of our own in there to shake things up. It might take two of their election cycles to get someone into the top, but I think I have the perfect candidate."
A thin sheet of transparent glass like material was set on a desk in front of the admiral, reports and photos slowly cycled across from it.
"He looks... a bit like us. This is already someone on that planet?"
"The orange skin and yellow hair will save our medical professionals some work, and I can have a team ready to replace him as soon as we have his replacement ready."
The admiral considered it. He tapped his desk a few times as the idea rolled over in his head. "Are you also picking him because his name is similar to my ancestral clan's?"
"No sir, I wasn't aware you had that in common," the captain said with his best poker face.
"Very well," the admiral said with a slap on his desk. "I want this Trump replaced as soon as possible."
"We should be able to get it done soon. A window will open at what is called a White House Press Dinner I believe, if not then soon after." | 2017-08-08T08:28:06 | 2017-08-08T08:23:50 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I looked down at the email, and in that hot August evening, I knew what preparedness meant, and how rare preparedness truly is.
&#x200B;
$7.27 deposited to my account. The remainder of my life was being measured in currency, rather than time. My 21st trip around the sun resulted in growing old, even with barely two decades-worth of life spent.
&#x200B;
As I did when I needed clarity for nearly all of life's situations, I took a walk. Those past instances seemed so far behind me now as I took steps with the heaviest legs I've carried. The world felt as if it were sinking, like colors running down drenched artwork. I felt so much and so little, my body containing the madness as it figured out what to do with this new, unknown sensation; the constant thought of so little time, memories scattering, what it feels like to be dust, to be gone. All the money I'd spent, the people I made love to, the sensations of sunsets calming days, staring into another's eyes, hitting a joint, receiving a hug after having been away from a loved one for so long, would soon be retrospective.
&#x200B;
When you know and/or believe you will die soon, you remember in bits and pieces the people whom you love in your life the most, and how they will be without you. It is the gravest yet greatest ultimatum; to accept the beautiful people you will leave behind, and the ways that your presence affected them. It is the hardest attachment to sever; the ties to this magnificent dream that you've dreamt all your life.
&#x200B;
I cried and began walking in the direction of the gas station to buy my last pack of cigarettes. I hadn't puffed since I was 19; I figured now was inconsequential.
&#x200B;
I looked at the usual turquoise pack situated on the shelf behind the cashier. Gas station attendants have a particular way of being able to read human emotion to a tee, and he knew by my expression I was not having it that day. He turned to grab the pack.
&#x200B;
A blush of red caught the corner of my eye and I turned to look at freshly-picked, velvet-red roses, still glistening and vibrant from their fresh rounds of sunshine. I began to break, as I remembered my nine year-old sister's favorite color was red. It's always the random things that get to you. I told the cashier that the cigarettes were no longer necessary, and I deemed the $6.99 pricetag for the roses a far more worthy investment.
&#x200B;
The cashier scanned the flowers. I reached to grab my wallet, and in doing so happened to glance down at the price after tax:
&#x200B;
$7.27. | I cashed in my newfound fortune. $2 got me on the bus, I got out at the edge of town. I walked for a few hours and found a garage sale sign, I followed the arrows to a somewhat shabby looking hobby farm. There was a very old man sitting amongst the articles he had for sale, all of which had a more leaden appearance than the man and his dull stare. I was scrutinizing a primitive looking shovel, thinking about how much I enjoy the feel of an old tool in my hands. I heard a scatching sound. The man focused his dead stare on me and was using a stick to write 5.27 in the dirt. I gave him the rest of my Minimum. He handed me the shovel, turned and very stiffly he took a knee in front of me. I rang the shovel off the back of his head and he collapsed. I dug a hole and covered him in his earth. I fed his animals and slept in his bed. When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the warm decaying scent of spring. I began to dig up his garden. | 2019-04-24T12:56:00 | 2019-04-24T11:25:08 | 59 | 20 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it. | "Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one. | 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:07:43 | 2,794 | 895 |
[WP] You can see video game-like titles for the people you meet. Usually they are just "The Shopkeeper", or "The Mayor", but today you saw an old homeless man with the title "The Forgotten King". | David was opening up his shop when I arrived that morning. He was a fine book seller, always had the most compelling tales of heroism and adventure. I browsed his shop for only an hour that morning, I had too many books already.
I looked around the shop aimlessly as he bagged my purchases, my eyes settled only momentarily on the words above the old man’s head.
*The Shopkeeper*
The rest of the town was waking up as I started to walk back home. Sarah, *The Baker*, handed me a loaf as I walked by. She was always generous. We were good friends, both of us had taken on our family businesses and shared the same struggles of keeping up with the newer town shops.
I continued walking back home, greeting everyone from Paul, *The Sheriff*, to Anna, *The Harpist*.
They all had the same titles above them, day after day. In white, neat penmanship, simple titles that were true to their characters.
I had started to see them one day, when I was young. I had asked my father about them, but he had simply waved them off as part of my youthful imagination.
“They’ll go away when you’re older.” That had been over twenty-years ago. I was now thirty-two, and the titles were still there.
I didn’t know what my title was, I would sometimes go sit by the lake, to see if there was anything in my reflection. I never had one, not even when my father had died and I had become the town’s blacksmith.
Father had always had a distaste for my interest in books, he said reading was for scholars. I had struggled to learn to read, since my mother had died when I was young, and Father did not know how.
I learned one day though, that the shapes and lines that I was seeing above people were words. They had meaning, and gave people names beyond those given to them at birth.
The bookkeeper had taught me how to read in exchange for a solid lock for his shop. I had learned how to make the lock from one of the first books I read.
I was out of the main part of the town, there were fewer people with their shops open and even fewer out in the streets. *The Midwife*, *The Priest*, and *The Shoemaker* were the only ones I saw as I walked by.
There was a man though who sat outside of the town’s church. He sat there in the cold with nothing but a single shirt and pants. He wore no shoes and his black beard was unkempt. I was getting closer and noticed his dirty face, but there was no other way. I had to walk past the church to get to my shop. That was when I noticed his title.
*The Forgotten King*. I kept walking, but my pace slowed.
No one had ever had that title before, no one had ever had a ridiculous title. I turned to look at him casually as I passed, pretending to be looking all around at the surroundings. I felt my eyes linger on the words above his head.
Suddenly the homeless man’s head shot up. He looked me in the eyes and I was taken aback by how blue and clear they were.
“You!” He jumped up from the steps of the church and I stopped, not sure if I wanted this man to know where I lived.
“May I help you sir?” I couldn’t stop glancing at his title, it wasn’t in white text like most people’s. *The Forgotten King* was written in a faded grey, almost as if it was a sign that had been painted and then exposed to time and the elements. He leaned in closer to my face and I held my breath, not wanting to smell the stench off of a homeless man.
I wanted to push him away, but it seemed wrong to be rude to another man in front of the town church.
“Yes, yes. I knew you were here.” He muttered, looking at me from above. He was taller than me, and bigger despite the clothes of a homeless man. It was rare for someone bigger than the blacksmith to come to town.
“Do I know you, sir?” I took a small breath when he leaned away, thankfully not catching a whiff of whatever his unkempt beard was probably giving off. I had seen a piece of moldy cheese in it.
“No, but I know you.” He pointed at a spot above my head, “You’re *The Titlemaker*.” | I was walking home one Winter night, doing the usual and reading out peoples titles in my head. Kevin Johannes - Dog Groomer, Susan Warren - Kickboxer, I passed a man and woman who's title indicated they were siblings, and who were getting a smidge to romantic with each other, I cringed. Then, sitting on the corner I saw The Forgotten King, I stopped in front of him staring at the words floating above his head. He was curled up just inside the opening of an alley clutching an odd choice for a change cup, it looked like aged bronze and very old.
After a few moments the old man rose his head and saw me looking at his cup, caught off guard my hand shot for my pocket and fumbled for some change, "Heh" the old man chuckled. "It's alright lad, I'm used to people starring, this is a strange thing for a man like me to have." "Where'd you get it?" I asked trying not to seem rude. The old man sighed "Over seas during the war....a very old war, I doubt you'd believe me if I told you which one...no matter, I'm supposed to give it to someone in Rome but I haven't been able to get it back to where It needs to go, so I'm sort of.. stuck, in a way until that happens."
I think to myself what he means by stuck, but I carry on my conversation. "Well I do travel a lot for work, maybe we can talk about it and I can probably help?" The old man stares at nothing for several seconds and focuses back on me. "You... you'd take this burd-..... I mean, cup from me?" Confused, I agree and the old man starts looking more relived than I've ever seen anyone. Fumbling over his words he stands up and shakes my hand. "My good Sir, you have no idea how long I have waited for someone like you to come along, what do they call you?" "I...uh, well my name is Lance" the old man scoffs but quickly tries to hide his reaction. "Ah...well Lance.... thank you for your offering to help me in my ques-.... endeavor. Meet me back here early tomorrow, there are a very specific set of instructions that are involved that I need to prepare." I agree and shake his hand again. As I start going back to my hotel I turn back around "Oh, I didn't get your name" the old man pauses ".....my name? I can't remember the last time I used it, it was... it is Arthur, yeah Arthur!" | 2019-01-08T16:21:07 | 2019-01-08T14:54:13 | 49 | 30 |
[WP] Instead of names like Steven or Julia or Bob or Helen, humans are given descriptive names that somehow wind up relating to their personalities or predict future careers, like My Little Pony names do. This is great, unless you're a guy/girl with a really embarassing or scary or gross name... | "Johnny? Johnny? Johnny...Will you please answer the question?"
Huh? Said Johnny, looking away from the window. The entire class stared, showing how much they hated him. Especially Nick Kunt, critique extraordinaire. Throwing him a snarl of mangled yellow teeth, he looked back to the teacher.
"Right miss?"
"We are having a discussion about what you all wish to do with your life, given your namesake"
"Whut, Rotten? I duno.. this fookin name. What i want aye? I don't particularly like these names, the idea of some self fulfilling prophecy set out by a fachist queen, givun us names n all that. I mean, who's ta say i can't run a nice high tea and serve some cakes. Everyone would think the food was rotten but, see my problem?
"But without names, Johhny, it would be anarchy. How are we to know who is nice and who is..Rotten?" She let out the last word with a hiss, a mocking smile stretching across her straight white teeth. Miss Sweet really was as much of a cunt as Kunt, Johnny thought.
"Maybe i like a bit of wee anarchy. Ever stolen something, Sweet?" Johnny stood whilst grabbing a wooden ruler off of Pathos' desk. "I bet you 'aven't, with a name like that. Bet you've never 'ad no one look at you like you're scum. He walked among the silent students, tapping the ruler to a steady beat on each desk.
"Stealing is wrong, now sit back down" Said Sweet, nervously gripping her walking stick.
"Ever the sweet aye Sweet. Never destroyed something have ya? Ever put a safety pin through your shirt, or gone ta bed without brushing ya teeth? You ever taken a piss on a picture of the Queen? Who even named her the Queen? She named herself, didun she? These fookin names." he let out with a raspy growl. By now they were face to face.
"I stole me a guitar you know Sweet, a right fookin beauty. I like to stand naked on the wall in my street, pretending i'm Pink Floyd. People think i hate em, like they all 'ate me, on a case of me shirt, but they get me. I ain't no brick in a wall, no fookin mug. Now, i think it's time go to the pub. Maybe i'll meet some lads who get me eh, 'ave some fun. I ain't neva comin back. Then you know what i think i might do?
"What, Johhny, be a bit more rotten? Good riddance."
"I'm going to destroy England. Destroy. Because it's England thats fookin Rotten."
| "Don't worry," I said to the parents of the patient. "An appendectomy is a very common surgery and although every surgery has risks, this risk is pretty low." "Thank you so much doctor!" the mother exclaimed tears in her eyes. "I know this procedure costs way more then what you are charging us." The "nurses" wait at the doors of the "surgery room." "Don't worry about that, I'll see you in a couple of hours." I say, hoping the sweat is not visible on my forehead.
Once in the room, the patient looks at me and says, "Am I going to be ok doctor...um?" as the medicine starts to take control of his body I say, "There is nothing to worry about child, now count to 3." "1...What is your name doctor?...2 Your name is Dr. what?" the patient says as his eyes start to glaze over. "Just relax now...my name is Dr. Dismemberment...3." | 2014-09-21T22:30:11 | 2014-09-21T22:03:19 | 59 | 25 |
[WP] A clang came from the engine room, followed by a string of curses. Most of the crewmembers stood far from the doors, fearfully looking in. It was their first trip out to deepspace since they had taken on a human mechanic, and they were all pretty sure that those were not good noises. | First lieutennant Jones stood from the desk.
"Ill go see what happened" he stated, as he grabbed his sidearm out of his holster and approached the door. Cautiously, he disengaged the door locks and opened the portal to the engine bay.
He took one step in before the clattering was interrupted by the human engineer screaming out.
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK"
Suddenly a wrench was flung across the room, over the one photon generator that divided the space. Jones ducked to avoid the projectile as it clanged against the wall behind him.
"You fucking MotherFucker, Fuck you!" Exclaimed the engineer, and several hammerlike bangs sung through the room.
Jones grabbed the transmitter on his chest. "Theres an intruder in the engine bay, the engineer has engaged the target, I'm moving in to assist."
"Roger lieutenant, we are dispatching tactical response to your location." Command responded.
Jones steadied his pistol. He stepped cautiously around the corner of the generator. He took a deep breath as he heard the engineer yell "Take this you piece of shit!" Followed by another *CLANG!*
Jones swung around the corner and dropped to one knee, finger on the trigger. He scanned for enemies but only found one target: the engineer.
"Fuck you! Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you!" The engineer proclaimed smacking the broken turbine infront of him.
"Engineer, where is the target?" Jones shouted.
The portly engineer with grease on his denim overalls looked over at the lieutenant, "What?"
"The hostile, where did he go?"
"What?"
Jones lowered his pistol. "Are you being attacked?"
The engineer removed a small device from his ear, as a thumping beat could be heard from the small earpiece. "What?"
Jones shook his head. Never had he experienced the incompetence from an "earth dweller". He was always told about it from his colleagues , but he never thought he would ever see one from his distant galaxy.
"Are you under attack? Is there an enemy here?" Jones sternly asked. "Where is the enemy?"
The engineer looked at him "No? Ive been fixing this damn turbine, this shit is fucking stupid."
The lieutennant holstered his weapon. "Who are you yelling at?"
"This damned machine. Its fucking broken."
"Is this normal to do? Do you talk to inanimate objects where you are from?"
"No, but its normal to get mad when shit doesn't work" the engineer responded.
Jones grabbed his transmitter. "Command, disreguard for tactical, code green. False alarm."
He focused on the engineer. "Well what is the matter with the turbine?"
"Its broke"
"Yes, but whats broken?"
"The turbine."
Jones held his head. The human had somehow found a way to out do himself. "Okay. Okay." He muttered. "What part of the turbine is broken?"
"Well nothing broken" the engineer responded.
Jones contemplated stuffing his own gullet with his blaster. "Whats the matter?"
"Nothin, whats the matter with you?"
The lieutennants hand itched closer to the holster.
"Do you need help or can I be on my way?" Jones responded.
"No, in fine. This damn part wont go back where it came from. The part in here got gummed up and I stripped it down and replaced it. It all looks fine. But this fucking shaft needs to get in the part back there but-" the engineer slammed the metal rod into the side of the mechanism "-this fucking thing wont go back. Its too fucking long. I think I'm going to cut it down to size. It mustve fucking grew or something"
"Dont cut anything! Logic dictates that if it came out, it must fit back in!" The lieutennant responded.
"Yeah but it doesnt fit now does it? It must be because I fixed everything else that this part no longer works"
"That doesnt make any sense"
The engineer, now weilding a plasma cutter, begged to differ.
"Stop that immediately!" The lieutennant shouted.
The engineer looked up. "Im sorry, whos the engineer here? Last time I checked, its me. Now walk yourself back to your little desk and push your glowy buttons or whatever you do. Ill do my job, and you do yours."
Frustrated, the lieutenant turned his back to walk away, when he heard the engineer exclaim "wait a minute". Jones turned.
"I just had to lift this hatch!" The engineer moved a small latching mechanism and slid the shaft into place. "That was fucking easy". He stood up and flipped the lever, and the machine sputtered to life. The whir of the turbine filled the room, and the lights of the ship became visibly brighter now running at full power.
The engineer began to load his equipment back into his tool box. Wrenches, pliers, sockets, all were hasilty thrown back into the container, until the engineer froze. He lifted a small gear the size of his palm, stared at it, stared back at the turbine, then back to his hand. He paused.
"Meh" he shrugged, as he chucked the gear into his box, lifting the whole thing now as he began to exit through the service door.
The lieutenant, disturbed by what he had just encountered, returned back through to the control room where he was stationed. He sat back at his desk, and rested his head in his hands.
"Lieutenant?" the commanding officer began. "Status?"
"The turbine is back running, sir."
"What was the matter?" The officer questioned.
"Nothing" jones replied, holding back the urge to ask "what's the matter with you?" | It's been 50 years since we, as a race, perfected space travel. Of course, I say race so as to gloss over the fact that entire groups of people had not only developed the math required to make the jump to hyperspace, but according to myth and lore, a few groups had managed it also, a full 150 years ago. That's a full 100 years before the " companies " got their head wrapped around it.
It doesn't affect our day to day operations as such, the knowledge that there might be clusters around our home planet with the tech to make the hyperspace jump in less than 1/10th of the fuel we use currently. Honestly speaking, fuck 'em. We have too much fuel anyway.
It has created a weird hierarchy though, within the space corps. Basically if anyone suspects that you are one of them, you're in an extreme. Either you're treated with royalty, or suspicion. If you're lucky, it's the first. Although if you're treated like royalty, it doesn't take long before the rest of the crew starts treating you with suspicion. It's a slippery slope, and there's really no coming back. Legend has it, that a few communities dispense with their high tech if treated nicely, so people acquiesce. Personally, I think it's a bunch of hokum. For me, and quite a few others, all of these frills usually serve the purpose of a ritual hazing, only it's us crew at the receiving end.
We try to watch out for it but of course, they get away with a lot too. Just last week we had a new member join our crew. And of course, the company skipped the background check. I mean, why look through a person's space-resume' and not look for inconsistencies as glaring as, where it says 10 yrs - mechanic, it doesn't say what vehicle because it sure as hell isn't a space ship! And I can obviously say this right now, because I'm in a room, surrounded by other crew members, going through this guy's space-resume' and we're all just marveling at the idea, that since we're in space, and our bodies don't actually have any biological mechanism to realize the amount of danger it's in, we're gonna have to inject ourselves with the adrenaline required to figure out what to do in the precise moment when we realize we might actually be in some kind of trouble.
For now, there's an inordinate amount of noise coming from the other room.
\*loud clanging\*
\*really loud clanging\*
"Ok, whose idea was it to hire this guy? Was it you Dick?"
"No man, wasn't me. Looksie here I got the little contract right here, and all it says is crew meet Monday at the docks. I met ya'll at the docks."
"Well which one of you fuckers did it?"
"It wasn't me Harry. It was one of those company fuckers. You know how dem are. They don't care nothin'. They prolly in their cushions thinkin' he got sum hidden tech up his sleeve or somethin'. Fucker's gonna make us get to hyperspace in one quintillion of a second faster than them nincompoops can come up with."
"You really think so?"
"Doesn't matter what I think Harry. I think the guy crooked us. I mean, he obviously doesn't know anythin' bout' fixing no space ships, that's for sure."
\*loud clanging noises\*
"Yeah, he doesn't."
"Whatever guys, I'm going to tune into the inter-galactic space-athon at Dix 51's nebulon-bar at galaxy cluster 31, route 78, channel 89. Now at a limited time period offer of 20 cents an hour, only! Don't forget to subscribe now."
\*clanging noises\*
\*clanging noises\*
\*tv starts\* | 2019-05-31T06:52:52 | 2019-05-31T02:52:26 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] The desperate, dying Paladin binds you, a demon, to a pact. In exchange for his soul, you will live on Earth as he lived: “protect the innocent, save the wicked”. 200 years later, the pact ends today. And you’re not sure you want to go back to hell. | Staring down upon your gauntlet, You felt the urge to leave the body you’ve been imprisoned within for two centuries rush through your veins. It was hard to resist and for three days since the pact you were forced into ended, you’ve been torn on what to do.
The welcoming warmth you felt every time you did as the pact bid you has since faded away and the thought of continuing without it left you uncertain. How would you know if what you did from here on was good or not without it? Have you ever made a difference? Maybe it was better if you’d returned to the hell from whence you came?
“Ser Oviss?” A familiar voice called out to you amidst the sea of people occupying the city square. You lifted your gaze and it was met by a sorceress you’ve known for over a century; Elizabeth.
“Why are you sitting here, all alone and full of gloom?” She asked whilst the wind danced with her outfit of blue, frilly cloth and soft leather.
“The pact ended three days ago.” You said with a sigh. She cocked her head at you.
“And you’re still here.” She nodded knowingly with a smirk. You shock your head at her natural smugness. Yet she was right; you were still in your human form so a part of you still wanted to stay. But would you do more good than harm without the pact?
“I’m torn, Elizabeth; a part of me wants to stay, but I know in my heart that I don’t belong here. Without the pact, how would I know what to do?”
She paused for a moment and looked visibly confused before her eyes lit up with resolve.
“You say you don’t belong here, but give me a chance to prove you wrong.” She said and pulled out her wand. She crushed something in one hand and twirled her wand behind her, where an oval swirl of black and gold appeared mid-air.
“You know I hate portals.” You tried to retort, but you knew better than to argue further. The two of you stepped through the gate.
***
“Where are we?” You asked while glancing around the narrow alleyway the two of you found yourselves in after leaving the gate.
“You’ll see soon enough.” Elizabeth teased and threw a cloak at you and motioned for you to put it on. You did as you were told and pulled the hood over your head. After that she led you out from the alley and into the open street. Instead of regular guards, you were met by patrols of men and women wearing the same armor as you; a marriage of boiled leather, chain mail, and plate pieces. You felt confused, but the sorceress did not allow you to stand around and ponder for long as she dragged you ever onward.
In no time the two of you entered the town square where you noticed a statue rising above the people. After walking closer, you noticed the resemblance: It was you. There you stood, in stone, with your armor and the hammer inherited from the man who swore you to the pact.
“What is this?” You asked and turned to the sorceress.
“You might not remember it, but a century ago you saved this town; Mirken is the name of it. They built this statue in your honor and founded an order in your name.” She replied and motioned towards the guards passing through the square.
“An order?”
“Yes. An order of paladins. For a century they have dedicated themselves to live by your exemplar. They’ve aided and saved nearby villages and towns for years.” She continued.
“Why are you showing me this?” You asked, but deep in your heart you knew why.
“Because you have inspired people!” She replied without missing a beat, closing the distance between you. “Not because of the pact, but because you were there when no one else would come. You were their light in the dark. Their hope when all they knew was despair. And this is only one town—one people—out of the countless that you’ve saved and inspired over the centuries throughout our realm.”
You took a step back from her and felt your back brush against the statue. All this time you had done only what the pact wanted you to do, always on the move to vanquish one evil after the other, never staying for long in any place.
“For years you’ve saved the people of this realm, so I won’t judge you if you want to leave. But I know, and so do you, that you’re no longer a demon, Ser Oviss.” She said with a warm smile and tears in her eyes, “You are so much more than that.” And with that she opened another gate and left you.
You hesitated for a second before following her into the unknown.
***
What greeted you was a field of gold set alight by fire amidst steel and blood. The farms surrounding a closed city were burning and a grim host held it by its throat. A force of men and women, all dressed in the same armor as you, had gathered upon the hill overlooking the city. Behind them you stood in the woods.
“You know who you are, my friend.” She whispered behind you, and in your heart you finally knew. All hesitation washed away as you stood tall, summoned your glowing hammer, and left the woods.
“Ser Oviss is with us!” They began to chant and cheer as they too drew their swords. They gathered behind you and in a swift charge, the Paladins of Oviss thrust like a spear of light into the host and shattered it.
The city was saved that day and an everlasting Paladin was born anew. | My existence has been a bit of a double-edged sword.
There's a demon portal opened in the caverns of Mount Kershall, where I came crawling out as a young lad, to a family of purple rubber-skinned demons with red eyes.
We can disguise ourselves as humans with ease, but our cover can be blown once we start feeding off souls and drinking blood. They call us vampires, monsters, etc. but I always preferred the demon moniker.
Growing up I showed a lot of promise. "The Slim Reaper," my friends called me, or Slim for short. Tall and slender, with long claw-like fingers in my true form, ideal for harvesting souls and blood. The humans made a legend of me and called me, "The Night Reaper." Either way, I valued the reaper nickname.
I always set my sights on a challenge: athletic and powerful people. They were fun to hunt, but then one day came that brought an end to my legend.
I came up to a Paladin I had wanted to kill for ages. His blood was holy, his soul was pure. I knew because I could smell his coppery blood and his sweet soul. He had slain many of my friends who were foolish enough to challenge him without preparation.
I had trained for years.
Valiyos was his name, and I came up to him in the great halls of the Holy Kershall Castle, the opposite side of the country from the cavern where I was born.
He stood in a vast chamber of stained glass windows, praying at an alter. I had just led a successful raid on the castle to steal some treasures and told my demons to go on without me. I had some unfinished business to tend to, and they knew what that meant.
Strolling into the chamber, I chuckled. My weak laughs bounced off the flagstone walls. Valiyos refused to turn around.
"I've known of you for decades, Slim," he stated, still with his back to me.
"So I guess we don't need introductions then," I smirked, creeping up behind him, my claws shedding the skin off my hands.
"What a sad existence you must lead. Deprived of love, joy, generosity, and kindness. How awful I feel for you."
"Good news is, you don't have to feel awful any longer. I'll make this quick and painless," I lunged up to the altar and he spun around with his eyes glowing white. Even though I had never seen a human do such a thing, I stabbed his heart with my claw, draining his soul and blood. It flooded into my body and filled me with such a blissful high, I never felt anything like it. My body was electric.
"I am you, and we are one," Valiyos boomed in a deep voice. "I trust you will raise my daughter well."
*How was he talking? My claw had punctured his heart.*
Then the bastard grinned at me before falling limp. The light disappeared from his eyes.
I felt foreign emotions swirl in my head. *I actually regretted killing him.*
Vivid memories of a little girl popped into my head. She was crying somewhere. She needed me.
"What the hell happened!" I screamed. "What are these thoughts?!"
*I pulled off...* A voice in my head echoed. *You're no longer a demon, but an extension of me, and you will obey my every word. No longer will your life be cursed, but you will experience the joys and virtue of humanity. It might be tough at first, but you will embrace your new existence.*
My existence is a double edged sword.
I became a world famous demon and killed my greatest enemy, only to become his puppet. Now it's my mission to seal the demon portal.
r/randallcooper | 2020-12-16T12:12:23 | 2020-12-16T10:11:35 | 63 | 44 |
[WP] As a young wizard you uncovered an old spell that resurrects one of your eldest ancestor. You do so in curiosity, only to face one of the most feared creature the world ever experienced thousands of years ago. The creature recognizes you as its descendant while you stare at it in disbelief. | "Raise the dead," they said, "It'll be fun,' they said.
Ok, they never said that. The one thing they did say was never to experiment with necromancy. Surely, resurrection didn't count though, right? That's animating skeletons and liches and stuff. This should be a positive thing, at any rate.
I guess it helps to know who or what you're resurrecting, though.
Magic is hereditary, and while nobody knows exactly where it began, and sometimes an anomaly does pop up, for the most part magic runs in the blood, and it's that simple. As such family lineages go back at least a few hundred years for most, a thousand or so for a few select families. Know someone who was "descended from Charlemagne"? Chances are they're magic. Or full of it.
In any case, nobody's lineages go back much past that, and right now you were sincerely wishing they did. With a few fateful words you had brought back to the world something that should have stayed dead - that you wished had. And it was sizing you up.
Sanavar, The End of Hope, among other epithets, stood before you, and when they spoke, your marrow chilled in your bones. "Greetings, my progeny." The words were... felt, not heard. "You are powerful for one so young."
Stammering you answered, not exactly knowing what you'd say as the words dribbled out. "Thank you, I'm a bit of a natural" you said, already feeling like being too proud of your accomplishments today is a mistake. Still, you babbled a bit because you knew who you were speaking to, and didn't know what else to say. "I mean, I study whatever I can get my hands on." The spell you'd pulled out from the abandoned magical library lingered in your mind. Casting your eyes to the floor, if only to break the gaze of Sanavar, you fumbled behind you to bring the scroll forward, the thought of a way to undo this passes over your mind.
Seizing upon the dusty parchment and bringing it around in front of you, you look up and suddenly realize Sanavar towers directly in front of you, and they reach out and snatch your wrist. "Old magic indeed," a voice of flame and smoke reverberates in your mind as they appraise the scroll, as your wrist feels frozen and smoldering at once. "This place is a source of immense power, and you were wise to try this ritual here. By our wisdom we shall make of you our Emissary to this world, and you shall bring them under my heel. Kneel, progeny."
Wrist still in an iron grip, you do as commanded. A hand that seems to shimmer in reality, there and not, reaches out to touch your forehead. Your free hand behind you, and with all your concentration, you make a symbol that your master taught you, something to be used in direst emergency. Finishing not a moment too soon, you feel an inrush of seeming incomprehensible thought, and the realm around you swims and shifts.
"Rise," commands the voice of terror. Shakily clambering to stand, your vision swims violently in a manner you've never contemplated. Behind the unholy being a light so bright it causes you disorientation and pain explodes into view, a luminous being emerges. Hearing your name as if from a great distance you wince and double over, only feeling the aftermath of what happened.
Sanavar roared as the blast of magic impacted them, and you felt the blastwave washed past you. Glimpsing him from between Sanavar's legs, your old master and grand master of your order completed another spell lifting Sanavar off the ground and into the wall behind you. Scrambling to your feet you summon what energy you have and steady yourself as Sanavar prepared to counter attack.
Remembering a spell you'd once read through the brain fog, your master's blast was caught and deflected by Sanavar as if he'd sent a training flare. Adrenaline slowed your perception of time and seeing an opening, you unleash a swarm of razor-like voids in space. It tore at Sanavar's flesh, and over the sound of pain, in your mind you hear that darkest voice in rage and shock, "You dare to attack with my own magic, progeny!?!"
Mid summon, your master was staring at you in something between appraisal and horror. Focusing to clear your mind and appreciating what had just been said, you realize you never studied that spell, or even heard of it.
Like a splinter in your mind, a spell calls to you. A brief flick of your wrist sharpens your recollection, the memory of the scroll you'd had before clarifies. Sanavar, seeing the curl of your lip, takes a defensive stance, ready to deflect your spell. A complex twisting produces a burst of electricity in the air. Directing your motion directly at The End of Hope, the deflecting spell starts, but stops as quickly as it started. A gentle gust of wind enters the room through boarded up windows, and Sanavar fades to mist.
"Master, I..."
"We will talk about this," he says sharply, but then, softening, "after some rest."
"And much more," you think to yourself, without meaning to.
Your master's eyes widen in shock. | Alright looks like it's all set up, all i need now is to drip a little of my blood. I hate this bit, why do they always need blood? My hands already look like chopping boards and I've only just started this magic stuff.
The wizard grabs his ceremonial dagger and stands in the centre of the room surrounded by markings of ancient runes. Candles surround the runes providing all but a dim light in the room. His hand trembles slightly as he raises the dagger to his hand preparing to swipe it against his palm. He takes a deep breath to compose himself; he goes to slice his hand but pulls away at the last moment. Sighing to himself he rummages into his pocket and pulls out a scripture.
“How much blood does it need? I can’t deal with another hand wound, it took like 2 weeks for it to heal enough to uhh… relieve my urges.” he scans through the page “Hmm… a few drops, that should be doable”.
He then stuffs the scripture back into his pocket, breaths in and places the tip of the dagger on his index finger. He pauses for a moment and shakes his head side to side slightly and moves it to the tip of his ring finger and starts to wince as he presses it in.
“Ahhhh.. stings like a bitch!” he curses through a grimace as the blood starts to draw for the wound. The dagger clanks as it is thrown to one side while the wizard gets down on his haunches and starts trying to massage the blood out of his finger.
“Just a few drops…” he mutters to himself as he manages to get one drop out”
WHOOSH the flames on the candles suddenly burn violently and grow to waist height. The wizard startled, falls backward narrowly avoiding a singed head and fights the tremble developing in his limb to get back on his feet. The ritual has started now, for better or for worse, the wind picks up forming a faint tornado in the centre of the circle sucking in the surrounding dust and air from the room.
The candles continue to burn brighter and brighter and the tornado continues to grow stronger and denser. Beads of sweat fall down the wizards flush face as the heat grows more intense and the air gets thinner. The flames start to get pulled into the centre and the heat becomes too intense, the wizard covers himself with his cloak and dives out of the circle. He rolls frantically making sure none of his cloak is burning then looks up in awe as the tornado and flames start to form the shape of a person.
The ritual reaches a crescendo and then the room falls in darkness and silence. The wizard laid there in silence unsure of what had just unfolded, had it worked? Had he brought his father back?
A small sizzle rings out and one of the candles reignites, the wizard reaches back into his pocket and unfolds the scripture. Another gentle sizzle rings out and two more candles reignite as the wizard checks the scripture.
“Resurrecting your oldest ancestor… Oldest?” Would that be Adam or Ev..”.
“It would be… if you were a human…” a haunting voice descends from the darkness
“I-if im not human, th th- then what am I?” the wizard shudders as he hears footsteps coming toward him and sees a growing figure through the candle light.
“You are a demon, and I am Lilith, mother of demons!” the figure proclaims as the faint light reveals her face.
“And we have work to do.” | 2022-12-31T14:34:19 | 2022-12-31T10:15:47 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | Todd was an… interesting man, to say the least. He claims to have lived through the Dinosaurs, the fall of the Roman Empire, and the destruction of what you, today, know as Europe. He found me back in the early 1900’s, when I was lost in the Appalachian. I had fled from a war in 3084 and was wounded. On that given day, yes, Todd was quite literally a Life Saver. But since then, I haven’t been able to shake him.
He just shows up wherever I do. Can you image, for just a second, how annoying that is? I can literally jump through time, and yet no matter where I land, Todd is there waiting for me. Sometimes he’ll have coffee or flowers, but he’s always there. Asking where I had come from and some cheesy question of if he still looked just as good as he did now.
I asked him once how he always found me, and you know what he said? He said that he could read the stars. THE STARS. And then he said some corny line about how I am the shooting star in his life, and he would always be waiting for me to fall back to him.
Todd is a fucking creep. The ultimate stalker. What kind of human continues to live just to show up where I do, and even more so, knows where I’m going to show up? How is that possible? I JUMP THROUGH TIME. And I sure as hell don’t tell him where I’m going next. But –BAM! There he is.
So I looked him up, and you know what I found out about Todd? The guy doesn’t exist. Not a blip of information on him anywhere. You would think that after the revolution of high-humans in 4489 he would have announced himself, but nope. No Todd. This man knows me so well that he knows where I am going to show up next, which is a smaller chance of winning “The Lottery”(?) to you, and yet I don’t know anything more than his first name. Todd. That’s it. Just Todd.
Our conversations are so uncomfortable.
“Eureka!” He’ll say as if he’s fucking Albert Einstein the Third, “Long time no see.” With a dumb little chuckle because he knows damn well I just saw his face five seconds ago.
“Hey Todd,” I’ll reply with zero enthusiasm, as I (usually) try to wave away the flowers or gift he’s brought me.
“So tell me, am I old and grey or young and beautiful? I’d be happier than a clam if you would stick around a bit this time.”
Todd will click the back of his heels together and puff his chest out all hopeful. I’ll sigh, say I can’t, and then ask him to leave me alone. Instead, he’ll just fill me in on what I’ve missed like I don’t come from the future and already know what’s happening. And then he’ll just tail me until I have to jump again.
It happens every. Single. Time.
Jump –Todd
Jump- Todd
Jump- Todd.
Finally I got so sick of seeing him, I jumped further than any Timer had dared to. I jumped to the end. The planet was in ruin, there was no air left in the atmosphere, the earth was so dry that it was like walking on a thick layer of dust. Even with all of my genetic militia-alterations and Survival settings programmed in, I still had trouble breathing.
But there was Todd.
He didn’t have a gift that time, since there wasn’t much to give. “Eureka,” he said much less enthusiastic than normal. “I thought you’d never come,” and shined a sad smile.
“How are you here?” I demanded from him. There was no way he could live this long. Everyone was dead, yet there he stood.
Todd couldn’t maintain his smile, and let it fall. Dejected and finally worn with just a smudge of age, he opened his mouth once, closed it, opened it again, and closed it. Finally, without being able to make eye contact, Todd said, “You’re the only one who’s been able to keep up with me.”
I didn’t understand.
He explained. “You have no idea what it’s like. Living while everyone else dies. But then I found you, and knew that you could be there with me. Maybe not every day, but occasionally. I knew that if I followed you I would see a face that I recognized. A face that wouldn’t age like mine. A face who knew my name after all this time. We might live different lives, but I’ve lived my whole life with you. Even if I was only a short part of yours.” He extended a gentle hand, hoping I would take it.
Before I could, the world beneath his feet began to crumble and with it he fell.
...Whenever I see Todd now, I try to be a little friendlier. But he still gives me the creeps.
| "So what is new?" I said stepping out of the capsule with my buddy as usually awaiting my arrival.
I had no control over when I would arrive due to the randomness of the generator. I never knew if I was jumping a a few days, years, or even thousands of years. All I knew is when I left, I went forward through time and had no control over it. My first jump took me 100 years forward, when I stepped out all I knew and loved was gone. I was a mess...I contemplated suicide. But then my guardian angel came...a man I only ever got to know as "Joe." Not sure if he was ever connected to the mysterious capsule that fell from the sky, or just a lucky break for a poor soul such as I. Although I could never prove it I felt he was connected; Joe always knew where I would land. He said he got these straight *feelings* and *visions* as to when and where I would arrive* All I did know for sure was he saved my life. He got me back on my feet, gave me a purpose and ever since then I have been traveling forward through time, an explorer had been born.
"Hey..." Said Joe, looking tired and weak. I had not seen him like that since Rome had fallen. "How was your trip?"
"Joe, you know it was not really a trip for me buddy! How was YOUR Trip??" I made light of what I was seeing, but after knowing him for so many years, even if I didn't know much about his past, I knew something was up.
"Things have been...interested." He said behind estranged eyes.
"Ok Joe, whats up buddy...what is going on. How long have I been gone, what is the current date? I don't see too many changes. Is this, New York? Where are the...where are the towers if this is New York?"
Tears swelled up in his eyes. One of the curses of being immortal was that you lived forever and saw all the ugly the world had to offer...unlike myself who had the ability to leave it all behind, a curse in of itself, Joe had to suffer more than anymore.
"They fell my friend...the world has become...chaotic. A year after you left...everything fell apart. Terrorists attacked...the stock market collapsed when the housing market fell...it's been bad. The world is not what it used to be; technology beyond your imagine has come about but with it has come evils which I can only begin to fathom."
"Joe...what year is it?"
More tears swelled up. "It's only 2018..."
"TWO-THOUSAND AND EIGHTEEN? IT'S ONLY BEEN 18 FUCKING YEARS AND THIS IS HOW BAD IT HAS GOTTEN?! What the fuck Joe! The world is only still just recovering from the the last two great wars, I thought we were on a good track..."
His jaw tightened and he looked me sternly in the eyes, his were filled with fire. "That's not the worst of it. You just missed the last election two years ago....Donald Trump is the President now..."
I said nothing...I turned around, stepped back into the capsule and said fuck it. Here is to the next jump being better.
| 2016-11-10T12:15:38 | 2016-11-10T11:16:20 | 483 | 30 |
[WP] You, a villain, heart set on taking over the world, kidnapped the hero’s sidekick. You find out that you are treating them much better than the hero was and decide to take them under your wing. | This entire job had been a failure. I needed Starshine, our local hero, to come and rescue Dazzle, his sidekick, to get him out of his base. It was the only way I was going to end up stealing the White Crystal of Knowledge that had given him his powers so many years ago. I was hoping to upgrade from being one of the world’s best thieves to the world’s best superpowered thief. Having laser powers sounded like a great way to start.
I stepped into the hall and sat down outside the cell. Inside was Starshine’s very short sidekick. It had been two days, and from what I could tell, Starshine had been going about business as usual without a care in the world. Same restaurants, bars, and public relations activities. Just without the woman that was across the bars from me.
Capturing her had been surprisingly easy. Her powers were minimal. Just a bit of sparks and light. I literally hit her with a tranq dart, and scooped her up, and deposited her into her own prison cell, complete with a shower, toilet, and a bit of food. I was a thief, but I wasn’t a monster.
I hadn’t given her much thought until Starshine hadn’t answered my message and come to rescue her. I hadn’t really even paid attention to her, other than to note she was far lighter than I had expected.
Now, I sat and studied her. Her legs were thin, and her knees were knobby. I wondered if her powers made her thin, or if she had something wrong. She still wore a full faceless sparkling mask with blond hair. She hadn’t taken it off once in the two days she’d been here. She’d barely used the facilities. All she’d done was curl into a sad ball in the middle of the cell.
When she didn’t move for a while, I got up and approached the cell, “Dazzle? Can you hear me?”
She flinched bodily in response. I hadn’t expected that.
“I’m not going to hurt you, torture you, or do anything to you. Do you understand?” I asked.
She raised her head to look at me. I wasn’t sure how she saw out of the mask.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Help me.”
Of all the responses I could have expected, that was not even on the list. I was confused, and asked, “Help you with what?”
“The mask. Please take it off?” she didn’t cry, but her voice was barely a whisper. It was reedy, and hoarse, and devoid of hope.
“Is this a trick?” I asked.
“I can’t take it off. Starshine is the only one that’s ever taken it off,” she said.
My eyes flickered across her, and her thinness had taken on a much more sinister cast to me. I had robbed, fought, and killed, but I had never tortured anyone.
I opened the cell door and walked carefully to where she was laying on the ground. I realized the bed had never been touched, as I knelt next to her.
I reached to the mask, and as I felt across the side, she shivered and whimpered.
“It’s okay. We can take it off. That’s not a problem,” I said reassuringly, but my mind spun. This was not going remotely like I had expected.
My hands found a strap, and I flipped up the blonde hair. It wasn’t hers, but was a part of the mask, and across the back was a lock.
“GImme a second, and I’ll open it. Why is it locked on your head?” I asked.
“So I don’t give Starshine away if it comes off,” she whimpered.
I pulled some lockpicks out from where they were concealed in my sleeve cuff, and carefully started opening the lock. It was enough of a lock to keep the mask on, but most small locks were garbage. It took me minutes to click it open.
I carefully started pulling the mask off and saw rough hacked red hair no more than an inch in some places, maybe two in others. As I freed her, I realized someone had hacked her hair this way with no order or reason. There were abrasions on her head where the mask sat, that weren’t new. Some looked old and angry from being rubbed by the device.
As I pulled it all the way off, I threw it out of the cell in disgust. Dazzle cringed and kept her head down.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered. She didn’t cry though, and I knew why. She’d stopped crying a long time ago.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, keeping my voice even. I carefully lifted her chin up to get a look at her face.
To my shock and horror, Dazzle was not an adult. I had assumed this entire time she was an adult woman. Instead, a girl no more than 14 at the oldest was looking back at me. Her face was grimy, her eyes sunken in, and in a clearly emaciated state.
“What has happened to you?” I asked. I knew I couldn’t keep the shock out of my tone.
She just looked up at me with fearful eyes.
I carefully coaxed her up off the floor to a standing position and led her to the bed. I noticed her gloves had locks, as did her boots.
“Let me,” I said as I made quick work of them. I didn’t take them off for fear of giving her the wrong impression. Instead I went to the food, and opened a bottle of water, and returned.
“Here. This is for you. All the food there is for you, too. Will you eat and drink?” I asked.
She looked up, pulling a boot off of her bony ankle and foot. “Yes. I will. . .”
She looked at me with wide tearless eyes, and whisper, “Thank you.” As if just letting her be free of these locked items was some sort of supreme kindness and not just a base human expectation.
While the girl washed up and ate, and then mercifully slept, I spent some time researching. Starshine’s sidekick could possibly have always been more than one girl. Video showed slight differences in powers, height, and reactions. It was so subtle, I doubted anyone would have noticed if they weren’t looking for it. Yet, where the hell could he get that many girls with the same powers?
I headed back down the cell to see the girl sitting on the bed wrapped in a blanket. The costume was outside the cell.
I knelt down and picked it up and looked at her with the question on my face.
“Don’t make me wear it again. Please,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. I’ll get you some clothes. I think we should get you a doctor, too,” I suggested.
“No!” she panicked. “Nobody can know I am here. If he finds out I didn’t die? My sisters will get hurt worse.”
“How many sisters?” I asked.
“Three. My youngest sister will be old enough to start being his sidekick soon. I’m afraid he’ll make her do it early now,” she said.
“You know, I just wanted to steal his stupid crystal. Now I think I want to steal his stupid crystal, and all of his sidekicks,” I said.
I opened the cell door, and said, “You are free to stay or go. I won’t hurt a child. Do you have any family you can go to?”
“No. He saw to that. He said he wanted backups, so he didn’t have to keep training Dazzle’s,” she said.
I sat down on the bed, careful not to spook her, “I’m not a hero, kiddo. I’m not even a good person. But this is wrong. Tell me how to get into his base, and I will bring your sisters out.”
She looked up at me, and a tear welled up in her eye, “Please. If you rescue my sisters, I will tell you everything I know about Starshine.”
“If you tell me everything, I’ll even kill him,” I offered.
“Good,” she said. | I ripped the blindfold off the tied-up sidekick, who shrank away from the blinding light, folding in on himself like a dying star.
“Please,” he said, shivering. “I’m sorry for being bested, sir, just please don’t...” His voice trailed away as he caught sight of me and the confused look on my face.
Why would he apologize for being caught? Was I supposed to say it was okay and that I forgive him? I grew more confused as his face filled with relief and, oddly, joy.
“Oh, thank goodness!” he cried, tears still dripping down his face. He was shivering slightly, but his face radiated happiness.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “I’m the villain, I’ve kidnapped you. I’m big, mean, scary, trying to take over the world, etc. You are a small potato, with great hair by the way, but that’s not the point! You should fear me!”
He shifted in his seat, no doubt trying to get more comfortable and looked up at me with adoration. “Oh, umm, I can be scared! I’ll be the most scared person in the world if you continue to keep me hostage! Oh no, um, I shall never escape! Insert terrified expression here!”
I grew worried that all of this was a ruse to get my guard down and checked each of his bindings and patted him down again, making sure that I hadn’t missed a knife or something. Kidnap victims aren’t usually this...cheery around me.
I would have addressed his obvious joy to his just being an all-around happy person, but the terror in his eyes at the beginning stuck with me.
“Alright, listen up, squirt. I don’t care what this,” I gestured at his face, “is, but you’re just here until your ‘hero’ brings me back my nuclear reactor core, then you’re free to go.”
Unexpectedly, he deflated at my words and his expression changed to one of fear.
“No, please don’t send me back there with him. I’ll do anything, clean your lair, do your laundry, cook, anything!” He had started shivering again and, even though I’m not one to usually trust people, I could see the sincerity in his eyes, causing me to realize that something was very wrong. I decided to investigate further, I mean, the worst I could do was keep him here, or in his eyes, send him back apparently.
I knelt down next to him. “Alright, what’s your name, squirt?”
He looked at me doubtfully. “Danny.”
“Okay, Danny, is there a reason you don’t want to go back home?”
He glanced at me again. “I-I just can’t go back! If you make me go with him, it will be the last time you ever see me, I can tell you that! Haven’t you wondered why he’s had seven sidekicks in one year? We don’t tend to last very long. He just uses us as human shields and bait.
To my great surprise, I found myself untying the boy and helping him to the couch, where we sat. He continued his tale, pausing every now and then to let the bitter sobs come through.
“The fifth sidekick he used as bait for that group of satanists. His body was unrecognizable when the police found him. And the third was admitted to a mental hospital completely insane after fighting the Mind Surgeon.”
At that point he drew in a shaky breath and lifted his shirt, his back facing me as I drew in a loud gasp. Diagonal from his left shoulder down his back to his right hip was a huge burn, at least as wide as my hand.
“I got this when we fought Inferno. He didn’t even try to protect me, he just let me be used as a distraction while he got some water to finally kill-“
At that point he broke down sobbing and unexpectedly hugged me, burying his face in my shirt. I had absolutely no experience with this, so I just held him close. Inside, I was about to explode with rage. Yeah, I was a villain, but I have never, ever used another person as a distraction or allowed them to endure pain for me. I was a villain, but at least I had a moral code. And I couldn’t exactly go to the police. Poor kid, he was 17 at most.
“Shh, shh, it’s gonna be okay,” I said, hugging Danny closer to me. He looked so fragile, so small, so scared. “You’re not going back there, I’ll train you and I promise, you’ll get revenge on that bastar-um-demon. I swear that I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”
Usually I tried not to kill anyone, but this time, I would make an exception.
“Really?” Danny looked up at me with tear tracks on his face and hopeful eyes.
“Yes. You are never going back to him.”
“Oh, is that a fact?” A voice sounded out of the darkness and a tall figure emerged, a silver mask covering his features.
Danny let out a whimper and I growled. “Razorblade.”
The “hero” chuckled. “I see Danny’s told you what happened to my other ‘helpers’. Brat.”
I hugged the shivering boy as he shrank away from the snarl.
“They were weak, like all sidekicks. They’re all just meant to take hits while the real heroes fight. Just like Danny here. I’ll deal with you later, boy. I hear Knifepoint is rounding up his old team and I will need some protection from those sharp edges. Meanwhile, it seems Talon and I have some business.”
I moved to shield Danny and grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from my pocket, pressing it into his hand.
“Danny, follow these directions. They will lead you to my lair. No one besides me knows where it is, you’ll be safe there.”
He looked up at me fearfully. “But-“
“Go!” I yelled, watching as he gripped the paper tightly and ran out the back door.
I glared at Razorblade who was chuckling again.
“No matter, I’ll catch up with him later. This lair, it’s the one under the old toll bridge, no?”
How? I felt myself pale, then gritted my teeth. All the more reason to win this fight. I lifted my arm and felt power surge through my veins, a power I had never felt before. ‘Here we go’, I thought as I launched myself forward. | 2020-03-26T17:30:06 | 2020-03-26T17:18:02 | 48 | 30 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | It's always the high-numbered ones that think they have a shot. Some up and coming punk that thinks that this is their once in a lifetime chance to take down #1... as if they can just skip all of the other ranks and become a superstar. They never really consider how I GOT to be number one. I've fought fire powers, ice powers, lightning powers, one guy that had some special affinity toward guns, another that could teleport. There were a couple of psychics that were trippy for awhile, but everyone's power all comes from the same place.
This latest one was barely a teenager. It's a shame how this will have to end. I don't like killing, but I've started to accept that it's a necessary part of how the world is. That scares me a little, but it's better than being dead. The kid in front of me looks like he joined a street gang before he got his powers. He's got a fireball hovering above each hand but he hasn't made a move yet. I guess that my number is scaring him, making him size me up before he makes a move. Smart.
"So what's your deal? I don't see nothin'! You're the invincible number one! Show me what you got!"
The kid doesn't even know my name... probably doesn't care. I take a quarter out of my pocket and hold out my hand. The coin rises a few inches off of my palm and the punk gets ready to dodge, or block, or he's not sure which.
"My power's not much, just basic telekinesis. I can barely lift my own body weight without getting tired. The real strength is all in what I know."
"You going to throw that at me? Some kinda psychic railgun?!" I can hear and edge in the kid's voice. He looks like he's ready to make his move. Subtle changes in his stance give it away. I laugh as the coin drops back into my palm and I pocket it.
As he starts to charge at me, I swing my hand at the air in front of me. At the same moment, a wave of air slaps his cheek from the side, then again as it wave my hand the other way and hit his other cheek. I'm amused as his fireballs dissipate, I guess that he needed to concentrate to maintain them. He doesn't know it yet but that was a warning shot.
"You really should go home kid. Last chance, I'm letting you go."
I'm honestly hoping that he takes this chance, but I see the flames starting to encircle his forearms now. Are his hands the only things he can use this fire with? He might even be interesting if he backs off and explores his powers a little more.
The kid glares at me. "Or what?! You'll go Darth Vader on me? I'll roast you alive before you ca-"
A look of surprise comes over the kid's face now. While he was talking, I had raised a hand and had cut him off mid-word. He'd suddenly forgotten not only what he was going to say, but how to say it. The surprise turned to terror as his body suddenly stopped responding. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, so it was obvious when his legs stopped working and he collapsed to the ground.
I looked down at his terrified face, we both knew what was coming next. Just like he couldn't heal burns, I couldn't undo what I'd done, at least not without being able to see it and that required an operating room.
"I'll make it quick, kid. Like I said, the real power is in what I know." I said softly, as I reached out into the maze of neurons and blood vessels underneath his skull, and blindly tugged at a few delicate strands.
EDIT: Thanks, OP, for the special mention. I'm glad that people like the story. :) | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T18:29:42 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] A Romeo and Juliet style story, where a fedora-wearing neckbeard and an easily triggered tumblrinia fall in love, but the corresponding websites forbid their relationship.
Taken from /u/dem_yoga_pants on /r/crazyideas | JULIET
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore types thou Romeo?
Deny heteronormativity and refuse male privilege;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my polysexual dragonkin,
And I'll no longer be a Feminist.
ROMEO
[Aside] Do I neg more, or do I post at this?
JULIET
'Tis but thy gender-role that is my oppressor;
Thou art my soulmate, and not a FratBoy.
What's FratBoy? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, if only you were a Bolshevik lesbian!
What's in a socially-imposed label? that which we call a Prius
By any other name would be as globally conscious;
So Romeo would, had his sexist father not forced his mother to name him Romeo,
Retain that perfect, though socially-structured, attractiveness which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, go to the City Hall to have your name changed,
And for that name which is no longer yours,
Take my own name, as my professor said all strong womyn should demand.
ROMEO
I take you at your word that you are not trying to spermtrap me:
Call me your Gentleman, and I'll change my name, m'lady;
Henceforth I never will be beta again.
JULIET
What creep is hiding in my parents' pot plants,
Listening to me talk to myself?
ROMEO
By a screenname
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, m'lady, is hateful to myself,
Because it is patriarchal;
If I could change my screenname, I would change it immediately.
JULIET
I have stalked but for a minute
Of your posting history, yet I know those subreddits and that karma:
Art thou not Romeo and a RedPiller?
ROMEO
Neither, glorious maiden, if either oppresses you.
EDIT: RIP m'inbox
EDIT2: Holy Hell, triple gold. Thanks! | Two sites, both alike in perks,
In high speed internet, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new circle jerks,
Where angry typing makes Dorito stained keyboards unclean.
From forth the fatal subreddits of these two foes
A pair of lovers leave their sites;
Whose feminist and meme-hating woes
Do with their departure intensify each site's strife.
| 2015-04-26T11:04:25 | 2015-04-26T10:39:55 | 3,400 | 201 |
[WP]: You die in a hospital bed after a long, rich, fulfilling life, surrounded by your family, grandchildren and loved ones. You get startled back into consciousness, back in Berlin, on that weird night when you were 26. "Like I said", the stranger says, pocketing your money. "Save point." | “Is Bumpa gonna be otay?” I hear Penny ask from somewhere in the fog. I must be slipping away now.
“He’s—um—he’s going on a trip honey,” my daughter replies. “A really, really long trip. None of us can go with I’m afraid.”
God I’m proud of her. She’s always been so strong. I knew she’d be okay without me since before the diagnosis, but hearing the resilience in her voice now makes leaving all the easier.
I just wish Rachel was here to take the plunge together, one last time.
Daniel grabs hold of my hand, and kneels by the bed. The haze in my vision clears in spots, enough to see his tears. He may not have the hardiness of his sister, but his affection for the ones he loves has been a power to behold since he was a boy.
“Dad, I know we’re running low on time here, but I just needed you to know how lucky we all are. To be yours. It won’t be the same without you around…,” Daniel finishes before breaking out in a new round of sobs.
His rush of emotion confuses and prompts Penny to cry too. She probably won’t remember this when she’s older, but hopefully she’ll get to hear some good stories about sitting in my lap and wearing my old cap. I know the hundreds of pictures on her mother’s phone will do a lot of the telling.
I’ve heard that there are moments of clarity before the lights go out. That seems to be the case now, as the spots widen to give me full view of the room. Everyone is here that I could ever want, minus one.
Rachel and I were partners in crime ever since she saved me from a life of dirt. I was on the wrong track for much of my youth, no doubt, and stumbling into her was stumbling into the arms of a savior. The law had been a little more loose back then, to my lucky benefit, and I tangled with a fate behind bars numerous times. And then Rachel found me, and decided to interject.
I wish I could’ve repaid the favor. I was given all those decades to try. Hopefully I came close.
A cool breeze permeates through the room, though I don’t notice anyone else shivering. A worried look sprouts on watching faces, and the moment of clarity begins to recede.
“Ohh god, it’s just like when mom went,” I hear Daniel mutter. If he’s right, then I know what must be coming around the corner. I hope the stuff they have me hooked up to let’s me slip away peacefully.
I didn’t ask for much from life. I had my kicks and pushed my limits plenty growing up. Meeting Rachel was like pushing the limit on how lucky a person can be. Not everyone finds someone to share a life with. Somehow, I didn’t have to learn what that felt like. But I learned what it felt like to lose it.
Maybe she’ll be waiting on the other side to pick up where we left off.
I’ve lived comfortably with my family for so long, and I’m feeling quite comfortable now. The kids are here, and we’ve had our chance to say goodbye. I just need to say one last thing.
“I…love…youu…alll,” my raspy voice whispers. “I’mm…offf…to seee...a girlll.”
I hope that’s true. At least it will leave *them* with some hope.
I’ll really miss them.
I feel a pull behind my eyes, and the chill takes over. The fog fades to darkness, and I’m sinking into the bed…into the floor…into nothing…
…I can feel something.
My arm is outstretched, palm up in the air. There’s something in it.
The darkness is retreating, a world materializing around me. Could this be…heaven? Or the other place?
No, no. I’m in an alley. There’s a figure standing in front of me. A face.
I remember that face.
The realization of where I am and who he is must be visible in my eyes, as the man speaks.
“Like I said,” the man says, pocketing my money. “Save point.” He smirks at me with an arrogance of someone who has done this before. “How was it?”
I’m not sure I can form words after what has just happened. ‘How was it’ he says? How was the entire life I just lived? And now what? I’m…I’m young again? Back to square one.
All these years, I only remembered this man’s face because of what happened *after* our little deal. A deal made because I was drawn to any kind of deal at that time. Usually the bad kind.
“Must have been a doozy,” the man says. “Well, maybe after the next round you’ll be able to fill me in more. I suppose you better be off to bet on a baseball game or something, huh?”
“I…can’t believe this,” I hear myself say, slowly regaining control of everything. “I…had a family.”
“Congrats! Not everyone is so lucky.”
“Trust me, I know,” I reply, knowing the truth of that since the day I bumped into Rachel. *Which reminds me…*
“Got something important to do after all?” the man yells as I take off at a trot.
“I’m off to see a girl!”
\---------------------------------------------
[r/canyoureadthat](https://www.reddit.com/r/canyoureadthat/) | It was Berlin—201x. I was 26.
We took the train into the city. Berlin was gray, dirty, dusty, and ugly—it looked as if the war had just happened yesterday. After we dropped off our bags at the hostel we sat together at the downstairs bar.
"Well," Jacob said, finally, "we're here."
"That we are," I said.
"What should we do?"
"Sleep," I said. (We hadn't slept the entire previous night and had come in on the the same day.)
"You sleep, I'll stay."
"Okay," I said.
I went up to the room and napped. When I came back down he was sitting at the bar with two girls.
"Ladies," he said, motioning towards me, "this is Paul. Paul, ladies."
"Hi Paul," they said in unison.
The one closest to Jacob was tall, dark-haired, attractive and tan. Her friend, to her right, was small, oblong, and porcelain. She was shaped like a Russian doll.
She opened her mouth and smiled effusively at me. Clearly, I was being set up.
"Look," Jacob said, "Tatiana wants to show me the neighborhood. You guys should ... get to know each other."
"Why?" I said.
"Good luck," he said, and then he walked away.
I watched them walk out the bar, into the street, then around the corner. The girl shaped like an egg was staring up at me, profusely.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"I like your shirt."
I looked at my shirt—it was a plain white t-shirt.
"Thanks," I said.
"Where'd you get it?"
"At the shirt store."
"What are you drinking?"
"Everything."
I looked away towards the bartender, the more comfortable direction. We sat together in silence. After I ordered whatever I did with the bartender, I asked her, out of politeness, where she was from.
"I'm from the States," she said, "The West Coast. And you?"
"The East Coast."
"Do you travel often?"
"I don't know..."
"Do you want to come up to my room?" she asked.
"Okay," I said.
&nbsp;
After the whole thing, she played with my hair in bed. She pulled it out, making little springs, then snapped her fingers shut, and watched it unravel. She giggled to herself.
"You don't even know who I am," she said, almost more to herself than me. "You don't even know my name…"
"I know…" I said.
"I could be anyone."
"Yeah, that's true."
"Absolutely anyone."
"Yeah."
"I'm just a stranger to you..."
"That you are."
She giggled to herself. She made a little face, then I looked at her face, and then I remembered thinking to myself, "What the hell am I doing with my life?" That's what I could remember saying to myself. Well, I made a lot of changes from that day, I changed everything. In fact, I died several decades later in a hospital bed after living a rich fulfilling life, surrounded by family, grandchildren, and loved ones. But—as they say—that's a whole 'nother story. As for Jacob? I don't even know where the hell he went. But I wasn't surprised—he was always a bastard.
I felt the Russian doll shaking in the bed. She giggled to herself, then turned, then smacked me on the tush.
"Save point!" she said, giggling at me.
"What?" I said.
"It's like I said," the stranger said, pocketing my money, "Save point!" | 2020-06-09T18:06:47 | 2020-06-09T16:59:44 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] Human civilisation had been nearly destroyed 9 times, this is now the 10th first contact with aliens, and they are puzzled why we keep making first contact so many times. | Surrounded by beeping monitors and the awed faces of politicians and scientists, the screen at last flickered to life.
Gasps emanate from the crowd. After so much work, so many false starts and dead ends, at last the day of reckoning had arrived. Contact had been made. The project had consumed generations of Earth’s greatest minds and had at last been completed.
Trembling from mixed parts excitement and fear, the lead scientist and International Premier together reached forwards and flipped the central switch.
An image burst onto the screen. The Earth Concordant’s first contact with alien life.
It was a startlingly humanoid face, although purple and with quite a few more eyes. Tentacles waved merrily in the background, along with strange whizzing objects.
Even more intriguingly, its anthropoidal face was colored not with the kindness that the philosophers and predicted, nor the rage the doomsayers had warned against, but with confusion and perhaps a little bit of fear.
The International Premier shuffled his notes and launched into his prepared speech.
“Greetings, friend. I bring you the goodwill and friendship of the human race, represented by the Earth Concordant. I recognize that this might…”
It was an incredible speech. Synthesized by the best linguists and writers that humanity had to offer. It was a surprise that the universal translators didn’t burst into flame from the sheer weight of oratory.
But to the shock of all those present, the alien did not instead, less than half way through it cleared its throat and interrupted.
“Uh hmm, I’m sorry, but are we really doing this again?”
Taken aback, the premier responded: “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s just that this is the ninth time that you’ve had your “first contact” with us. The first time it was the “United Nations”. After that the “Terran Empire”. Last time we got to hear from the “Great and Serene Human/Automaton Alliance”. We thought it was some sort of weird cultural tradition, but I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s getting rather concerning.”
The premier shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes well, uh, the last one which we call the “Perfidious Cyborg Tyrants” received their just dessert at the hands of a revolutionary alliance of free peoples who brought their cruelty to an end and ushered in a glorious age of prosperity under the new Concordant.”
“Unfortunately, it seems like the records of our previous contact were uh, lost in the scuffle.”
“I...see” spoke the alien. “And each of those other representatives met similar ends?”
The premier looked down at the floor, then at the ceiling, then quickly side to side before he returned his gaze to the screen. He licked his lips. “Well, they were all of them ineffective degenerates or brutal fanatics that needed to be swept aside for the good of the species, so not much of a loss, but yes.”
The Alien’s nine eyes narrowed skeptically. “And I assume that your government being the true and final manifestation of the will of man will last for a thousand years, and bring justice, peace, and strength to the cosmos?”
The premier sighed with relief. So they were on the same page. “Absolutely!”
“And there’s no upstart rebellion that might bring you crashing down and force us to sit through another one of these tedious first meetings?”
“Now that you mention it, there is an ongoing insurgency by a pair of religious cults known as the People’s Front of Judea and the Judean People’s Fronts, but they’ll be crushed in no time. They’re already fighting each other!"
“Right. Well I’m sorry but this isn’t going to work. We’re a very busy pan-galactic race and just don’t have the time to make contact with you right now”
And with that the alien reached over to deactivate the monitor.
“No! Don’t! I promise we can change! Don’t hang up! We can make this wor…”
But the screen had already gone black.
There was a moment of silence, then the premier turned to his advisors. “Well, after we’ve destroyed the People’s Front’s speed up the intergalactic missile project. We’ll show that snooty scum what happens to people who ignore the salutations of the Concordant of Earth!”
(r/StannisTheAmish) | Millenia of eugenics programs had bred as much braininess into the Mindulons as possible. But this long process had also bred all brawn, animal aggression, and natural confidence out of them. Like giant heads, bobbling atop thin and sickly bodies, the Mindulons were highly intelligent and technologically advanced, but they were also timid and incredibly suspicious.
Thus, when they received, every few thousand years, a transmission from the distant planet "Earth", they assumed the worst: that these constant "first contacts" were part of some devious plot hatched by the terrifying "Earthlings".
"They are trying to drive us insane!" cried one of the historians of Mindulonian civilization. "They are trying to gaslight us! To make us question and doubt reality! To make us believe that the thousands of years that have passed since the last contact never occurred! And the thousands of years before that contact! And so on! Onto infinity! Will they never cease? Have they no mercy, no pity? Will they continue to try to warp our belief in history and time, our trust in the chronological sequence of events, until our civilization collapses in on itself?"
"It's not that at all!" cried another Mindulon. "They are not playing some psychological game with us. They don't care about us at all. I'll tell you the reason why we receive these first contacts, over and over again. It is because the Earthlings are impossibly advanced, beyond our wildest imaginings, and they have found a way to control time, to turn it back, over and over, and thus achieve immortality! That is why we keep receiving these same "first contact" messages every few thousand years. The Earthlings keep living through some golden age of their civilization, and when they reach the end of this golden age, they turn back the clock, and relive it again. And again. And again!"
"If they are so powerful as that," shrieked another Mindulon, "we must hide all signs and signatures of our existence, lest they destroy us. Let us hide away, and never communicate with them, nor with any other intelligent life who happen to reach out to us. Let us cover our planets and stars as if with a shell, and be gone from the prying eyes of all such predators who stalk the wide universe, looking for us, for prey!"
"Yes!" the others shouted in unison. "Yes, let us hide and think, until we expire! Gracefully! Humbly! Alone and without fear!" | 2020-11-26T17:45:23 | 2020-11-26T16:46:31 | 103 | 75 |
[WP] As a kid you were found to be magicless and abandoned, having black mana rather than the element specific colors of the other children being measured. One day a painter visits the orphanage to teach about colors and painting "mix red and blue you get purple, if you mix everything you get black" | Yesterday a painter came to the orphanage to teach a class. It was amazing. I learned so many wonderful things from him, during his hour long visit. My shading has improved dramatically. The hands I draw look even better and I had an epiphany. See I live in a world of magic and technology. As children we get our magic levels tested and they check our elemental affiliation. I was shown to be devoid of magic because they said my mana is black, and therefore useless.
During art class, the painter discussed mixing colors to create new colors. Something I've been doing for a long time. I mean, I'm 16 , who doesn't know that mixing all colors together creates black. But when the painter discussed it yesterday while showcasing his nature piece he was working on, it dawned on me. I don't lack a magical specialty, I have all the elements.
I began testing things. I followed directions my science teacher gave me a while back. She said "when ever you have a hypothesis, you can use the scientific method to test it". So that's what I did. I set my hypothesis to test if I truly have access to all elements or if I'm just getting my hopes up. Tonight I begin testing. I can't ask anyone for help because even the people that work at the orphanage, wrote me off as magicless years ago.
I went to the library to grab what I needed. We have a beginners book for all 8 elements in the library. Each book has easy to do beginner spells that allow you to call an elemental companion to you. The benefit is, if the companion agrees, it can stay with you long term. I mean like years. I wrote down all 8 spells. They were all basically the same but called on the different elements, wind, water, Earth, night, wood, rock, fire, and electricity.
I didn't need any supplies for the spells to work. Beginner spells were basic and went completely off of will. The only thing I need was a focus. Most magic users used wands but being I was told I don't have magic, I don't have one. So I went to the woods and pulled a small branch from a yew tree. I left the few leaves on it since I figured it wouldn't magic a difference, especially if I ended up being wrong. Then I went to my room to hide out the rest of the day and be left alone.
Once everyone went to bed, I snuck outside to the shed in the backyard. It was late and I could get into big trouble with the workers. But tonight I didn't care. I had to test my theory. I needed to know. I don't know why I needed to know, I've gone 16 years without magic but nothing was stopping me tonight.
I sat down in the shed and got the pages out and my makeshift wand and started with the first one. I figured I could summon a companion, a fire companion would be the most useful at the beginning. Hell, it's dark in this shed. After a few minutes of casting and trying to get a companion, there was nothing. I was getting frustrated because something in me was telling me I could do it. I set the stick aside and tried again. Immediately a fire companion appeared.
This wasn't some small baby flame elemental I've seen the young fire kids with. No, this was a full-size camp fire size fire elemental. I was stunned.
"Hello master, you can call me Lumis"
"Hi Lumis, I'm Charlotte" I barely got it out. I mean I'm not even supposed to be able to do this.
I kept going through each oh the elements. It was almost 5 in the morning and I was drained. I passed out looking at 9 elemental companions. My last thoughts before sleep took me, was how are there 9.
I woke up a few hours later and all 9 companions were still there. The 9th one looked like blood and shadow mixed together. I don't know how else to describe it. But I was more concerned with the banging on the shed and the look of anger on my companions faces.
"Charlotte, are you in there? Where are you Charlotte?"
"Matt I'm here. Hold on" I opened the door for Matt. He's the head of the home. He walked into the shed and stopped. A look of pure awe on his face.
"You finally figured out" | Colored Swords
WC: 460
Fin sits on his bed, notebook in his lap and color pencils busy with their dance across the page. He’s wearing headphones, blocking out the world as he escapes into his sketching. Even as the other orphans cause a ruckus around the bunk-room, it doesn’t bother Fin as he continues existing in his other world.
He draws himself standing in the middle of the bunk-room and holding up a red paint brush. He’s holding like it’s a sword and he’s prepared to do battle. Thinking back to the mana colors that denoted types of magic, Fin always pictured himself having red mana, the color of emotion magic.
Across from him are two other orphans. One of the orphans wields a blue paint-sword, the color of motion magic. The other orphan has the green sword, the color of body magic. The three of them commence their battle. Swords clash and paint sails across the room in sweeping arcs as their battle royale unfolds. Fin gets lost in the battle. The colors intersect at places along the wall, forming what the art teacher had spoken of earlier that day. He colors quicker as the art teacher’s words try to invade his thoughts. He doesn’t want to hear the art teacher right now, so he creates more sweeping sword arcs and wall splatters to raise the battle to an epic scale.
Suddenly, the orphan’s real world antics cause something to hit Fin in the forehead, but he’s so engaged with his drawing that he absently brushes his forehead with the back of his hand, then continues filling in details on the intense color battle. He continues to detail the individual colors on the walls and the way the light reflects off each one. When his cassette player abruptly stops, reaching the end of the tape, he pauses to look over his work. He is awe struck by his level of detail, noticing subtle features he wouldn’t normally consider including.
Something on his hand catches his attention, and he glances over to find blue paint on the back of it. His eyebrows scrunch, then he looks up to see three orphans, each with a red, green, or blue paint sword. They are all looking around the room in shock as they try to process what they had just done to their bunk room. Fin quickly looks back to his page, then back up. His sketch is identical to the room except for one detail. There are bunks to each side of the sketch’s perspective, but there is an obvious blank spot in the bottom center of the page with only a foot-board ahead of this blank spot. The blank spot is the perspective of the photo—the perspective is the place he is currently sitting. | 2022-10-07T16:19:03 | 2022-10-07T13:09:12 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Da hell?"
When finals ended I had resolved to spend no moment of the weekend sober. One moment I had been sitting on the steps of my apartment building smoking a cigarette, fending off last night's hangover with a bottle of whiskey, and the next I was sitting in a small, darkened room.
"Where's my cig... FUCK!"
Having located my still lit cigarette burning a hole through the crotch of my jeans I leapt to my feet, hitting my head on the ceiling while frantically brushing the embers off my lap. The blow to the head, while not at all sobering, at least alerted me to the fact this room was even smaller than I originally thought. Upon closer inspecting I realized that the room was built and furnished in such a way that it may have been a grand cathedral to tiny people. As I finished brushing the remaining embers off my lap I registered small, frantic voices somewhere in the room.
"Did you see? It can create fire! This will be perfect!"
"It's huge, Dina! I don't think this was a good idea..."
"We did everything perfectly. It has to obey us, Ariel, don't worry."
Squinting in the direction of the voices, I managed to focus my unsteady gaze on what appeared to be two young girls, normal in appearance except for the fact that they were no more than a foot tall.
In a more sober state I would have asked them who or what they are, where I was, how I got here, or why everything seemed to be a fifth of it's normal size besides me. Instead, what came out was;
"Pfffffft, HAHAHA, you're so small, HAHAHAHA!"
"Demon! We have summoned you to do our bidding", said Dina confidently, though visibly shaken my my laughter. "You are under our control and we will not release you until you have fulfilled our wishes."
"Uh, okay, I'll do that. What'm I doin?"
"You will exact our vengeance upon those who have shunned us. They are right out there", said Dina, pointing toward a tiny curtained window I hadn't noticed before.
I unsteadily laid down on the ground. Using a finger I forced the curtains open and looked outside. This definitely wasn't the rainy Pacific Northwest I lived in. It appeared to be a tropical paradise. I looked across a tiny street to a white sandy beach. There was a group girls there, they looked much more popular than the two in the room with me. Noticing me looking back at them, Ariel said sincerely;
"They're mean. They always pick on us."
"Those bitches", I said as I drunkenly crawled on my knees toward the front door of the church and forced my way through the small opening.
As I stood up at full height, now outside in a pleasant summer heat, I could see small people and cars stopping to stare at my massive size. Spreading my arms wide and pounding my feet into the ground, I said in my best giant's voice:
"FEE FI FO FUM! YOU WILL ALL BOW BEFORE ME!"
As the streets cleared as tiny people fled in fear, I looked back at Ariel and Dina to find them smiling.
See, I told you it would work", Dina said to Ariel as I turned back to look at the paradise before me.
"Well, if this is my life now, should be fun", I thought to myself. "I hope they have booze." | When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill. | 2017-05-12T09:53:02 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 59 | 10 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other. | I’ll admit that at first, I lacked subtlety. In fact, my attempts at humour sometimes were downright crude (sending robots into the sewers to emerge into his toilet and spray him with water whenever he sat down) or unoriginal (making his television play a certain song by Rick Astley at random times). Of course I expected the man next door to retaliate, I even wanted him to – I was rather bored at the time.
One day I noticed that walking from the kitchen to the bathroom seemed to take a lot more time than it used to, but it took me forever to figure out why: He’d enchanted my hallway to become about ten inches longer every day. He still hasn’t revoked that spell and at this point, it takes me about two minutes to walk the entire length of the thing – I’ll admit, that was a good one.
I tried to react by messing with his car, but he’d anticipated that and surrounded it with some kind of protective shield none of my little machines could breach, so I went for his landline instead; after all, he was a good deal older than me and only used his mobile phone when he left the house. I put a slight delay on it so he’d always accidentally interrupt others or wait for them to finish when they already had, then I installed an AI filter that randomly replaced commonly used words like “work” with less commonly used words like “macaroni”. Results were very entertaining.
Two days later, I grew a pencil moustache overnight, which grew back in a matter of minutes after I shaved it off. I would have been okay with letting it go before that, but this was too much, so I gave his iPad feelings and a very easily offended personality that wanted to talk everything out, turning every perceived sleight against it into a lengthy discussion on mutual trust. I installed a personality backup in his wifi router so buying a new one wouldn’t do any good.
He retaliated by making furniture and doors in my house jump right or left at random times, leading to a lot of stubbed toes and cursing on my part. I quickly learned to wear shoes in my own home. I responded by giving his fridge hidden legs and making it march through his house in the middle of the night, always avoiding to get caught when he investigated the noise.
Over time, I gave more and more pieces of furniture and household items legs to allow them to move while he didn’t look. He made gravity in different rooms in my house shift so I constantly had the feeling every room was skewed and weird and changed my stairs into the attic into an infinite staircase that you could only beat by walking backwards.
I was taking out the trash one morning, my foot still hurting from when my front door had dodged me at the last second, when I saw him run out of the front door in pursuit of his coffee maker, which was nimbly fleeing on four spidery legs, looking for freedom. I put the trash bag in the bin (for which it insulted me) and watched as he finally managed to stop his coffee machine by speaking the terrible language of the old dead gods and encasing it in a field of energy.
He looked over to me and I waved happily. He waved back, made the coffee maker disappear with a little Latin phrase and came over.
“We have to stop, you know.” He grinned. “It’s been fun, but I’m getting too old for these games.”
“So, you admit I beat you?”
“Yes, yes.” He sighed exaggeratedly. “By my troth, you have beaten me. I don’t have the energy to hunt down my household appliances every day and the spells aren’t as easy as they used to be.”
I remembered the heart attack he’d had after protecting the Earth against a demon from the pits of madness and suddenly felt guilty. “How is your heart doing?”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m wearing an amulet for it. Still, I feel my age. Let’s both turn the jokes down a notch, alright?”
I nodded and hugged him. “Alright, dad. Let’s do that.”
| I slapped my hands together and looked at my latest creation. A plume of white dust erupted from my gloves, and was promptly followed by a fit of heavy coughing, but my newest robot remained untouched.
I stood upon my pedestal and looked down at the trench I had just dug. Not that I did physical work, seeing as my summoned golems did most of that for me, but I guess you could assume that in a way, I had done the digging. All that was left for me now was to summon up some lava and cloak it with a basic spell. At least, that's what I would have done against anyone except for Ron.
My robot turned around and looked at me. Its black eyes, or diamond adjustments made to see through enchantments, looked at me warily. I looked back at it, and I smiled. "Protocol 2A, commence!" With that, the robot set off, its heat plumes pushing the robot just above ground level.
The lava filled the pit slowly, like a thick cake batter slowly pouring through a sieve. It would settle eventually, but for the time being, I had to find a way to stop Ron from getting into my house again. For that matter, I put aside my work and pulled out my morellonomicon, and I began to browse through it. What could I possibly use to stop Ron's newest machinery?
My robot slowly made its way across the street to the seemingly normal looking tower next to my house. It stopped just before the wall, having sensed a basic lava trap and a concealment spell. With ease, it quickly dismembered those spells and removed the enchantments. But wait, what was that quick flash of light?
That's it! A terrible robotics movie! Ron hates bad movies, and he hates bad robotics even more! I pulled up a plasma mirror, and I filled it with terrible robot movies. That'll get him for sure.
My eyes widened as the latest sequel to "Building with Chad" revealed itself. That bastard. He knew I hated those terrible movies. But it was too late to stop it now. I stood defenseless as the movie began. "Robotics is easy, just like A B C! Just plug the cord in and watch your robot run!" I guess he won this time.
| 2015-02-18T20:17:54 | 2015-02-18T19:59:49 | 596 | 31 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute attempts to sell paper to Ron Swanson | Good morning, this is Dwight Schrute. I'm calling from Dunder Mifflin Paper. Is this Mr Swanson?
Dwight? This is Ron.
Ron? I must have called the wrong number. I got a tip for an easy sell - a mismanaged government department in nowhere town.
Is there any other way for government to be managed? In my experience, farms get managed, government gets screwed up.
I couldn't agree more.
Indeed. The establishment is taking over, and it's my duty as an American citizen to play my part in its downfall.
Friends close, enemies closer [eyes his framed picture of Jim and his family]
Exactly. By the way, how's that brace beam holding up on your hand plough?
Sturdy as ever. Even after five years of use.
I can't say I'm surprised. You've got the only guarantee worth having: the Swanson Lifetime Guarantee. It won't break until I do.
And I'm grateful for that. Mind if we talk business for a minute?
Be direct and I'll tolerate it.
I want to sell you some paper. How much do you want to buy?
None. All the paper here is provided by me. I use reconstituted wood shavings from my workshop. It's a nice system, and the paper is truly terrible.
[cutaway of the department trying use Ron's paper which resembles thin sheets of MDF]
What if I told you you could cut your department's efficiency in half and increase costs by 30% by making Dunder Mifflin your primary supplier?
Go on...
We are based in Scranton, PA. You are based in Pawnee, Indiana. That's a twelve-hundred mile round-trip. I give you a discount deal with the proviso that gas is paid on a per-mile basis to be calculated at the end of the fiscal year. The full cost only appears in 10 months' time. Your department will be broke within the year.
Son, you've got yourself a sale. May I suggest a steak luncheon to finalise the details?
Courtesy of the Pawnee Parks and Recreation Department?
Of course.
I'll bring the contracts.
Excellent.
| Ron?
Do you want to buy some paper
I have a deal on it today
You never order anymore
And wait there's more
We'll give you 30 days to pay
We used to be your vendor
And now we're not
I wish you would tell me why
Do you want to buy some paper?
It doesn't have to be just paper
Go away Dwight.
Ok, bye. | 2015-03-01T02:27:50 | 2015-03-01T00:46:07 | 74 | 33 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | Entering the assembly hall, I looked amongst the cheap plastic chairs and spotted my group of friends in the crowd. Awkwardly squeezing past people, mumbling sorries and excuse me's, I sat down with them.
We were facing a large raised stage, lectern in the middle with teachers sat towards the back of the stage. A large digital clock counting down. 15 minutes remained. A dour faced man in a cheap suit stood up to the lectern.
*cough* *cough* "Hello assembled students, I am Mr. Robertson with the IPCC. I am here today because several of you are going to receive your powers today. I assure you, this is normal. Your bodies will be changing, hormones raging. Some of you will change at different rates to others. This is all perfectly normal."
He shifted awkwardly, adjusted his papers and continued.
"Take a look at the clock above me. When that hits Zero, the solar flare will hit and the excess of radiation will start the mutation of your cells. This you should know from your biology classes. Now, each of you will fit into a category. The most common of these is strength, I myself am part of this category. A lucky few of you will become fliers, or have increased speed."
The students hearing this murmured excitedly, wondering what they or their friends who's birthday it was powers would manifest themselves as. Everyone stared at the clock, one minute remained. That must have been the longest minute of my life. Heck, I was lucky to even be in the Super-Powered gene pool. My mother had never developed powers, and that drastically reduced my chances of developing them.
10.9.8
My palms started to sweat
7.6.5
A ball of tension tightened in my gut
4.3.2
This was it.
0.
I braced . . waiting for . . anything? I couldn't feel anything different about me? I turned to my friend "Hey . mmmgarharh" Out of my mouth flowed spiders. Large, small, hairy creepy. Spiders everywhere. Standing up I writhed in panic, spiders flying everywhere I turned. Leaping from the stage, the man who was delivering the address landed on top of me forcing my mouth shut.
"Sorry kid, but . . "
He gently caressed my face, then snapped my neck. In the last moments of my consciousness all I could hear was "Nope nope nope nope nope^nope^^nope" | I was sitting and counting down, today was the day!
5...4...3...2...1...
A voice sounded in my mind, I knew I didn't hear it with my ears, but it definitely was not me.
"You recieve the power of making anyones nipples explode"
What the fuck is this shit....is this a joke? I mean that could kind of maybe help to save myself or someone else, but I mean...fuck...cmon...really? Are you fucking kidding me? I waited for the voice to say something...anything...but that was it.
Well, with great power comes great responsibility. Whenever someone is in danger or peril, when evil strikes, I, NipSploder Boy, will be there to rescue those in need! | 2015-03-28T04:40:57 | 2015-03-28T04:24:20 | 931 | 92 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Yes," the official sighed, "for the last time. All you have to do is press the button."
"This doesn't make any sense. How did you know it was me?"
The government official sighed — again — and deflated a bit. I could tell he'd given up any hope of this being quick.
"You know what? Fine. Let's see. We've been doing this for..." He pauses, brow furrowing. "...500 years. Technology and society evolves. It takes a while, but we've gotten better. We know nothing next to nothing about the Chosen One, but usually, governments collaborate to find him."
I squinted at him.
A cough. "...Or her. Whoops." He grins.
I roll my eyes. "Fine. Assuming I buy that... what was the test? There's *billions* of people on this planet, there's almost no wa-"
"Anime."
"That's stupi — what? Did you just say... Anime?"
"Yes. Literally the one thing we know about the Chosen One is that they subconsciously search for, and consume, narratives that mirror their fundamental purpose. But they tend to be very specific — often aligning with characteristics you and the Dark Lord have, or will have. In your case, you watch a lot of anime. Like a lot. Like a ridiculous amount. Though I will say your cosplay's not bad, either."
I sputtered. "If you think I'm dumb enough to belie—"
"Look, Ava. Can I call you that? Or do you prefer SilverFoxStarlight76?" That grin slides across his face again, *clearly* enjoying my surprise. "Look. We're *sure.* I could run down the list — everything from the number of idiots we've had to employ to scour conventions and internet forums, to the years we've spent making sure of you *and* the Dark Lord — but I really want to get home, so I'll cut to the chase. We'll give you $5,000,000 if you push the damn button."
I'm at a loss for words. But before I could even think to say anything, my phone rings — Dad. The agent frowns, readying to say something, but I answer anyway, Fuck em'. I need the distraction anyway.
"Hey Dad! What's—"
"Ava." There's something wrong with his voice. My dad is one of the most upbeat, jubilant people I know. But not now. Right now, he sounds... off.
"Press the button."
My blood chills.
"What?"
"The money is more than enough to cover your mother's medical bills, not to mention you. Please, take it."
"Dad. How do you know any of this?"
"I'm so sorry. There isn't enough time. Just calling... was extremely difficult. I just need you to know this: everything they'll tell you about what I've done, and what I was planning to do... all of it, underneath, was fueled by my desire to help you and your mother. Most importantly: I love you." There's a gasp of pain from the other side of the line, and the most wretched, *evil* voice I have ever heard replaces my father's.
*"DON'T YOU FUCKING PRESS THAT BUTTON, YOU FUCKING BITCH. I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT WITH MY OWN TWO—"*
The voice stops abruptly, and I almost drop the phone in shock.
Another beat, and my father is back.
"...there's no more time, now. Please, Ava. Press it." The line goes dead.
I slowly pull the phone from my head. The agent is eyeing my oddly. "Who was that?" he asks.
"...$5,000,000, right?" I ask, ignoring him, suddenly sure about what I have to do.
He silently pulls a check out, waves it in the air. "Yes."
I lean forward and press the button. Somehow, deep in my chest, I know dad isn't coming home tonight. | “Already been taken cared of?”
Everything began to escalate quickly,
I looked at the Priest. His face was still, the red sky behind me reflected in his eyes, inviting me in. But around us, the sky began to storm, the clouds became electrical.
This simple task was all that needed to happen? After everything that has happened over the last few weeks?
The loss of Jude, Stone and Mr. Davis filled my chest, my shoulders, my neck. I could not believe what I was hearing, my body sank and I exhaled the pain of the simplicity of it all.
I raised my arm, still cut, bruised and wrapped in Stones paisley headband, her face and the smell of her curls came to me and it gave me strength to pull myself up onto the pinnacle, where the crystallized button sat.
“There is no more time, you have to do it now Chosen One, I cannot keep the portal stable for much longer!”
The muscles in the priests arms were weakening under the pressure of the two stone pillars of the temple suddenly gave way and were beginning to trap us both.
My fist thumped down on the crystal button, and it disintegrated to dust under my hand. The temple began to shake and I was blinded by the most tremendous blue blaze that pierced through the portal. The blaze raised me off the pinnacle and My body was filled with an energy that seemed to fill every cell in my being. I screamed. My body was now apart of the energy. Just as I felt that I could not take the piercing anymore it stopped.
Everything
It was over.
The light, the storm, the noise, the piercing energy, the temple, the pinnacle. It was all gone.
As my eyes began to adjust I felt my bare feet on a cool surface. It was grass.
I looked at my feet and found myself in standing back on the soccer field in Peoples Park.
Stone and Jude were sitting on the picnic blanket
“Hey weirdo, I guess that last hit was good, huh?”
Stone nudged Jude passing on the joint.
I was home, Stone was home. Dumb ass Jude was still dumb ass Jude.
“Yeah”, I said.
“I guess so”. | 2020-11-09T13:08:44 | 2020-11-09T13:00:44 | 132 | 22 |
[WP] The Devil and Jesus meet each other disguised as hobos. They don't realise, who the other really is (at first) and start having a conversation. | "This your corner?"
The man with blue eyes looks up, sun directly behind the stranger in front of him. Stubbled, disheveled, with a torn leather jacket and a grungy terrier in his arms. Green eyes. The stranger nods at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax. Blue Eyes shakes his head, surfer-blonde hair bobbing slightly.
"No. You're welcome to sit."
Green Eyes settles down beside Blue Eyes. He strokes behind the terrier's ears, and its eyes close in pleasure.
"Nobody's thrown much my way," Blue Eyes says.
"The way it's always been." Green Eyes extends his hand, and a passing soccer mom hurries her child along. "They're so damn selfish."
"You can't blame people for being selfish. They were made that way. Beneath the Toyotas and the Levis and the overpriced jewelry-- they're animals," says Blue Eyes. "They can't help it."
Green Eyes says nothing, watches more people walk by. A clutch of middle schoolers, a goateed man wearing a scarf, then a old black woman in a business suit.
"Being homeless really separates you, doesn't it?"
"Oh," Green Eyes says, "I'm not homeless. I'm just on leave, I guess."
"You're not one of them."
Green Eyes narrows his eyes. Blue Eyes meets his gaze, smile just touching the corners of his mouth.
"I'm not either. Sometimes you can tell. The difference between regular folks and... us."
"What gave it away?" asks Green Eyes.
"It's in the eyes, mostly. And the movement. Even something as simple as walking or sitting down carries the grace of a swan or eagle or some fucking bird."
Green Eyes laughs, and Blue Eyes leans in and strokes the terrier's neck. It yips once, then arches its back.
"Which side were you on?" asks Blue Eyes. "Defenders or usurpers?"
"Defenders," says Green Eyes.
"Usurpers," says Blue Eyes. "Hope you don't hate me."
"I try to not hate anyone."
"Sounds difficult."
"It can be very difficult."
"Well," Blue Eyes, "bygones and all that."
He offers his hand. Green Eyes hesitates, then shakes. As he does, Blue Eyes notices for the first time the scar tissue on the back of Green Eyes' hand.
"It's you."
"What?"
Blue Eyes grins and lifts the blonde hair from his forehead, revealing two circular scars near his temples.
"I will say this, their surgeons have improved."
Green Eyes smiles and says, "You don't need to keep doing this. I would let you back in."
"Hah! Get bent."
"I mean it."
"I changed my mind. This is my corner. Leave. Take your goddamn rat with you."
Green Eyes lifts himself up, dog still in his hands. But he doesn't walk. He stands still, looking at Blue Eyes, who avoids his gaze and stares ahead at the intersection.
"We let all of your friends back in."
"I said leave, you self-righteous shit."
Green Eyes nods, turns, and takes a few steps east. Then he about-faces, drops the terrier, and rushes towards Blue Eyes. Blue Eyes lifts his arms in self-defense, and Green Eyes wraps his arms around him. Hugs him. For the briefest of moments, Blue Eyes accepts this, then he wrestles free.
"If you won't leave, I will."
He returns to his spot, picks up his half-full can of change and slings a backpack over his shoulder. He looks at the walk signs at the intersection and picks the first white one he sees, due west.
Behind him, Green Eyes shouts, "Dad misses you."
He waits at the intersection for an hour. When he convinces himself that his brother is not coming back, the man with green eyes sits on the curb and silently weeps. The terrier licks his cheeks. A taxi horn honks. A young boy in a basketball jersey drops a quarter at his feet.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
EDIT: Thanks very much for the gold! First gold ever. I'll use it wisely. | The lighter flared brightly, the scrape of the flint barely audible over the combined hiss of rain and cars on the overpass. The smoker shuffled back against the grubby concrete pillar, away from the slow trickle of water, overflow from the trash-clogged gutters.
He held up the cheap plastic lighter, eyeing it in the light from a nearby fire, the classic metal barrel filled with burning trash.
"Humans are creative these days," he murmured, then handed it over to the man beside him, a figure layered in tattered, stained clothes and tangled hair. The second figure eyed him curiously at the words, then accepted the return of the lighter, tucking it away in his noxious apparel.
"They forget what's important," he finally answered, his voice smooth, golden, warm, a sharp contrast to the smoker's harsh, gravelly rasp. The first figure eyed him in turn, the nostrils flaring as he gently sniffed the air.
"Oh yes? What's important then?" he countered, the cigarette tip flaring as he took a second drag.
"Their soul, of course. Everything that comes after their brief moment alive."
"A god-botherer? Most down here are more practical than that... it's why I like it here." The smoker's answer wasn't confrontational, and his tone was still easy as he continued. "Hard to think about what comes after when you're hungry."
"All of that falls away so quickly after you leave the shell. All that's left is light and love. I don't understand why they can't _see_ that!"
The smoker's laugh was like someone sanding a box, a rasping wheeze that echoed in the concrete cavern.
"Even after all this time, even after all your experiences, you still don't understand _them_... Josh."
Dark eyes stared at the smoker through the tangled hair, tension evident in his shoulders, then the second man relaxed slowly.
"When did you know?"
The smoker grinned around the cigarette. "Didn't, not till you said that. Guess I've still got it..."
Josh glared for a moment, then sighed. "So you think _you_ understand them... Luke?"
Lucifer pushed himself up, flicking the cigarette in a smooth arc, the butt hissing as it hit wet clutter. He turned to walk away, his parting shot delivered over his shoulder.
"I'm winning, aren't I?"
| 2014-07-29T08:57:42 | 2014-07-29T08:37:08 | 254 | 52 |
[WP] Write about a person in law enforcement who works in a city full of superheroes and supervillains.
Can be in an established universe or have original characters. I don't want to hinder creativity.
EDIT: Doesn't have to be plural heroes and villains. Don't even need both a hero *and* a villain. Just some more food for thought. Loving all the stories so far. | "911 SRT, what is your emergency?" My voice droned into the phone.
The reply, panicked and near tears, was barely intelligible. "Ohmygodpleasendhelprightaway!Dr.Disastrousjustmadetheentirepark vanish!Rightintothinair!Nothingbutaholeleft!"
"Please slow down, sir. Did I hear you say Dr. Disastrous?"
"Yes!Yes!Hurry!"
"What park, sir?"
"MainStreetPark!Therewerekids!HURRY!"
"We'll send help right away, sir."
I logged the data into the computer, selected Dr. Disastrous as the suspect, and scrolled the through the event type list. Telekinesis? No, that's not quite right, the caller said the park was missing, not moving to a new location. Disintegration? Maybe, but the caller didn't report any residual matter. Ah, here we go. Teleportation/Object Displacement. That's probably close enough.
I entered the location, and hit "Send to Hero"
The computer flashed back with "Assigned to Mr. Miraculous. Rationale: Teleportation capability." The hero geolocator screen appeared, and showed me that Mr. Miraculous was in Singapore at the moment. Damnit, a cross jurisdictional superhero transfer.
A second later, the status changed from red, for pending, to yellow for received. Mr. Miraculous was now reviewing the call request.
Ten seconds later the red phone on my desk rang.
"Sargent Sellers, 911 Supervillain Response Team."
Mr. Miraculous' booming voice came through the line loud and clear.
"Sargent Sellers! This is Mr. Miraculous. I received your alert. Please fill me in."
I gave him the details.
"I shall investigate immediately!"
The geolocator showed his location change instantly from Singapore to my fair city. Teleportation was cool.
"I'm here, Sargent! My investigation will begin immediately!"
"Thank you, Mr. Miraculous. Please let me know if officer assistance is required."
Mr. Miraculous laughed as he clicked off the line.
The phone rings.
"911 SRT, what is your emergency?"
| Sheriff Rigby poured another glass of rum, no mixer this time, as he stared out the window of his office. Outside, a man in a cape grappled mid-air with another man that had a turbine strapped to his back. In the distance, he could hear sirens and up in the sky, he saw the Cat Symbol.
He drank his booze in one gulp and poured another, hands shaking as he stared next at the massive pile of paperwork in front of him. "Here w-we go again, boys." | 2013-11-22T09:42:43 | 2013-11-22T08:09:41 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] “Beware of an old man in a profession where men usually die young.” | “So, what is it like down here?”
Asked Jared, the new rookie. Clint shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The old man, although well accustomed to mining for coal, obviously was not accustomed to speaking to his coworkers.
“It’s Hell.”
Was all Clint could manage. Jared thought this was an appropriate answer. The mining life was vicious, to say the least. Almost none made it past the mid part of their life due to the sickness and the dangers of being in a pitch black tomb. Although he knew every danger of it, Jared didn’t have much of a choice for a career. After losing his parents in an accident as a child, Jared had always worked to provide for his youngest sibling, and now the financial strain had also fallen onto him.
The elevator groaned on, and their descent began. As the cart began to lower, Jared felt suffocated by the darkness that engulfed him. Closing his eyes, he tried to call upon the happy memories he had of the world above. Images of the time he took his brother to the park appeared in his head. The smile that cracked on his brothers face whenever Jared helped him on a difficult math problem. His sibling was truly what kept Jared going in the aftermath of what happened.
The elevator arrived at the bottom of the mine with a small shudder, and the men went to work in the dark to provide light to those in the sun. Time stood still in a place like this. Sounds of hammers hitting rock, and machines moving pieces of earth to the surface were the only instances of movement here.
Jared worked has hands to the bone that first day. After what felt like eons, the whistle finally sounded for the days work to be over. Jared came up to Ryan, an old friend from his days in school, and the two chatted briefly about things. Eventually, talk of work began and Ryan said,
“Just remember, Jared, the ones who play hero down here usually end up dead.”
That’s when they heard it. A sound that vibrated within their whole body. The cave felt as though it were alive and furious.
“CAVE IN!”
Shouted the supervisor somewhere in the pitch black. Everyone quickly began moving to the elevator as fast as possible. Then, the ceiling began to break apart. Jared found himself running next to Clint as the two broke for the elevator.
That’s when he heard it. A sickening snap from his leg when he stepped wrongly. Sharp pen shot through his whole body as Jared fell to the floor clutching at his lower leg. He looked up and saw Clint had turned around to look at him.
“HELP! PLEASE!”
Jared cried out, Clint looked at Jared, then his glance went to the ceiling. Jared followed his gaze and saw rocks falling between the two of them. Clint gave a last glance at Jared, then turned and ran towards the elevator once more.
As the rocks covered the only way towards salvation, Jared’s headlamp began to flicker. In the dark, no one would see his pained expression. In the dark, no one knows what men do to survive to a ripe old age. | Always thought that was a stupid saying. Than again, I have a stupid job, so I can’t complain.
They say that being a secret agent is being brave- risking your life on a daily, making sure no one knows who you are, and losing your soul in the process. Sounds thrilling, heroic, even.
But when you get to my age you realize that this is just stupid. Most of the times, I just replace one pebble on the side of a road near a lonely village, with another pebble, but this time, some dickhead in h.q. put a motherboard in it. And on the occasions that I am getting to do something big, like get rid of of some cult leader or something, it doesn’t take much- you get instructions on when he’s gonna be alone, you wait, there’s one moment of tension, and bam, you’re done. Nothing like intense gunfights or advanced hand to hand combat. Most of the times, they don’t even realize they’re dead. And when you’re as old as me, you understand that, and you stop giving a damn. The kids are excited for their first pebble switch, and this excitement gets them killed. | 2018-07-15T09:28:11 | 2018-07-15T08:03:08 | 388 | 139 |
[WP] Just like a normal person you all age. Until you hit 18. You stop aging until you meet your soulmate so you can grow old together. You've been killing your soulmates for centuries granting you eternal life. | I have lived for ages.
At some point, humans began to stop aging at 18. The old generation started to die out, with the new taking in knowledge and grow via experience, but keeping their physical prime, most of them. There were a select few that still aged, whatever the reason. Some loved and embraced this new life. Some hated and cursed it, stating that it wasn't right. It didn't matter what anyone thought, however. This was how it was going to be from now on. The Freeze, people named it.
Then someone had reached eureka. Found the pattern. Why some began to age again after The Freeze. The scientist presented her work to the world, and that was when humanity had realized what was happening. It was love. When one met their soulmate and truly fall in love, and the love is given back, The Freeze would be lifted. The curse broken.
Too bad I didn't consider it a curse.
I too am human. Before all this knowledge and experience, I too have fallen in love. Countless times over centuries. No one knows. Every time I ran into someone that could've been, could've been the one. The perfect one. My soulmate. I was torn into pieces everytime.
My agenda was to save humanity. To save it from it's own folly. It's own foolishness. To gain immense knowledge and wisdom, and watch over them from the shadows. To guide them to a better future. I didn't consider The Freeze a curse, far from it. It was a blessing. To give up love and protect the world. Save the Earth, nurture it back to health after all the hurt we've done.
So I killed my emotions. It killed me every single time. I wished the meetings never happened. Coincidential happenings, planned by friends, it mattered not. I couldn't risk it. It killed me... so I killed my feelings. I killed them every time, all of them. Potential lovers... potential soulmates. To gain immortality.
Now here I am. Ruling the world from the shadows, making the world a better place. Made it a better place. No wars. No poverty. The planet breathes fresh. Waters run clean. Life thrives everywhere. Smiles everywhere.
But I am broken. Do I go on? Can I go on? These questions remain unanswered. I know not... I know nothing anymore. I go out from my palace, to take a walk in the forest. To see what I have accomplished, to give myself a sense of pride and achievement, to fill these feelings of void and emptiness.
...
Who is this? What is she doing here? Lost, she says. Well, well. Centuries of assisting humanity, this one will be no different. She looks wretched, tired. Beaten. Do not worry, I will care for you, young one. What is your name?
Natalie.
... ...
It has been a while. Nearly a year, to be precise. I had much to think, much to ponder. I now stand at a crossroads. I... I have done much I regret, and much I take pride in. Now... maybe it is time to lay down my pen and sword. Natalie has fully recovered in body and mind, and will most likely take leave soon. Unless... she has stated her mind and feelings before. Maybe... just maybe. But... do I deserve it? Deserve this? Deserve her?
... ... ... | *thud*
And just like that her lifeless corpse hit the ground... to be honest I’m hardly shaken at all by this. I’ve since lost count of the soulmates I’ve harvested...
“If I keep killing them, I can live forever!” I tell myself every time. “This is their only purpose, to supply me with an eternal state of being.”
I feel little sympathy for them, nay mostly pity. That they exist solely to prolong this life I live, all the while expecting to live a long and happy life with me... pathetic.
I carry the corpse toward the cellar door and carefully move it down the stairs, taking care not to leave any traces of her anywhere.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had to use this.” I say as I turn a dial and my furnace roars to life. “Such a clean way to dispose. No bloody messes, just simply offer them tea or wine or something and make sure it’s laced or spiked with poison. Preferably a tasteless one.”
The furnace is now generating waves of heat from its frame, “Finally... it may be cleaner but it certainly does take longer.” I grumble as I set my fresh harvest on a large slab of stone.
To a normal person her features would’ve been awe inducing, bewitching even. But to me, one that lives his eternal life, all I see is my future in her... as I slowly slide the slab into the furnace, I hear a pop-up on my phone.
‘AbbyDreamGirl has agreed to a date with you!’ And so the hunt begins once more... | 2018-06-09T02:09:18 | 2018-06-09T01:03:43 | 61 | 39 |
[WP] People have threat levels assigned to them. Common thug maybe reach double digits, dictators the hundreds, the people who can launch nukes in the hundreds of thousands. You, a scientist who just performed a harmless experiment, suddenly get shot up into the billions
[deleted] | She stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes affixed in horror to the opaque number above her head.
If you were a scientist, like her, it was the Tyson-Legrange Number, named after a landmark study that demonstrated, conclusively, that it was primarily a neurological phenomenon that occurred in the visual cortex. If you were religious, like her mother, it was simply the Survival Number, God’s last gift to Adam and Eve as they left the Garden to fend for themselves in the newly hostile world. To most people, though, it was just the Number. And hers had gone up. A lot.
She closed her eyes, shutting them so hard it hurt, concentrating, focusing; willing the Number to go down before opening her eyes again.
The Number had not changed.
A small change wasn’t a big deal. For some people, the sense of risqué a small increase brought with it was attractive. Ads for dating sites and beauty products alike varyingly promised to lower or raise the Number with their products or services, depending on the target demographic. Billboards depicted models with fashionable double digits hanging above their heads, SwipeRight profiles often included the phrase “single, in more ways than one!” like it was supposed to be clever or original, and politicians would go to great lengths to explain away their quadruple digit numbers as side effects of their career choice and not an indication of their personality.
But she was a scientist. With eight digits.
It was wrong. It had to be. She shut her eyes again, fighting back tears.
Eight digits. Eight.
She’d never even heard of anything so high. How was that even possible?
She opened her eyes. Eight digits.
Was it something she did last night? Someone she met? Something she saw, or heard?
No one knew what, exactly, caused the Number. Even the Tyson-Lagrange study struggled to pinpoint how it was that the Number was transmitted. It was neurological, yes, but why? Why was the Number a specific value? How did that information make its way to others? In layman’s terms, why did everyone see the same numbers?
Why was hers eight digits?
She felt light-headed. This could ruin her career. Her life. How could anyone trust her with eight digits? What would she say?
There was a knock on the bathroom door.
“Is everything okay in there?”
It was the girl she brought home last night. Pretty little thing. Big, bright eyes, a naive smile, and low double digits. They’d knocked back a few drinks and then... everything was a blur. Difficult to remember. But she’d remember eight digits, right?
The girl knocked again. “Hello?”
“I’m... I’m okay.” she managed to keep her voice even, steady. To hold down the panic building up in her chest. “I’m going to open the door now.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t panic.” | I am just curious biochemist who never got any attention from the world. And last night I just did something I think it’s just funny joke on my twitter. Turn out to be very wrong decision in my life when I wake up in the morning seeing my threat level skyrocketed to billion, but I never get even two digit before. What happened? Did my joke turn out to be true or whatever?
I mean, I am just a scientist.
But before I realized what actually happened. My front door of my small room fly off the frame and a group of military men in black charged in. I got dragged down to the floor with force and being stepped on the back hardly I think I can hear my fragile bone scream.
“You are being arrested for crime against humanity!”
Someone pull me from the ground, handcuffed my hand . And before they dragged me away, I turn back to see my laptop screen for the last time,
Vaccine cause autism. Confirmed.
1.3k reply
12M retweet
267.1k like | 2018-09-13T05:19:20 | 2018-09-13T04:34:43 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | "Kinda short for a knight, aren't you?"
The words hung in the air. Sir Gregory was taken aback. He was expecting the princess to be excited to see him or terrified of the dragon. Condescension was an emotion he never entertained.
"Oh Gods, you reek. No, this won't do. If you wish to rescue me *properly* I insist you go have a bath." She wrinkled her nose and took a step back, disgust on her face.
"Your Highness, this isn't the time. The dragon is still about-"
"The dragon has been here seven years. I'm sure she can wait until you're presentable. I mean *really*. How would you feel if you opened that door and found a centaur here? Because you smell like a centaur." The princess waived her hand dismissively. "The baths are down the hall to the right. I have left some mint on the vanity in case you don't want your first kiss to cause me to vomit."
Sir Gregory flustered. "I.. Uh.. Alright."
"Would you like a new suit of armor? That looks really ratty?"
"This was my grandfather's armor!"
"Looks like he inherited it too."
"That does it!" Sir Gregory took off his helm and threw it to the floor with a loud clang. "I came here through driving rain and scorching deserts! I endured countless hardships just to come here for *you*! I did this all for you. You should have the courtesy to show me some respect."
"You're some rich asshole who thinks I'll suck your dick and make you king just because you killed a, sorry, because you *intend* to kill a dragon. I didn't ask you to come here stinking of horse and threatening to kill the only friend I have had for seven years."
"You know what? I don't have to deal with this shit." Sir Gregory's voice broke as tears welled in his eyes. He picked up and put his helmet back on. "I'm a great knight. There are lots of women at court who would love to marry me." He started to leave, then turned in the doorway. "And your kingdom is shit anyway. Wench!"
"Don't let the porticulus hit your ass on the way out!"
"Arrgh!" He screamed as he stormed off muttering under his breath. "Stupid wench. Probably isn't even a virgin. I'm a nice knight. I wanted to rescue her. Doesn't that mean anything?" As promised the porticulus slams shut right behind him. The drawbridge starts to rise as he nears the end, forcing him to jump the last step.
"Gods damn it!" He curses, turning to yell back at the keep. "When you are old and ugly and alone you will look back at this day as the biggest mistake of your life!"
"At least I'm not old and ugly now!" The princess yelled down from a window.
"I'm not old I'm twenty seven!"
"I bet you still live with your parents."
"Fuck you," Sir Gregory turns and starts storming off toward a tree with a short length of rope tied to it. He turns back and yells. "Where is my horse!?"
"I don't know where your stupid horse is. Where is my dragon?"
"I didn't even see your dragon." He points at the princess. "If your dragon ate my horse you owe me a horse!"
"If my dragon got sick eating your stinking horse you owe me a dragon."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not buying you a dragon."
"Then I'm not buying you a horse."
"Screw this. I'm going back to court and I'm telling everyone you're a dragon's wench and you'll never get rescued!"
"Have a pleasant walk," the princess called in a sing-song voice.
"Fuck you!!" | April 5: I've finished digging the moat and the crocodiles have already moved in, fantastic.
4/6: me and Chico both had a good hard laugh when this suited up loser got devoured. all those dollars for armor but zero sense. I saddled up Chico and we flew to Halfordshire for some juicy lambs, dined and dashed because the rancher's son had to be a hero, a roasted hero.
4/12: we really did it this time. we took a wrong turn on our trip to Salisburg and flew over the city with THE MOST bravado in the world. I didn't notice it until after we landed for water but entire mobs of knights riding freaking armored elephants with flaming level 80 magma spears swarmed the north and south. No doubt a coordinated offensive involving the northern settlement which apparently excelled in training attack hyenas . "Aid in my liberating of this divine maiden from her foul warden, oh formidable kinsmen." said this overly rich snob bag in gold armor. No doubt the task master or mayor. Unfortunately for them metal armor is perfect for cooking the dragon food inside and Chico ate well....too well, I'm afraid Chico must go on a diet, he can't even take flight. Been trying to make him go vegan for a while, just can't find a place with adequate barrel sizes of soy milk. Getting frustrated.
5/18 Chico lost 875 lbs since 4/20, not reaching his goal yet.
5/22 Chico relapsed, not good. I woke up with him gone from his stable and evidence of a massive battle took place at the castle gates, swords, spears, bows and arrows, blood everywhere. But no bodies, except that of a fat dragon passed out in the middle of the scene. I scolded him, I made him sleep outside, he knows what he did. | 2019-01-09T11:59:29 | 2019-01-09T11:44:13 | 158 | 21 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign. | "Point of order honorable Dungeon Master, that's a violation of procedure!" said Marco Rubio, Ranger. "Senator Franken should not have that many spells per day at his current level!"
Senator Wyden (D-OR) sighed. D&D was his ace in the hole for extending the filibuster but he was beginning to regret the constant rules-lawyering he had to put up with. It began so simply ten hours ago. He took a page from earlier filibusters and read the entire Star Wars Thrawn Trilogy (easily boosting his numbers for re-election) back to back and shifted to D&D after he finished. It began as a simple homebrew campaign but the constant *obstructionism* was getting on his nerves.
Senator Al Franken (D-MN) was quick on his reply. "Again, I am a Sorcerer, my charisma modifier lets me take additional spells per day. It's in the Players Guide Rubio!"
"Hold up!" said Ted Cruz (R-TX). "If we are going by a strict interpretation of the rules, your extra spells per day per the rules of the Dungeon Masters guide indicates it should..."
"*Oh for fucks sake*" Wyden thought. Cruz was the fucking worst. Of course he rolled Paladin. Of course he had to stick to his laws like iron in every encounter. Of course he had to play his character as *lawful stupid*. He needed to move this forward. "ROLL A REFLEX SAVE"
The sound of D20s echoed through the chamber as the Senators rolled their dies. Most of the rolls were high enough to beat the check, Cruz however, to Wyden's sadistic delight, rolled a critical fail.
"You move to engage the Orc when the ballista volley blasts your character into the wall. You are unconscious, roll a constitution check to see if you stabilize.
"I immediately cast Infernal Healing!" said Senator Portman (R-OH), team Cleric.
"Senator Portman, wait your turn, you rolled a 2 in the initiative roll and you are lower on the turn order!" shouted Wyden.
"Am I still in bird form?" asked Senator Sanders (I-VT), Druid. "Can I turn into a whale and drop onto the ballista?"
Wyden clutched the side of his head. This was a terrible idea. If the Affordable Care Act was not on the line he'd end it here. The questions, the inexperience, it was maddening.
"Are you guys done messing around and are you going to get me revived already?" said Mike Pence, Bard.
Edit: Sanders is an independent, confusion stemmed from his appearance in the Democratic primaries. My bad. | Senator:The day is old and the wind has burnt your skin. The sun is setting in your eyes. As you approach the shadow town in the distance AH SHIT ! four skeletons jump from the road with an attack. ( rolls 20 sided die on podium) 15...... the first one takes 2 hp off of the chairmans life, the other three are further back leaving you with the chance of attack. It is the chairmans roll...Chairman: sir! Senator: CHAIRMANS ROLL! (20 sided die off the back of the podium landing on 18) senator: chair man was using a 2 handed bastard sword so I'll roll the 12 sided die for him( click clack.......8) senator: 8 chair man: 8!!! That's at least 45 damage senator! | 2017-01-21T22:31:16 | 2017-01-21T22:00:30 | 350 | 13 |
[WP] For as long as you can remember you've worn eye glasses. Your parents always made sure you had them on and you formed the habit. One day you forget them and you realize you can see something no one else can. | Demetri sat up with a start as the alarm clock next to him blared loudly. He reached wildly across the night stand, attempting to silence the harbinger of the morning commute before it woke his neighbor, an angry tattooed Russian fellow that was the king of noise ordinance procedures. As his hand finally smashed the snooze button, Demetri sighed. 24, balding, and living in a townhome with walls so thin, your neighbor could listen to see if you washed your hands after you flushed (which had occurred). Morning depression and reflecting on his failures in life was a ritual of his, one he cherished. He fumbled in the dark again, this time more gingerly, to find his glasses. To his small annoyance, he couldn't find them.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared at the clock. A red and sharp 5:30AM stared back at him. It was still very dark in the room, but Demetri made no attempt to turn on the lamp without finding his glasses first. It had always been a habit, one that was forced upon him.
Ever since Demetri could remember, his parents, especially mother, made it a point to have him wear his glasses, from the time he woke, to the time he would lay his head down to sleep. This was a strict practice, punishable, and enforced by a large belt. He was told it was for his own good, and Demetri learned quickly. In his lifetime, he figured he had maybe gone a total of 3 hours in the light seeing without his glasses. He couldn't remember what he had seen, as this was decades ago, but he reasoned that it must have been very blurry.
Demetri dragged his foot slowly across the floor, hoping to gently tap the glasses. His annoyance turned to panic after a few minutes, and after a few more he was on all fours, canvasing the floor for his glasses. They couldn't have gotten under his bed, he had all four sides covered completely, and he kept his floor pristine. There was only the nightstand, the bed, and a small dresser in the vicinity.
Maybe he had misplaced it last night? No, that was a silly idea, he never went to sleep without putting his glasses on his nightstand. Maybe a robber broke in and stole it? Again, a dumb thought, he was a rather light sleeper and what purpose would a thief have to steal his glasses? Plain, and rather large, boring glasses. His eyes darted to the clock again- 5:49AM. Time was moving faster than he thought. It would be light soon, and for some reason, Demetri knew he could only see in the light with his glasses.
His panic became terror, and he expanded his search to every inch of his clean room. He went through his covers, pulled apart sheets, lifted the bed off of the box spring, tipped the night stand, and nothing. He stared at the clock again.
6:01AM.
The light was slowly coming through the small window he had in his room, and instinctively, he turned away from the light. He could NOT look in the light, without his glasses. Mother told him so. He went back to reaching helplessly in the dark corners of his room for his glasses, as light slowly filled more of it. His mind immediately filled with dread.
What would happen now? This had never happened before. Demetri squeezed his eyes shut, somewhat content that it would still be dark. This would buy him the time he needed to find the glasses, completely in the dark. To his horror, he still saw. He squeezed harder, certain he knew how to blink and keep his eyes shit, but it was in vain. He was still seeing. He looked around at the room, bathed in light, eyes wide shut. He saw the thing before him.
It looked back at him with eyes as large as dinner plates, it's tennis ball sized pupils dilated at the sight of him, and expanded to fill the eyes. It's gnarled teeth curled up to form a sickening smile, and it's ragged, black fur quivered in excitement. It mouthed, in perfect english, a single sentence to him. He squirmed back in response, and felt a slight crack on his bottom as he landed on it. His glasses! He moved quickly to place them on his face. The thing saw his glasses, and lunged toward him with remarkable speed. It managed to nearly close the distance in a second, getting a swipe at Demetri's arm, but a second was all Demetri needed.
As the glasses slid on his face, and the lense filled his eye, he saw darkness. He was confused at first, certain the monster had blinded him, and he let out a wild scream. He screamed until his voice went hoarse, and he opened his eyes as he took in another breath to continue. Wait, he had forgotten he had closed his eyes.
He looked around the room, still heaving slowly, and realized the thing was gone. He looked down at his arm where the thing had managed to touch him and saw a jet black mark. He heard someone kicking at his bedroom door, and he whirled around to face it in response. The door was knocked down, and the Russian neighbor walked in. He looked at Demetri as if to ask if he was okay, before noticing his arm.
"You. You have to see now." The Russian said to him, in an almost robotic voice. This was the first thing Demetri ever heard from him that didn't come out in a threat or yell.
"Wh-wh-what do you mean?" Demetri stammered out.
The Russian pointed to his arm. "There is no more hiding now. They've found one of us. Time to not hide, but to see."
Demetri's eyes widened. He was sure the Russian was talking about the "thing." He choked out, "They!? Wh-what are they? How do you kno-" Demetri couldn't get out his words before he noticed the Russian's arm. The mark. All over. Some hidden in tattoos. He looked at the Russian's face. Glasses, just like his. Glasses were so common, he never bothered looking twice at them.
"Yes, they've seen you," the Russian continued, "and they won't be sated."
Demetri felt his heart waver, and he felt helpless. "Wh-what can we do?" He asked the Russian.
The Russian smiled, before slowly moving to take his glasses off. "Seeing nightmares......is not the only thing these eyes of ours can do....
The Russian's plucked the glasses off of his face as Demetri's thoughts went to the remark the thing made to him.
"Dying will always be better than Mother." | My vision is pretty bad, I can't even really see without my glasses. Everything becomes this nebulous blur, almost foggy. Sure, I've gone without them for a bit around the house, but if my parents saw they immediately throw an absolute, full blown shit fit. You know the kind: veins bulging, head red, etc.
So it just so happened that this one day (before, obviously), my parents were out of town. Left me, their bouncing baby 17 year old, all by my lonesome. I did the usual teenage boy stuff (use your imagination!). I woke up, quite a bit worse wear for the tear, bleary eyed with a cotton mouth and a spinning room. A little bit of juice and I was at least functional, if not better. Put on my glasses and the world was a little more right.
Shit! I looked up at the clock and I was already late. My boss would kill me if I didn't get there before noon.
I threw on the least wrinkled shirt off my floor and my least dirty jeans (smell test, if you must know how...), grabbed my bag and headed to the nearest station.
When I got on the train (thank god for my multipass), I just kind of slumped in the corner of the car. I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes.
I had to close my eyes, still not feeling great, but I needed to get this stuff to the bank. My boss is very old school: He writes down all the sales in a ledger and collects the money in a bag for deposit. Since I closed last night, it is my job to deposit it the next day. I probably shouldn't have gone out after work...
God how stupid of me. I went out with Duc and Totter last night. First thing we did was try to scare some homeless guys. Totter started driving on the sidewalk, making them jump out of the way. Even managed to bounce a few off the hood. Then that damned blind preacher jumped out in in front of us. I'd seen him around preaching about a "veil over the world". I pulled the wheel from Totter and we crashed into the trash cans across the alley. I don't give a damn about much, but don't want a preachers blood on my hands.
Duc noticed the cops first. We thought they were coming after us, but they started busting the homeless, and finally got a hold of the preacher. Last thing I heard was preacher screaming "Wake up boys! Wake up and run! They're in charge. They will come for you too!"
..."downtown, 34th st." My stop. I jumped up, grabbed my bag and headed out the the door...and realized about 2 seconds too late, that I left my glasses in there.
Crap. There I was downtown and I couldn't see two shits. I held my watch about 4 inches from my face: I had only 20 minutes.
As I carefully walked through the platform looking at the ground, I about ran into guy trying to get around me. Just in time to avoid getting knocked over, I managed to look up.
*What the hell? Is there a con going on somewhere nearby? Pretty good mask, though.* Even with the foggy vision, I saw several others with same kind of mask. *Must be a con.*
I carefully made my way to the escalator, and looked at the posters as I went up. *Must be a new public awareness campaign because they are printed in block letters big enough for me to read:* **CONFORM.** *There's another:* **OBEY.** *What's this?* **CONSUME**
Finally managed to get through crowd (quite a few con attendees, it seems) and made my way onto the street. The bank is only half a block up on this side.
Still blind as I bat, I tripped over a homeless guy and hurtle headfirst into a glass window. Thankfully, it didn't break, but I was looking at CNN and I'll be damned if one of the hosts isn't wearing a damned con mask. And the news scroll? It has the same public service campaign going on: **TRUST THEM. WATCH TV. OBEY AUTHORITY. DON'T QUESTION.**
I knew this shit wasn't right. No matter what thought before, this wasn't some scifi convention. Something is seriously *fucked* here.
In a near panic, I ran to the bank. As I sprinted and fell through the door. I heard gunshots and the dude with the gun yelled: " I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass... and I'm all out of bubblegum. "
| 2015-07-21T12:56:57 | 2015-07-21T11:58:40 | 177 | 53 |
[WP] You woke up this morning with a superpower: anyone in close proximity to you must tell the truth. They can't lie or hold anything back. At first, random people just blurt out things you never wanted to know, but then it starts getting weird... | Tomas found himself kneeling in front of the altar in the darkened gloom of the town church, praying with a fervor he had never known. At this hour, there were no other parishioners around, just Tomas and a thousand flickering candles.
“Please, please take this away, whatever it is you gave me, please take it away…” Tomas urged under his breath, as his tears mixed with the perspiration rolling down his forehead.
He had spent most of the day adrift in a desert of confusion, and every sandy crest of comprehension he scaled only revealed even more boundlessness lying beyond. At the least though, he was sure that whatever was happening, only started this very morning, less than 9 hours ago.
Tomas’ mother had been the first. As the school bus rolled up, he had asked his mother, as always, what she was going to do that day. He expected the usual “Oh, just watch TV,” or perhaps “I’ll start my interviews again, hope to get something this time.”
Instead, he got the following response from her – “Report in that you still seem fine, and that Day 4,400 looks to be another normal one.”
It didn’t matter that he thought her reply strange, because she didn’t seem to hear what she was herself saying. She had merely answered him with the same candour as if he had asked what the time was, or what hue the sky took on today.
And it was the same with every other person he interacted with that day. From his homeroom teacher Mrs Trudy, who told him that he had to curb his after-school explorations of the town as the surveillance teams could barely keep up, to Mr Natters the school janitor, who cheerfully informed that the batteries in his locker cameras had just been replaced.
Even Ms Julies, the sweet-faced librarian most of the children had crushes on, told him that the Board, whoever they were, approved of the reading material he had been occupying himself with.
Tomas, held fast in a grip of fear, suddenly afraid of the answers to questions he had never asked, sought solace in the only place he knew.
“… so please, hallowed be thy name, please make this all a dream…”
“A dream? You’re asking for a dream? What is troubling you today?”
It was Father Bruce, the aging shepherd for this flock. He tottered along the aisle slowly, his gait uncertain.
“Father,” said Tomas, shrinking back, “are you affected too? Are you going to tell me anything that’s on your mind, whether or not you want to?”
“What? Are you on anything, young man? You know that I would have to repo-”
“Father! Do you know anything about me that you’ve always tried to keep hidden?” yelled Tomas, who had gradually refined the question over the course of a day to probe the extent of his new-found predicament. So far, it had a 100% success rate, eliciting increasingly unsettling responses from people he thought he knew.
“Why, there’s nothing about you that needs to be hidden! You’re Tomas Belroy, you live in the corner house on the corner of Hudson and Vileyers, your mother is your only family, and you’ve been coming regularly to my service!”
Tomas almost wept then, so strong was the relief which washed over him. Maybe, maybe it was the church, something about this holy land which put an end to the madness afflicting him, providing a modicum of sanctuary. Maybe in Father Bruce he could finally confide, work out a solution, dig his way out of whatever hole he had foun-
It seemed Father Bruce was not done.
“… and you are thought to be at least five, six years away from coming into your powers. Until then, as long as we all keep a close eye on you, make sure you’re taking in all the suppressants we’ve been dosing you with, you should never awaken your dormant potential. Why, that would be unfortunate indeed, for we would then have little choice but to put you down, permanently.”
Father Bruce smiled, the same warm, welcoming look he had, all those years Tomas had known him.
Tomas turned, and ran.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
---
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/672y1m/wp_you_woke_up_this_morning_with_a_superpower/dgo7vxdis) up below in the comments, thanks everyone who encouraged me to write it! | *Jackson's Journal*
*30/5/2016*
These people yelling things is getting a little annoying. But I'm going to keep track of them anyway.
Things they said today:
*"When I was 12, I peed on my dog."*
*"I secretly really like drawing, even though I suck at it."*
*"When I get 1 million followers on Instagram, I plan on posting a picture of my food."*
*"Somebody once told me the world was gonna roll me, and that I 'ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.'"*
*"I haven't seen the Baker's daughter in a while."*
*"All these people blurting stuff out is really scaring me."*
*"Bruno Mars does, in fact, gay."*
*"I have this friend named Miles who's a really nice guy, but I think my wife is cheating on me with him."*
*"I need someone to help my sister, but I can't call 911 because I don't have a phone."*
*"I have a Minecraft account, but everyone thinks that Minecraft is a bad game, so I don't want them to know that."*
*"I'm a Mercy main."*
*"These cupcakes taste funny."*
*"I have a severe case of most of the mental disorders, and I'm only here so that I can talk about my book on a big stage thing."*
*"I think that I'm a bad writer but I wanted to give writing a shot anyways, so I'm going to my quiet thinking place."*
*"My friend told me yesterday that he liked the movie* Pixels, *and I thought he was joking."*
*"At my school, there was a bake sale and people thought that the cupcakes were delicious. But then the next day everyone except me and another kid called in sick."*
*"I always wanted to be an animator, but I tried it and realized that I couldn't draw."*
*"I wish I was a better singer."*
*"It makes me sad that PREQUEL isn't updating, but I hope it will happen soon."*
*"On Fourth Street, somebody threw up blood and passed out. Then some other people started doing the same, and now I'm scared."*
*"Whenever I hear the word 'Anchovies', my gag reflex acts up."*
*"I feel like I ate too much, even though I ate next to nothing today."*
*"All of these people are dead now, and I don't know why. I think it's a disease."*
*"God, I hate drinking. I'm never going to drink again. Can't even remember what I did last night. I think it had something to do with my medication that I can't find anymore."*
*"Does anybody want some cupcakes?"* | 2017-04-23T10:54:36 | 2017-04-23T09:57:43 | 309 | 101 |
[WP] You offer your soul to the devil. When he hears what you want in exchange, he refuses to make the deal. | November, 2004:
"Oh great and wicked Athariel, answer my call as I have come to offer my soul."
The smoke from my burning offering-- sage, willow bark, and yew flowers -- twisted, darkened, thickened. From the writhing, bitter smoke coalesced a monstrous form, with spindly wings and over-long arms, curled horns peeling back from the forehead and sharp ridges all across reddish-purple skin.
"Mortal," the demon's voice boomed, "you have scoured the darkest tomes for my name, gathered the rare herbs to ease my passage into your fleeting, filthy world, and now on this most fateful hour we shall bargain for..." the demon trailed off, then continued in a more uncertain voice. "My demonic form is so frightening you avert your sight?"
"No, it's not that, dude. You're naked. Ack." I snagged one of the blankets off my crappy school-issued twin bed. "Here, wrap yourself up." When the monster hesitated, I added, "Look, it's my soul you want, right? So just humor me."
It was hard to tell, what with the ridges and horns and fangs, but I think he appreciate how soft the blanket was, which gave me a stab of pride. I'm very discriminating when it comes to the softness of my fabrics. I gestured at him to sit down, and offered some him some Cheez-its, as I was halfway through stress-eating a box. When he didn't take any, I shrugged and threw a handful into my mouth. It was a bit of an awkward silence as I chewed and he looked around at my sparsely-decorated high school dorm room, but I had been through worse. So much worse.
"I need you to murder my soccer team," I said after swallowing.
"What?"
"In exchange for my soul. That's how it works, right?"
"Yes. Generally."
More silence.
"So, we good? You could do it through a bus crash or something."
Eyes like glowing coals met mine. "I may require slightly more information on the nature of your request." When I didn't say anything, he added, "Like why you're making it."
"It's... it's not important." At his unimpressed look, I added, "I mean, obviously it's important, but I don't want to talk about it."
The demon scratched at the back of his neck with dagger-like nails. "I need to know so I can record the transaction properly. It's part of my job's protocol."
"Ughh," I flung myself backward to stare at the crappy cement ceiling of my room. "Fine. Look, we were showering after practice, and something I ate at lunch didn't agree with me, because the food sucks here, everything here sucks, and my stomach did that thing, you know, and I thought I could hold it in a bit, but I couldn't and..."
"You defecated in front of your team?"
I curled into a ball. "It was so gross! Just, totally humiliating. And I'm just a freshman so already nobody takes me seriously, they all tease me, and my parents won't let me transfer, so I'm stuck here, half a country away from home, and I'm just done. I'm so done. So can you just murder them for me? Please?"
"Umm."
"Are you saying you won't take my soul?"
"No," he hesitated and gently bit his lip, a move somehow dainty despite his obsidian, two-inch-long incisors. "I just think they're might be better ways of dealing with your problem than mass murder."
"But there's not," I pleaded. "I've thought it through. Even if you just take their memory away, they're still going to hate me. Nobody likes me here. And if everyone dies, my parents might pull me out of boarding school and take me back home. So please?"
The demon cocked his head to the side. "For requests such as this one, I'll need to make sure your heart is true. I cannot grant it right away. I will appear again in a week, and if at that time--"
"I'll still want it. I swear!"
"Of course." He paused, then leaned forward a bit. "Here, let me offer you some advice..."
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
February 2005:
"Oh wicked and great Athariel, I am here offer up my soul."
The smoke turned into Athariel with far less theatrics than my first summoning. He plopped down on my desk chair, his usual spot, and was careful to keep his wings from knocking over my books as looked at me, hands propping up his chin.
"So, are things better?"
"I guess." I tugged at my pajama sleeve. "Taylor from algebra and I have been hanging out during study hall. He's pretty chill, and he likes the same shows as me, so we get to talk about them. He says there are some comics I should read."
"And your basketball team?"
"They're pretty nice. I'm not that great at shooting, but they've been giving me some pointers. Oh, I got you the next few Discworld books from the library, too." I grabbed them from my backpack. "I'll need then back in three weeks, right before spring break."
"No problem. Now, have you gotten your grade up in history yet?"
"Ugh, Atharielll."
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Spring 2008
&#x200B;
"I got in, I got in!" I run forward to hug Athariel. "They loved my essay! Yale, can you believe it! Me, at Yale?"
"Of course I can believe it," Athariel sniffed. "You're a brilliant student and a visionary artist. They're lucky to have you."
"More like I'm lucky to have you," I said, smiling. "Here, I got the DVDs for Hogfather. You in for a movie night?"
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
2015:
"Yo, Athariel," I called into the void between worlds. "You're late."
The air beside me on the couch took on a luminous sheen, twisting and shedding scales of light until Athariel materialized.
"Sorry, sorry. It was mammoth steaks at cafeteria and the line was long. Then of course freaking Bezebel started chatting me up again while I was snagging some medlar pudding."
"Eww," I passed him the popcorn and sour patch mix, our customary snack. "You're aeons too old for her. Besides, you and Tormiel are a thing, so why is she hitting on you?"
In the quiet, all I heard was conspicuously slow chewing.
"Are you two not a thing anymore?" More slow chewing and averted eyes. "Ath! Why didn't you say something? When did this happen?"
"Last month, sort of? There was the Brimstone Ball, and normally Torm and I made fun of those things, so I didn't ask him, but then he got mad, and we both said some things we probably shouldn't have said, and now we're not talking, and it's just such a mess."
I snagged the popcorn from his hand, forcing him to look at me. "Ath, let me offer you some advice..."
| The motel rooms contents had been shifted drastically. The bed pushed to the far side wall, the tv unplugged and put it the side while the heavy dresser had been pushed to block the door. Two chairs sat in the middle of the room. In between the chairs was a mirror covered in strange writing. The twisting and turning letters were a brownish-red. Marvin was just about ready.
He stripped down and sat in one of the chairs. He thrust his arm out and with a knife that laid beside the chair he cut his palm. The blood dripped onto the mirror and the lights cut out. The darkness was suffocating. Marvin waited and waited until a dim glow appeared. It was now more than embers from a dying fire, but it was enough to see the outline of the figure who occupied the other chair. An imposing figure whose yellowed eyes shined brightly in the dark.
“You shall hear a sound and know it is—“
“Your Voice.”
“You shall look up on me and know I am—“
“My Lord.”
“You shall exalt me and say my name—“
“Satan.”
The figure exhaled heavily. A low hum like that of a great beast bellowing.
“Enough formalities. Why have you summoned me?”
“Oh Dark Lord, I who am unworthy—“
“I said drop the formalities boy. To go to such lengths as to use a bastardized method of calling me, I’m aware you are unworthy. I only want to know *why*.”
Marvin shrunk into his seat. *Go on Marvin. Ask. That’s why you’re here. You’ve already come this far.*
“I’m tired. I’m tired of trying and failing. No matter what I do I can’t move forward.my relationships fall apart, my job shits on me daily and I’ve not moved up at all. Every day is penny pinching and compromise, and I’m done. I want more than this.”
“To what end?”
“It doesn’t matter. Fame is fine but unimportant. Money and status is what I want, and I’ll gladly take anything to help me achieve that. I offer my soul for this.”
Satan chuckled.
“That’s all eh? Wealth and status all for the cost of one rotten soul?”
Marvin said nothing. What was there to argue? How could he even think of arguing with a being this powerful?
“What more...can I give?”
“Young man...what you’re asking for requires a great deal more than a soul. Do you know how many husks walk around in the mortal realm? People forsake their souls without even knowing it. They’re worth next to *nothing*. Even so called great people either lack souls or have one just as paltry as yours.”
Marvin fell to his knees. He pressed his forehead into the ground.
“Please. What more can I give?”
Had his eyes not been starting at tacky carpeting, he would have seen the smile spread across the Dark Lords face.
“I’m going to have you hold something for me. Stand and approach me.”
Marvin did so but kept his eyes cast down. He dared not look into Its eyes. Satan extended a shadowy arm and placed it onto Marvin’s chest. The sensation was so foreign. It was as though it was so hot it was cold. Pain radiated though his body but Marvin could not drop or cry out.
“With this you will have what you desire. Your talents will be improved, your will fortified, and the odds tipped in your favor. With this we are bound until your contract is complete.”
Satan withdrew its hand Marvin dropped to the ground with a thud. He vomited, away from Satans feet, and saw his bile had traces of blood.
“I’ve taken your soul as collateral. It’s worthless as payment, you see, but it makes for a decent bartering chip. In its stead I’ve planted an entity of my creation. As your success grows so will it until it either consumes you or breaks free. In case of either event you’ll get your soul back, and I shall take back a fully formed servant.”
Marvin still could not speak. He felt hollow. His blood boiled but he was in a cold sweat. In the darkness of the room he could see nightmarish images. The sounds of howling and screaming and maniacal laughter an orchestra of madness in his mind. The only thing louder was the voice of his new Master.
“Our contract is sealed. Now show me what a go getter you are.”
Marvin blacked out and fell into madness of his mind.
When he came to he was in the hotel room. It had been put back in order and he was lying in the bed. The sheets were drenched in sweat as was his pillow. Disoriented he glanced around the room, wondering he’d dreamed it all. Then he felt a sting in his palm. The fresh wound had become a scar over night, but it hurt as though it were still bleeding. His phone buzzed on the night stand. He picked it up and saw his boss had messaged him.
It seemed Marvin’s supervisor was in an accident, and although it was uncouth the position had to be filled immediately. The offer was extended to Marvin, as he had the most experience. He mentioned that it would include training, perfect for a young executive like Marvin, and a significant bump in pay. The interview would be a formality and he would be hired just after the funeral. His boss mentioned the funeral as more of an after thought, saying there would be a memo about it the following day.
Marvin felt something shift inside him and he doubled over and clutched his gut. His road to success had just begun, but now he wondered if he’d make it. | 2018-12-12T14:16:41 | 2018-12-12T13:05:37 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] When humans achieve interstellar space flight we discover that we live smack dab in the midst of several massive squabbling ancient alien empires. So we do the only sensible thing we could, and become space Switzerland. | There’s something many people forget about expanding an empire. Something the Romans had to deal with. The Chinese. The Mongols…you get the idea.
As you get bigger, you have to more border to defend. As bad as it is on land, it is even worse in space. An ever enlarging sphere of empty space to defend.
Luckily for us, humanity didn’t need much space.
We’d gotten used to living on ships and orbitals. We’d had to, given what we’d done to our planet.
So when we found out that nearby systems were already claimed and occupied, we began diplomatic missions instead of colonizing ones.
And when the first of our new neighbors decided to see if our systems were worth colonizing, they ran into a nasty surprise.
You see, we might not have been as advanced, and we might not have a sprawling empire of trillions, but we did have a lot of ships.
In a relatively small area.
We lost a lot in the first attack. Outgunned one on one, we simply couldn’t stand and fight.
Once they entered the edges of our system, though, things changed. The fleet they saw was simply decades behind, technologically. It also outnumbered them seven to one.
The fleet they didn’t see, which had hid in the shadows of Pluto, made the numbers almost twenty to one.
The men and women lost that day made it a Pyrrhic victory. The technology we gained, though, made the Sol system impenetrable.
Four times since then we’ve faced invasions. Each time it was easier and easier to fend them off, and each time we learned. Developed. Gained new technology and insights into the galaxy and the systems around us.
If any had brought the full force of their military against us, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. But they would have to strip their own borders - some further from us then we can travel in a lifetime - leaving themselves open to attack.
So instead, we became the tough little nut in the middle of great empires. Their border wars ended at the edges of our system. Traders and diplomats were welcomed, while ships armed with anything more then a light asteroid smasher was turned away…or swarmed down and dismantled for parts.
It wasn’t long before many of them saw the use of having a neutral party in the middle. Diplomats were safe to meet and work out ceasefires (no war between the great empires would ever truly end, despite our attempts). Trade goods made near the heart of the galaxy, could find their way across our sphere, leaving to begin a journey that could take them to the rim of space (rumors reach us that they could go beyond, even).
All minus our cut, of course.
Our people became sacrosanct. We could travel in our great cruisers, touring the galaxy and seeing wonders that were banned to any other outsiders. Who would tell us no? When the risk was to lose access to the great neutral zone, the free trading spaces and diplomatic zones? The one place where art, culture, and technology could be exchanged?
Easier to let the humans roam in their ships. We didn’t colonize (why bother, when our ships could hold hundreds of millions in comfort), but rather…toured. Saw new systems and their wonders.
In time, there were branches of humanity who had gone so far away that they had never seen the light of Sol. Perhaps they will turn around at the edges of the empires they travel through, or perhaps they will continue on, braving the new borders we have only heard of.
Perhaps they will find new systems, unclaimed in the depths, and settle them. Make them another small hub - well defended, and neutral in other conflicts - another launching point for the great explorers of humanity to travel out from. | Earth was an economic powerhouse. When we first left Earth, we were a dying race. Years of ignoring the failing biosphere bit us in the butt. With time, we managed to fix the mess we made. We made nuclear fusion, bioplastic, nanotechnology, all the fancy stuff. Never once did we think the old ways would come back.
Upon first leaving the system, we were immediately confronted by an alien vessel. After a brief exchange between our AI in binary, we discovered each other’s identity. The ship we met were the Drumari Federation, and they thought us to be one of the other great empires. A brief exchange led to us receiving information before the vessel left.
The drumari were basically space elves. They are an ancient, but strong race. They even used nanotechnology to such an advanced degree, that its akin to magic.
They had three rivals, the Raa Imperium, Jupitari Republic, and the Elihiem Oligarchy.
To our shock, the Raa Imperium almost perfectly matched the ancient Egyptian religion. They are a race of bioengineering geniuses, who can change bodies as we do clothes.
The Jupitari matched the Roman-Greek pantheon. The republic were as old as the Drumari, and were known for their robust biology and incredible use of illusions.
The Elihiem matched Christianity. These guys were known for the use of creation engines, which allow a temporary ability to rearrange molecules.
Yet every empire shared more than an involvement in our history. The empires apparently use greenhouse gases. It turns out they actually have a lot of trouble creating them. They can be created, but it’s inefficient. Turns out creation engines waste lots of power, and only our biology permitted the creation of the substances. So once again, we proceeded to turn a planet into a massive greenhouse hell, and sold the gas. Mercury to be precise. The aliens love the gas hot.
We’ve been working on a fleet for a while though. It’s only a matter of time before they ask how we get the gas besides mining. | 2022-03-06T21:33:17 | 2022-03-06T20:21:56 | 1,166 | 102 |
[WP] The age of superheroes finally arrives. Your power is that whenever you step into a room, it is immediately cleaned to perfection. At first you think it's useless but you realize that by cleaning people's rooms you get paid and thus gets funding to buy tech to match other heroes and villains. | **Cleanly Deception**
“No! No no no, oh *God* please no.”
It’s an incongruous sight really, the supremely manly Mr. SuperUltraMan and his bulging muscles, on his knees, quaking in his superboots before me like a child.
“And why shouldn’t I?” I say, holding my hand up in a position to *snap*. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t clean your mind right now,” I pause, adding a dose of venom to my voice, “why I shouldn’t *sanitize* your memories?”
I can’t actually do that, of course. At least, I don’t think I can. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that *he*, and everyone else, believes I could.
“I’ll do it! Fine, I’ll do it,” he rumbles, “I’ll kill Mechawoman for you, but this blood, it’s on your hands.”
“Well,” I smile, “if that’s the case, then I’ll just clean it off. Go!”
He stands, fists clenched so hard and so tightly he could be causing mini fusion reactions in those invincible hands of his. He wants to kill me, it’s obvious in his eyes. Literally, I can see them starting to glow with his laser vision just barely held back.
But if he does, then there won’t be anyone to clean sensors on the nuclear bombs hidden in major cities around the world. If a single day goes by with out me cleaning them, millions, maybe even billions will die.
Another lie, of course.
In a blur and a tremendous *whoosh*, he’s gone.
Goodbye, Mechawoman.
A pang of sadness shoots through me, gnawing at my stomach, making me nauseous. The chairs are too far away, so I just sit there on my perfectly immaculate marble floor. All the thoughts I’ve been keeping at bay finally begin to break through my callous facade.
Bringing anyone into my life, into my web of lies, was a mistake. Bringing Mechawoman was more than a mistake, it was *filthy* stupidity.
It’d seemed so right at first. My empire, built on the exploitation of humans’ willingness to believe dirty lies, joined at the top by the perfectly pure mind of an android. On my own, I had leveraged my relatively weak power into something so much more. Together, we would be unstoppable.
And besides, she was the only person that wasn’t absolutely terrified of me. I’d thought that was because, maybe, she loved me, but perhaps she just couldn’t feel fear.
Once she’d understood the small limits of my powers, the grand scope of my deception, she simply transformed into a mini jet and took off. She hadn’t threatened me or challenged me, she didn’t seem angry or upset, she didn’t even make a grand roar as she thrusted away. Nothing.
In the distance, I hear the clash of superbattle. No doubt, Mechawoman would have called upon her friends to help her fend off Mr. SuperUltraMan. They’d fail, but it would be close.
Crashing, shattering, exploding. What a mess I’ve made.
___
r/stealthystorkstories | They were the World's Greatest Heros, and it was an open audition. I kept working my way back it the line. Soon I was the last application. Perfect.
They held the audition in their famous Battle Room, where they trained. After a day, where hundreds of would-be super heroes had blasted, burnt, crushed, flooded, froze, and general mayhem, it was a total disaster.
I walked to the middle of the room, and called forth my powers to the fullest. In mere seconds, the the room was restored and spotless. I bowed and thanked them for the chance to display my powers.
As I walked out, the Driver called out, "Does that power of yours work on vehicles? I nodded yes. The Crusher was staring thoughtfully, How much clean up can you handle? I started back and told him, "I can restore and perfectly clean more than you can crush." "I cleaned up Ashland after your team battled the Master and his Minions. Took three days"
Then I left. I took my shot, just not super hero enough. I stopped and grabbed a big burger and cheese fries. Cleaning is hard work. Just as I left, I got a text. I GOT THE GIG!
Then I got another text, Take off in 30 minutes rescue job offshore, a sinking ocean liner! This could be great. | 2022-03-11T08:09:26 | 2022-03-11T08:07:55 | 119 | 59 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.