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] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down. | "Alright, alright, I've got one," wheezed Richardson over gales of laughter. "I bet you can't... make *this* monkey famous." He produced a photograph from a local zoo from within his jacket.
"Please, we can come up with better than that," sneered Kringle. "I'll have it done by tonight... and that's not even technically a *monkey.* Now..." He turned around looking for someone else to challenge.
His eyes finally met those of the imposing man who sat smiling in a corner and pointed at him.
"I think it's time you joined the festivities, eh?" grinned Kringle. "And I've got a real tricky one planned."
A sudden hush overtook the room. All around the gentlemen's club, faces were frozen mid-smile. Richardson tried to interrupt, uncomfortable, but was silenced with a brief wave of the hand.
"I can handle anything you can think up," came the man's booming voice. "My IQ is one of the highest - and you all know it!"
Kringle continued, unphased. "I want you... to become the President by gradually insulting every single demographic you can think of."
The room was even quieter for a few seconds.
"I like it!" laughed the booming voice of Donald Trump. "I don't know what will happen, but it will be interesting!" | The grand master- You wouldn't dare make that bet. Not only does it risk your own well being, but the well being of everybody in our organization.
Initiate- Well if you don't want to take the bet, that's fine. You'll just have to admit that you, the GRAND LEADER OF THE ILLUMINATI, are a chicken.
The grand master- Chicken, that preposterous. Can you call the man who convinced an art student to become a dictator a chicken. Or the man who disseminated information on nuclear bombs at the height of the cold war. The man who just a few years ago convinced dirt farmers to fly a plane into the middle of New York. AM I A CHICKEN.
Initiate- Then why not take the bet. No harm of it.
The grand master- Fine. Tell me. How do you plan to tell the world about our gentleman's club.
Initiate- Ever heard of r/writingprompts? | 2016-08-23T16:11:42 | 2016-08-23T12:43:32 | 578 | 165 |
[WP] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace." | "That's stupid"
A-2784 sighed, turning back to the screen with a live feed of Earth. All of Earth. His computer systems were advanced enough to keep a constant watch on the strange planet.
"Is it? I've heard stupider"
H-3649 looked at his partner, glowing eye trying to divulge whatever cryptic message A-2784 was trying to deliver.
"Remember that species from the planet with 82 moons?"
"The 82ners?"
"Right. They explored all their moons just because"
"Your point?"
"What about the Bigsunners?"
H rolled his eye.
"The species that stared at their sun just to learn how it worked?"
A nodded, eye glued to the feed
"You know what these warpeacers did? That. Both of those. They also had a war without weapons, like the Longspears"
"I said before, your point?"
"I think they're the creators"
H blinked. Then burst out into mechanical laughter.
"You're crazy. That's even stupider than war peace"
"Is it? Have you ever noticed what we do?"
"What?"
"We analyze these planets, then blow them up because we think they're stupid. What does that sound like?"
"...warpeacers?"
"Uh-huh. And they did everything else! But they know how stupid it was. So they made us to stop the stupid"
"You're a genius"
"Aha, I knew I was! Let's go tell them what a good job we did!"
The pair descends to Earth. Unfortunately, the nations of Earth thought they were nuclear weapons. So they fired their own in prompt retaliation.
Both units were promptly shut down for being idiots. The supreme AI intelligence noted the entire incident as being incredibly stupid, illogical and completely nonsensical
Don't do bitmining kids | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/u_b_the_great_1998] [\[WP\] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_B_The_great_1998/comments/bk5taw/wp_so_they_are_a_war_species_then_huh_the_alien/)
- [/r/u_samurai_94] [\[WP\] "So they are a war species, then. Huh," the alien researcher scratches his head. "Why are you so interested in them? The humans, I mean." The other alien gets closer to him, and says, "They fight for peace. No other species fights for peace."](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_Samurai_94/comments/bk3jqg/wp_so_they_are_a_war_species_then_huh_the_alien/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2019-05-02T20:34:11 | 2019-05-02T19:26:00 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] Demons are not born, they are made from humans surviving in hell long enough. | "Congratulations! You've graduated!"
"Wait, what?"
I've spent fifteen years in this, well, hell, getting endless torture. And today this old man in tuxedo with a pair of horns in his head suddenly talked to me without bothering about a lance impaled in my chest.
"Well, duh, you're here for cheating with your cousin, correct?"
"Yes? And?"
"That grants you fifteen years of torture, and after that you're licenced as a lesser devil. Of course, as you proggressed, you could be promoted into higher level demon. Maybe even Incubus, and then you could sent back to mortal world!"
"Wait a sec, and you are?"
"Oh, how rude of me! I'm the highest leader, therefore the eldest, of all demons, Satan Lucifer at your service. Now for your first job..." he flipped through a notes that suddenly appeared in his hands at some point in time.
"Wow wow, hold on now, I hadn't said I agreed."
"So you would rather tortured here for another decade and a half? Fine by me, I still have another twenty graduates today." he packed up and started to leave.
"Wait, wait! I take it!"
Lucifer smiled wickedly. The lance in my chest disappeared, and a suit appeared in my body. "Alrite, your first job is, wow, you got to torture your cousin, yes, *that* cousin, and collect seventeen litres of blood out of her! Nice one, eh?"
"Wait, she'd die if I did that! And I'm not even a sadist!"
"Well, she had died either way." he pointed out "Now get to work or I'll collect *your* blood. You could get a weapon if you need one, just held out your hand." he walked away, his notes disappeared
I opened my hand, and a toothpick materialized.
"How did I supposed to collect blood with this?!"
"Take your time."
This is going to take more time than I imagined. | "Kill them"
"You know," I screamed into his thoughts at night, "I was once a beautiful woman".
"Kill them"
My lover rolled and jerked about in his sleep, clutching his head and whispering to himself through tears.
"I was a beautiful woman, who was raped, tortured, and killed."
His body shook with every pronounced, booming, oppressive syllable of my words.
"You know they deserve it."
He tumbled out of bed, head starting to bleed from the scratching now.
"I was once a beautiful woman, who was raped, tortured, and killed. Then those above decided that I deserved eternal torment, for the sin of fornication"
I lift him from the floor, his body rising involuntarily. Screams. It's like candy.
"You can't stop yourself can you?"
"I have been in hell for five years. I waged war with the above at the end of my first day."
He roared, eyes closed, fingers clutching through the air in front of him.
"I am inside you, now do it."
"Kill them."
"Do it."
With each breath of hate and fire I speak into his soul, he punches the wall, burrowing his fist in it, three clean holes through bricks and stone.
"Come with me, God hates us all, we are all damned, God is the enemy, kill the enemy, the enemy hates you, the enemy damns you, kill him, kill her, kill them."
With that, he bent to my will and killed 32 people. 22 were with his bare hands. 10 died of unknown causes.
He wanted a succubus, he got a succubus. Shame hell isn't a porno. | 2016-03-05T03:39:23 | 2016-03-05T03:08:40 | 48 | 18 |
[WP] You are the main character of a 24/7 reality show. It is the most popular show on TV because of a complex gambling market around it. More money is wagered on regular activities like what you will eat for breakfast than the outcome of the Super Bowl. | I strolled lazily towards the dining table. I was already accustomed to the numerous cameras placed around the house. As I sat down for breakfast, I could see the numerous faces pressed against the windows and peering right in.
I groaned in disgust as I took out my phone to check the horde of messages that had been disrupting my sleep since 5 in the morning. I felt like a fucking zoo animal as the eyes outside were fixated on me, never wavering. Fucking feeding time for the chimpanzees at the zoo huh?
I sighed as I scrolled through my phone. The usual offers. "James, $100,000 for you to pick the Honey Stars!" "James, $200,000 for Captain Crunch!" "$600,000 for a peanut butter sandwich!" "$900,000 for exactly 3 peanut butter sandwiches!" Were those idiots aware of how much I was being paid?
I smirked and shook my head as I deleted the messages one by one. I was being paid almost a million dollars per episode and there was no way I was going to risk my easy payday on participating in rigging their bets.
I caught the pleading eyes of the producer, Dwayne Howlett, trying to catch my attention. My eyes opened wide in amazement as I saw his message. "How about 10m to eat the Caesar Salad?" Eew, fuck! I detested salads and they knew it. The last I checked, the odds for it were an astonishing 1:5000 and that was for dinner! I shuddered to imagine what the odds might be like for breakfast.
I hated salads but I detested Dwayne even more. Fucking douchebag. I would pay that amount to clobber his head in with a steel pipe. I knew he was in deep with the sharks and a plan quickly formed in my mind as I fiddled with my phone, seemingly contemplating his offer.
I grinned and nodded my head in his direction as I stretched my hand over the salad bowl. I was barely holding back my laughter as I watched him frantically typing on his phone, presumably pouring what must have been left of his life savings into the bet. He excitedly shot me back a thumbs up seconds later before I snatched at the peanut butter sandwich, stuffing it into my mouth to the thundering cheers coming from outside the house.
I glared at Dwayne before shooting him a mocking smile as the truth dawned on him, turning his face pale. That peanut butter sandwich was delicious. But so was sweet revenge, served stone cold.
Edit: grammar and some terrible typos | Very few people know how to speak Navajo, other than myself. I learned because when it's your job to be unpredictable, it pays to know how to think and write notes in a language that very few people know.
So, when a person starts speaking it flawlessly to you, you know that they've done their homework.
It was in a grocery store, when a lady pushed her way to the front of the crowd around me. She didn't have her phone out like everyone else, making bets or taking selfies, so I knew that she could at least speak as much Navajo as she said. "Will you save my husband?" she asked.
I put the cup of noodles I was holding into my cart and looked at her. She seemed earnest, and a bit crazy. "Say again?" I said, and she repeated what she had asked. "How can I do that?"
She explained that her husband was dying of cancer, and that he would need a very expensive bone marrow transplant in order to live. "Sorry, I'm not a surgeon," I explained, but she took out her phone and gestured at it frantically. Her expression and her demeanor told me that she was at the end of her wits, and that one bet could decide whether her husband lived or died.
"How do think this will work?" I asked. No bet can be made anonymous, and already people must be listening and getting what the woman was getting at. Whatever bet she placed, other people would bandwagon on it and the odds would never get very high.
There was only one thing I could do to save her husband.
I whispered something in her ear, then I took out my phone. In an email to my agent, I proclaimed that from this time forward I would no longer allow my life to be made into a gambling ring. The option to quit at any time was always in my contract; the experiment had been going on so long and had become so successful that no one ever thought I would do it. But on that day, I saw an opportunity to do something amazing and I took it.
The woman and her husband came out ok - he lived, and they made enough extra money from that single bet to retire comfortably. I, however, lost my fame and am being hunted by thousands of angry gamblers.
Guess people will have to go back to betting on crypto-currencies. | 2017-12-19T19:41:30 | 2017-12-19T16:57:13 | 41 | 18 |
[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work." | Looking back, I could have handled my disappointment better. I couldn't help myself. It was just nonsense, so I laughed to cover my feelings.
"You really think I'm that bad?" I asked the instructor.
"Frankly, yes. You're 23 and you have the co-ordination of a drunk toddler."
I shrugged. Maybe combat wasn't for me. I knew I was a good horseman at least, but my father had always planned on sending me to the church. It's a second son thing. My elder brother learnt weapons, I was handed a quill and cheap reed paper and forced to copy the works of ancient scribes. Writing about swords doesn't make you a swordsman.
"It's said that this particular artefact allows the wielder to throw balls of fire." stated my instructor. "Personally, I think it's nonsense, but maybe you'll be able to prove me wrong. It's been hanging on the wall of the King's Justice for hundreds of years. I doubt the last three men to take the office even realised it might have been dangerous. Not a one of them thought to take it down, though...trappings of the office and all that."
I studied the twig in my hand. It was short, tapered from base to tip, maybe two hands long. Smooth and worn. I squinted and held it closer to my eyes - there were faint markings near the base. A diamond pattern, almost worn away. Perhaps to aid with grip. Halfway up, there appeared to be some kind of spiral. It made me think of clouds, or movement, with a few glittering specks of blue in the deepest recesses of the remaining pattern. Too worn to be sure.
I could tell you why I felt standing holding a twig in a hall with the sons of a dozen other nobles felt like an insult, but I think part of the reason why is pretty obvious. I could tell you about our instructor, his easy manner and ability with a blade but if you've ever heard of Cale Serwaed (And you likely have), then he needs no introduction.
But as for me, I was a Prince. Can you imagine anything so insulting to your honour? To your Father as King? "You're bad with a sword, here, have this twig."
I had two choices - take offence, or don't. I twirled and waved the wand in front of me like an actor portraying a wizard in a theatre drama, a goofy smile plastered across my face. Cale flinched backwards, surprising me. Nothing happened, of course. It was nonsense, after all. A dozen other young men, their wooden practice swords at their sides, laughed at the instructor's gesture.
I lifted it as if it was a blade. Arm held at shoulder height and rigid, pointing it towards one of the walls of the hall we stood in, as if I was challenging the very building itself to a duel. That's when I felt the tingle in my fingers, then a slight but spreading warmth. A hyper-awareness of the breeze through the opened windows on my skin. The awareness blossomed within my mind of the air around me. I could feel the pressure on my skin. I could feel it wrapping around everything in the room like the tendrils of some great sea beast. I nudged with my new-found awareness and the head of an ancient Wyvern slain by some nameless ancestor and mounted on the wall came crashing down. It had to weigh at least 300 pounds.
Everyone else in the hall jumped in fear at the noise, confusion plain on their faces. But no, oh no. I wasn't confused at all. I'd spent a lot of time copying the work of ancient scribes, after all. It wasn't just nonsense.
I knew what I had in my hand. It wasn't some parlour trick, the stereotype crazy magician shooting fire from the end of a magic wand like a dragon's breath. The old stories - the ones my nurse told me when I was young - whispered in my ear, supplementing the knowledge I'd copied by rote without believing. I knew what it was. It was the Finger of Eesis, God of the elements. The Wind-Father, the destroyer of crops, sinker of ships, the great Storm-maker himself.
The weapon of Druids of ages past, Druids that triggered famine and fury and conquered the entire continent, destroying every army sent against them. Killing millions. I smiled. I knew then that being the younger Prince was no longer going to be a problem. | *This must be a joke,* Zayn thought. *It has to be*. But if it was, it was a very bad one.
He stood there, in the center of the training room, the exact place where he would stand each morning to practice his swordsmanship with the rest of his peers. Yet today he was alone, and instead of the gleaming, crescent blade he usually carried, a small but polished length of oak wood was clasped in his hand, pointing stupidly at the wall.
"Do it," growled Master Peeta. The gruff, burly instructor stood several feet to his right, watching him through his single uncovered eye. The other had been permanently shut, a single gruesome scar trailing through what had once been a working eye.
Peeta was said to be one of the greatest swordsmen in all 7 villages, a wise and powerful man. But now, standing there, telling him to summon the latent mystic powers of an old stick, Zayn was starting to question his "immense wisdom." But he knew better than to say any of this out loud.
He drew in a deep breath and gripped the "wand" tighter in his shaking, sweating palms. His hands had always been like that; it was one of the main reasons why he had always been a failure of a swordsman. He could never even wield his weapon properly. But somehow, the rugged grip of this old piece of wood held more firmly than any leather-bound hilt he had ever swung. That had to be a good sign, right?
Zayn closed his eyes, took another breath, and then slashed outward. When he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see there had been no reaction.
His arms slumping to his sides he turned to his instructor. "I don't know what I'm doing. Perhaps a demonstration?"
"Um —" The Instructor looked rather uncomfortable. "Well, to be honest I — I don't really *know* how it works."
"You *what*?" Zayn demanded. A sudden fury was stealing over him like a blast of searing wind. He could feel heat growing behind his ears. "I thought you were a great warrior —"
"A great *Swordsman*, yes, but that deals with skill, pure mundane skill. This is mysticism, and I don't have much experience with it. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who can. Our Village deals in swords, not magic. People like you are outliers —"
"People like me," said Zayn, his voice now shaking with anger. The rage threatened to consume him, yet he could not understand why he was so upset, why he felt as if he were on the verge of exploding. "You mean *failures* right? Disappointments?"
"No, that's not what I said —"
"But it's what you meant, isn't it? You completely gave up on me as a swordsman. That's why you handed me this useless stick, isn't it? So that I'd try it and fail again, then realize I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing? Is this your way of telling me I have to leave the school? I'm not good enough to be here so you want me to leave on my —"
"Zayn." Master Peeta's voice had become small, his expression shocked. His lone eye was fixed on Zayn's hand. But anger had clouded his judgement, flushing all reason from his mind.
"*If you wanted me out, you should have at least had the guts to do it your* —"
"ZAYN!"
"OW!"
A searing, scorching heat in his left hand brought him back to reality. He flashed his hand furiously, feeling as though his very veins were pumping lava and not blood. He looked down and saw the very wand he had been given, lying on the concrete, glowing red.
"What's happening?" he cried, simultaneously amazed and horrified.
Master Peeta was staring down at the wand with an expression of comprehension on his face. "By the gods. I think... I think I just figured out how this thing works." | 2022-01-20T03:39:11 | 2022-01-20T02:44:03 | 92 | 17 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still... | Dr. Montoya entered the room, clipboard in hand. "You're a were-dragon," he said bluntly.
I chuckled, "that's funny. You're funny, doc." He didn't laugh.
"No, it's actually quite serious," he said sternly, "I'd like to keep you for some tests." He was already sending word to his friends over email. "It may take a few days."
That's what the other doctors told me. Tests. More like experiments. They learned in the end that you can't contain a dragon...
Almost immediately he received a reply on his computer, and as he read it, his eyes began to bulge with terror. I can almost guarantee they are telling him to sedate me, that he should've when he first found out. They're telling him that he shouldn't have tried to get famous off of someone else's incredibly rare "misfortune." Lucky for me, I've learned to control the transformation, I no longer need to be in danger for the beast to come out. Now, I am the danger.
I stood as he finished reading his letter. I'm not sure if he knew what was going to happen in the next few seconds -- his last moments -- but he knew that i knew. The transformation is almost instant, the heat peels paint from the office walls. Without hesitation, i exhaled a fire of a thousand suns. The other patients were merely collateral damage. I was saving myself. I didn't care about the innocent. I cared about surviving.
As the building burnt to ash, I spread my wings and took flight in a random direction, hoping to find a new town. Again. Hoping to find a place where i can live in peace. Again. I'm not a wild animal, i need civilization and to be social. I just want the human experience without fear of someone coming for me.
...
Dr. Yam entered the room, clipboard in hand. "So, uh..." he paused, trying to find the words, "You're basically the healthiest person in town." He looked at me, unconvinced. "I mean, you have to already know. There's no way you don't." He almost sounded proud as he say in front of me. "How do you want you handle this?"
I was shocked, he didn't inform anyone. He was legitimately curious how i felt. "I think," i stammered, "i think I'm going to like you Dr. Yam."
(I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN IN 10 YEARS, BE KIND) also on mobile so sorry for lack of formatting. | "How was school, Serena?"
The door slammed shut and a blur darted past the kitchen. Footsteps scurried upstairs followed by another bang.
For a moment, Lily just stared at her half-cut onions. This was already the third high school she had tried. It was an hour's drive away, past Jefferson High right down the block, and past West High in the middle of town. This school, Fairview, was at the very edge of the city opposite to them.
With a sigh, she washed off her hands and followed her daughter upstairs. "Sweetie?" she asked, knocking on the door. "You okay?"
"Yes," Serena squeaked.
But Lily knew the tremble in that voice. She tried the door, it was locked. "Serena, honey," she said, "let me in."
"I'm okay." She sniffed. "Really, I'm okay now."
Lily ground her teeth together and tried the door again. Still locked. When did her daughter stop talking to her? But she knew exactly when. She stayed awake thinking about it. Every nightmare she dreamt included it. Those cloudy jade eyes, the forest green scales, and leathery wings that went from wall to wall in their living room.
"I'm sorry," her daughter had tried to say, but all that came out had been a broken growl.
That was Lily's first time seeing it and she had scrambled back to the furthest corners and pressed her frame against the drywall.
"I'm sorry," her daughter had tried again and extended a single clawed hand for her mother to hold.
Lily had shrieked. "Get away from me!"
That was the last time Serena ever mentioned her lycanthropy. Lily knew the kids at school bullied her for it, she was the only one that had to take medicine to stop herself transforming. Sometimes, she had minor attacks where she would transform halfway before the medicine kicked in. Scales would encroach her cheeks, and small wings would flutter behind her.
And kids, kids were always cruel.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Lily whispered, a tremble in her own voice. "You can tell me anything sweetie." It wasn't a comment, but a desperate plea. *Please Serena, forgive me.*
"Really, I'm just being dramatic," came the reply.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-05-20T08:25:02 | 2017-05-20T06:04:14 | 153 | 49 |
[WP] As a vampire, I follow traditions. My fiancé is human and just found out that human brides/grooms are to be bit to become a vampire themselves. She absolutely refuses to let that happen, and says the wedding is off unless I refuse to bite her. I feel like she's disrespecting tradition. AITA? | **EDIT:**
I'm sorry I haven't replied to many of you, I went to sleep and then had a talk with my fiancé, I really didn't expect this to blow up!
A few of you are suggesting she was being selfish and that I should leave her. My family were actually suggesting the same thing, but I didn't want to be rash, I do love her.
Anyway, my family and I had a meeting with her and her family. It seems like there was a lot of misunderstanding on both sides. The book I gave her on vampire traditions kind of glossed over EVERYTHING, just giving basic descriptions without any detail. We had a proper discussion about her fears and worries, as well as vampire traditions.
She was worried about losing friends, not being able to eat garlic, and being awake at night (turns out she's scared of the dark, how cute!) My family have reservations about letting the marriage go forward, my family is strict on culture and tradition.
I managed to convince them that I love my fiancé too much, and said I'd rather become human for her than lose her, so we decided that, since I had worked really hard to live her family's lifestyle, in the few months leading up to the wedding she'll live mine and we'll see how she feels about living like a vampire.
Let's see how this goes. Wish me luck! (Oh, and to those who suggested I ditch her... don't leave your house at night...) | INFO:
Firstly, how long did the two of you date prior to your engagement, and how much discussion did the two of you have regarding your eventual \[undead\] lives? Most relationship issues can be solved with clear and honest communication; whether to keep finances separate or combine them, whether or not to have/create offspring, whether to continue a monogamous relationship or allowing for additional vampire brides, etc, these topics should have been discussed thoroughly to determine whether your undead/life goals were truly compatible.
Secondly, what is the age gap between the two of you? Sometimes a marked difference in maturity levels can lead to conflict. Even amongst humans, May–December romances can be quite complicated due to generational differences, so I can only imagine the misunderstandings that must ensue in a 21st century–Pre Industrial era romance. With these generational difference there are oftentimes a great deal of misalignment in what each party assumes are "givens."
My advice would be to sit down and have an honest discussion *now* around relationship goals and how the two of you plan to spent either her remaining years or eternity together. Good luck. | 2022-11-28T21:23:09 | 2022-11-28T18:42:15 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] At the age of eighteen, you can choose when and how you will die. Seeing a loophole, somebody choose today and a nuclear bomb. | John had a smug look on his face.
´´Didn´t think I would do that, huh?´´
Death gave him a stern look. ´´You can't choose that. That's against the rules.´´
John's smug grin widened. He slammed his copy of the Rule Book on the table. ´No it isn't, I made sure to check. You can pick any method, and any time starting today. So I picked a nuclear bomb, at 7.00 a.m. this morning.´´
´´But it's 9 already!´´
´´I know.´´
´´I can't change the past!´´
´´I know. It's a pretty glaring loophole. Surprised no one's tried this before. Thinking outside the box has become a rather scarce skill. Shame, really.´´ He shrugged. ´´It seems there's nothing you can do.´´
´´One thing's for sure. You won't die from a nuclear bomb two hours ago.´´
John got up from his chair and straightened his jacket. ´´Well, glad that's settled then. I'll be off enjoying my long, prosperous life now. Cheers!´´
Death smiled as he watched the door shut before him. ´´This should be interesting. It's been a while since I've had...free rein.´´ | Often, the sun shines, and the moon lifts the waves. At eighteen, you're presented with three choices
One: ignorantly live life;
Two: knowingly live life;
Three: selectively live life.
Most people choose to live life ignorantly, the wise choose knowingly, and the dangerous don't live long enough to select.
Often, a tunnel is dug, and the light fades away. Nobody knows your decision. Nobody. It's socially unacceptable to share your choice. For, your mind and thoughts are on display to everyone; and theres to you.
Often, a star explodes, and nobody knows. The light will come with time, and the tunnel protects you from the shine.
A light so bright, nobody would dare suspect it was just your might.
So brawn, and incredibly strong. Your choice was beyond that of a pack mule's last yawn.
And the lives of others will be afflicted forever, for the bomb within you has wreaked devastation.
You're a stranger in those nights, the nights you pull the waves over the fires you've plighted.
Another night's rest within the debris of a planet you so solemnly miss.
A choice beyond life, but of essence and faith. Faith in your right to rule as a wraith. | 2018-07-18T09:28:03 | 2018-07-18T08:00:48 | 64 | 13 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | "Hey Nate, what time is it?"
I hated this game. It didn't help that Rick was floating in the air when he asked. Everyone had some strange ability. Rick can fly. My sister has super speed. I can tell you exactly what time it is.
"Two thirty-seven, and sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and so on seconds."
"Good to know buddy. Means I gotta head out. These afternoon games are a pain. You sure you don't want to come? There's definitely tickets available."
"No, you go. I still have a couple more errands I need to run."
"Suit yourself. See you later."
"See ya."
Rick started walking in the general direction of his car while I continued to walk through downtown. Truth be told, I didn't have any errands, or much of anything to do really. I just wanted some time alone.
It's funny to think that. No one wants to be alone. Especially when they figured out your perfect match, your soul mate, if you believe in that stuff, not only is compatable with you powerwise, but both powersets are given a crazy boost. My dad was another flyer, and my mom could control the wind. When they met, it apparently caused a few twisters in the area. Together the two of them could fly and always have a tailwind to make them go faster. They flew further and faster than anyone. They raced a flight from San Jose to L.A. just to see if they could beat it. They did.
I tried the dating sites, hoping beyond hope that someone could compliment by ability to tell time. Everyone has cell phones and watches these days so I wasn't really in high demand. There was one girl who could teleport and she thought together we could travel through time, but it didn't pan out. Shame too. She was nice.
Even out on the street, you could see all the happy couples, young and old, walking together and just being happy. Plus they got sweet powers out of the deal. I just get asked what time it is because the person was too lazy to pull out their phone.
*It's time to cross the street.*
What the fuck was that? It's not like I was shopping or really doing anything productive here, but for some reason I knew that it was time to cross the street. Fuck it, there aren't any cars coming anyway.
Maybe I was just stressing myself out. No one wants to be with someone who they know for sure isn't their soul mate, and with my crap power, I wasn't likely to ever find someone. And knowing when to cross the street wasn't much better than telling time. Most people can look both ways.
I made it on to the opposite sidewalk when someone walked right into me. I noticed their phone was in their hand and worried if we had finally reached the point in society when we are going to start crashing into things while walking due to our phones. Then I noticed her. Dirty blonde. A little shorter than me. Cute nose that ends in a slightly upward point. She was gorgeous.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I was reading something and got distracted. This never happens to me." She looked into my eyes and something happened. It could have only been five seconds at most but something happened. I don't know how long it was before she said "With my dumb powers I always know where I'm going."
"No worries," I said. I don't know why, but for some reason I knew it was time to tell her about me. "I always know what time it is."
So much information came flooding into my brain. By the looks of it, she too was having a bit of a head rush.
"We should go for coffee some time," she said. "There's this place on Pressfield Avenue that I know I should go to. We I mean. If you want. Sorry, I must sound like a total creeper. But do you want to swap numbers. We can plan a meet up. I'm sorry, it's weird, but I think..."
"Wait, before you say anything, I just have to say something. Yes, I'd like to get coffee with you. I don't know where this place is, but maybe you should show me. Except I don't want to wait. No. We should go right now. I'm 100% sure now is the time to go get coffee."
"Yeah, now sounds good. It's like a ten minute walk from here. Shall we go?"
"Lead the way. And now is as good of a time as ever, but hi, I'm Nate."
"Liz."
Together we walked. We were always sure when and where to go. The coffee shop gave us our drinks free and a one hundred dollar gift card for being their one hundred thousandth customer. Later on I knew it was time to leave the shop, but she insisted that before we parted ways I should follow her to a grassy plaza in the middle of downtown. We went and as we arrived Music in the Park had started. A local band was playing, one of my favorites. As it turned out, she was a big fan of theirs too.
A year later she told me to pack a weekend bag because the Aurora Borealis was going to be as far south as it could be, which was a six hour drive from us. As we drove, I thought to myself *it's a good thing I went out and bought that rock*. This would be a great time to propose. | The line at Juan’s was longer than usual. People were queued alongside the truck, waiting for a taste of the incredible burritos hand folded by “The Big Man” himself. Down the street, the line at Subway seemed short but I had been craving burritos all morning and didn’t feel like making the sacrifice. Juan’s voice could be heard clearly over the noise of chatty patrons. He and his wife were in the process of loudly making small talk with the front of the line as they waited for some of Juan’s glorious beef to finish cooking.
It must have been nice for him. He had grown up with the power of smell, in itself not too huge of a thing. When he met his wife he developed the ability to shape tastes that were unparalleled, using his new found mastery over “Predictive Smells”. Aided by his wife’s ability to spontaneously generate heat, the pair was an unstoppable cooking force.
I sighed a long sigh as I looked upon the happy couples that chatted patiently in line. There was a man who was gently floating in the air, cradling his gorgeous girlfriend as she sang an entrancing melody. There was the pair of guys sitting at table three hand in hand holding, telling jokes that would have killed at a stadium. There was the Asian couple talking to Juan while causing gusts of wind to blow the scent of savory food out over the crowd. And then there was me, alone.
Some guys had it easy. They could fly or lift a car. Women are a lot easier to attract when you can do cool things. Me, I can make things move to the left. Not always mind you, if I’m facing the other direction they will still move to my left so it would technically be dependent on my orientation in space. It’s not telekinesis either. Things don’t just move, they kind of teleport. If I could do it over huge distances it would be awesome. Hell, I’d take a few meters even. Most days though, I’ve got a centimeter at most.
Maybe one day I could teleport a whole meter, with patience and practice. If I found my “soul mate”, perhaps I could even move things to the right. What were the odds mine would be in this city though? Something like 20% of the world’s population is in china or something; odds are I would never meet her.
After waiting half an hour for some life changing burritos I sat down at table six. Six was my favorite. It had a nice view of the street and looked over to the old red brick office building that was next to my work. Pedestrians horridly walked back and forth between me and the potted plants that sat in front of the red building. I liked the orange flowers that bloomed this time of year. It was kind of my thing to look at them while I ate my daily burrito.
I unwrapped my triple carne-con-queso with practiced movements and a bit of teleportation to show off. Making a wrapper move spontaneously 1.5 cm to the left could plausibly impress the couple who just went invisible next to me. I had to be careful though, one time I made the wrapper reappear inside my burrito. An enticing scent wafted up from my lunch as the wrapper reappeared neatly in a pile next to me.
I glanced at the wrapper, my eyes torn from the piece of heaven lying in my hands. 2.3 cm my eyes told me. It couldn’t be. I had never, not ever, gone farther than 1.5. As a teleporter I am very precise with distances down to the nanometer scale and I was sure that the wrapper went 2.3 cm. I sat, burrito forgotten, staring at the wrapper anomaly in front of me. That was when I got a prickle on the back of my neck.
There was a woman standing in front of my orange flowers. She was tall and pasty, the type that really shouldn’t be out in the sun. Her hair was brown and tied in a pony tail that fell to her mid shoulders. She had very green eyes with small grey specks at the bottom of the irises and was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Transfixed, I watched her watch me. Everything about her seeped into my mind, the way she was standing, how the corner of her mouth tilted into a smirk, how the small brown birthmark on her cheek was 1.2 cm from the middle of her cheek bone, and how… she was still staring.
Her eyes were boring into me. I could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing in. The intensity of her gaze made my body go slack, the sky seemed to darken, and my vision narrowed. I couldn’t bear it, my heart pounded in my chest. My whole body felt hot. The sound of the crowd behind me went dull, like none of them even mattered anymore. I felt like I was going to pass out, and that’s when she smiled.
It was like the rising of the sun. I felt everything speed up, like the world had left me, like everything was passing me by. I couldn’t wait any longer. She disappeared and reappeared 5.32 meters in front of where she had been, sitting across from me. When she put her hands on mine, it was the nicest thing I had ever felt. She smiled and said “Hi, I’m Lauren, and you must be the one”
| 2015-10-10T13:17:03 | 2015-10-10T12:20:28 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | There was a sense of finality as she was wheeled into the hospital room, but she couldn’t understand why. There was a small doubt at the back of her mind, a feeling of Deja Vu? No, that was impossible. She had more important things to think about. She was about to be a mother!
The nurse in the room sighed. It had been a long day of deliveries, but soon his shift would be over and he could get some rest. He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned.
Hours passed.
She was troubled. Something was wrong. It didn’t usually take this long for a baby to be delivered, did it? But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was alright, the way it was supposed to be, like she had done this a hundred times before. Again, not possible. This was her first child, this was her child! She was going to have a child, a daughter, she should be happy, ecstatic, not upset! She shook her head, a small smile on her face.
Even more time passed, minutes and hours and uncountable seconds, and then it was the most important time, the most important out of every other time of this life, the baby finally had decided that it wanted to be born.
“Push. Push.” spoke the nurse, a different nurse, but no less tired, with a tone to match. She grimaced in pain, panted as she did as the half-hearted exclamations told. And then- something went wrong. The pain increased, ten, twenty, a hundredfold. She gasped, screamed, it felt like a lightning bolt flowing through her body, and in that moment of pain, she was granted clarity. She remembered, all her other lives, and she knew she had many more to live, but especially, in that moment, she remembered what was about to happen next.
“Get back!”
“Huh?” The nurse’s reflexes were slowed by a lack of sleep.
“Get back, get away, get out of the room, you’ll be-”
FHOOM.
The woman erupted in a ball of flames, and all the nurse could see was darkness.
The next day, the newspaper headlines read something like this:
HOSPITAL FIRE CLAIMS THE LIVES OF 104 PATIENTS, NEWBORN GIRL SURVIVES INFERNO
The memories of her legacy had already faded for the girl as she slept in her cradle of fire.
Now, her cycle begins again. | The cardiac monitor rings in flatline. A team of nurses rush into the delivery room with a defibrillator.
“Clear,” the obstetrician gives the go signal. *Shock.* The woman’s body on the hospital bed lifts up—like a phoenix—yet sinks back down. The cardiac monitor shows no changes. The team does a few more rounds of shocks on the woman’s chest. Each time yields no good result.
“Time of death 7:34,” says the obstetrician. “Now let’s see if we can save the baby. Find a open OR and schedule an emergency C-section stat.”
They wheel her straight out the room, down the hallway towards the operation rooms. The obstetrician pages other surgeons and scrub nurses to get to OR immediately.
Once inside the OR, the surgeons do their pre-surgical rinses while scrubs nurses ready the tools for surgery. The surgeons really sped up the C-section process now that the mother was no longer a concern. The had to get to the baby before the baby asphyxiates now that the mother is no longer providing any more oxygen to it. Layers of rosy red flesh and yellow fat can be seen under the skin. Then comes the thick layers of scarlet muscles and finally the smooth uterus. *Slice.* The surgeon made a large enough incision to reach in for the baby. With one heaving motion, the surgeon lifts out a beautiful baby while the nurses cut the cord and take care of the placenta.
The baby has yet to open her eyes and looks peacefully asleep. The surgeon hands the baby to the nurse who then proceeds to wake the baby up with a few pats on the buttocks. The baby starts to stir and then wails rather beautifully. The sound echoes through the OR, catching everybody’s attention. Then the sound stops—abruptly—and the baby opens her eyes. She scans the room with rather calm, knowing eyes; she focuses on the body of the woman on the operation table—*her mother or her?*
Whether the mother was reincarnated as her own baby is unknown that day, but all we know is that a great team of healthcare workers saved a baby’s life. | 2016-01-25T11:33:09 | 2016-01-25T07:24:31 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] From birth, your parents have done everything they could to stop you from going out during a full moon. At the age of 16, curiosity overwhelms you and you sneak out of the house during a full moon. You take a peek at the moon, and suddenly you turn into a log cabin. You are a werehouse. | Enough was enough.
For as long as Jalen could remember, his parents had barred his every attempt to escape the house on the night of a full moon, finding every possible means to keep him inside. Their house was set upon a little hill overlooking the town, with an excellent view of the great lake to their left. Jalen had always enjoyed watching the silvery face of the moon reflected in the glittering surface of glass-smooth water, but his visions of the moon were limited to merely those stolen glances through his half-open windows, which his mother would promptly close when she noticed it, drawing the curtains firmly across it.
Until tonight. It had cost him dearly, but he had finally managed to obtain the funds he needed to meet the price of his elder brother's help. He had no idea what Javari could possibly have done to distract them, but he didn't need to know. He had his ways. And besides, Jalen had much more important things to do.
The plan was to commence at midnight, and to his disbelieving delight, Jalen managed to slip, unnoticed, through the front door by 12:15.
He felt free at last; the wind whipped his hair as he streaked up the hill, determined not to face the moon until he had reached the peak of the hill, when he would have the best view.... And at last, he arrived. His chest heaving, sweat beading along his forehead, he turned.
It was beautiful: a celestial face of palest silver, gleaming brightly, a beacon against the murky black sky. He stood there for a moment, drinking it in, counting the craters, the blemishes upon the visage of perfection, smiling at the moon, which looked, he thought, as though it were smiling back at him —
And then pain seared across his body. Where a moment before he felt wonderfully calm and serene, now he was feeling agony like never before. It was as though flames were lapping at his flesh, as though his blood was freezing —
His arms extended, his head widened, his chest broadened —
And after several seconds of excruciating anguish, the pain passed. He was staring down at the town again, from a much loftier position than before. His eyes seemed to be taking in much more of the scene than normal; he felt a peculiar sensation on his head, as though something were trickling out of it.
He tried to reach up to rub it, but nothing happened. *Wha* — he tried to say, but only a strange creaking noise issued from his mouth. He tried to look around, but instead of rolling around in his head, his eyes seemed to turn inwards, peering in at the back of his skull, but what he saw was not red or white.... It was brown. The mahogany brown interior of an old, empty log cabin. His eyes caught an old mirror in the corner, and he realized, with a rush of horror, that his eyes were gone — he was staring around through a pair of twinkling, glass-paned windows. He had *become* a house.
He heard panting from behind it, and his window-eyes shifted to face the front. Javari and his parents were rushing towards him.
"Oh, Jalen," his mother said sadly, clutching at her heart. "Why did you leave the house?"
*What's going on*? he asked, but the only thing that happened was that the front door, which he supposed was his mouth, only swung backwards and forwards.
"Son," his father said grimly, "it's time you learned of our family's secret."
r/MysticScribbles | I never understood it. Even right now I don't understand it. It all started exactly one week ago today. Well that's not really true, it really started (in my memory) when I was 4 years old.
I remember sitting in the back of my parents car as they argued. We had been at a family friends cookout all day and we were getting home late.
"Are you fucking kidding me! It's your job to keep track of these things!"
"Oh my job?! It's OUR job as his parents! And on that subject, don't swear around him!"
"God damnit! There are more important things than swearing around him right now!"
And so on until we got home. My mother quickly scooped me out of my car seat and ran furiously into our home. They got me into bed and have barely spoken of the event since. I do remember that since then my parents have been very careful not to let me outside in certain nights, but I never really thought to investigate.
And that brings us to now, or a week before now. I had just turned 16 and my parents decided it was finally time to share the truth.
"Now son. We want you to know before we say this that its never changed how much we love you"
My mom chimed in with "That's right, we've always loved you very much. Not in spite of your illness but with it"
I was already confused but when she mentioned an illness I broke. "What do you mean illness?! What are you talking about?! Where is this going?!"
My dad put a hand on my shoulder. "Now son, we understand that this is a very difficult conversation for both of us so we won't beat around the bush any longer."
My mom seemed to tense up and my dad looked at her, though he ended it before I could tell what emotions he was conveying to her.
My dad sighed, "Son, you are a werehouse."
Silence hung for a very long moment.
A burst out laughing, it was a joke, just a weird prank my parents had thought up to mess with me.
But my laughing ceased when they're faces stayed serious.
The next week was a complete trip. My parents insisted on doing more activities as a family. We went bowling, played Lazer tag, hell my dad rented a boat for a day. Every day of that week was spent with them. I still didn't quite believe the whole werehouse thing but my parents answered any questions I had and they still didn't give off any impression that they were joking. And last night I decided it was time to finally know for sure. During my time away from my parents (early morning and late night) I had looked around Google and I just so happened that there was a full moon on Friday night of that week. My plan wasn't the smoothest but it was the best I could come up with at the time. I would climb out my window once I knew my parents were in their room, run a few blocks from my house into the woods, and then I guess just see what happened.
My plan went surprisingly well. I made it into the woods, and found a clearing without a hitch. But then came the moment of truth, I had to look up at the moon. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and looked up! http://imgur.com/gallery/ToNvbc5 | 2020-06-28T10:02:12 | 2020-06-28T09:42:41 | 68 | 13 |
[WP] The princess was cursed that her first husband would die a horrible death. Inorder to avoid this horrible fate the royal family used you as a scapegoat and married you to the princess. But because of your immortality you have died over 20 times and still come back to life. | I pushed open the door into the great hall, heedless of the bloody smear I left on the mighty bronze handle.
"Honey, I'm home!" I announced to the room. *Snarled* might have been a better verb, but I prefer *announced*. More regal. I'm a prince now, after all.
Mohini waved, the gold and jeweled bangles I'd gotten her for our wedding gleaming at her wrists. She gestured with her other hand, and the servants laid down whatever trays and bottles they had been bringing and vanished. The only sound was the roar of the great fire and the trudge of my own combat boots.
I was closer now, and got a better look at her. She was wearing the lehenga choli she wore for our first dance after our wedding. There was the unmistakable dusk of kohl on her eyelashes, and a diadem of thin gold filaments through her hair, holding an elaborate French braid in place. The table was set with a feast for ten, even though we were the only two people remaining in the cavernous hall: platters heaped high with lemon ginger chicken, aloo, upma, and dosa, and deep ceramic bowls of sambar and rice. And a small cask of that cursed but blessed 'whiskey' those Anglender traders brought with them.
"What's this?" I asked.
She smiled. Gods, but the cursed woman was gorgeous. "Just trying something a little new, my lord. I figured you'd be hungry when you got back."
"When I … heaven sakes, woman, you act like I just went to Madurai for a week!"
"Well, not quite that long, you've only been gone three days. Whiskey?" She held up a small glass, not even half the size of her closed fist, and she wasn't even fifty kilos dressed for temple and soaking wet. It didn’t matter. That Western alchemy packed a punch.
"Really?"
"I'll wait until you're ready, then."
I gritted my teeth. "Know what? I've changed my mind." I took the glass from her, again heedless of the bloodstain my hands left on it. I downed it in a single gulp, letting the liquid fire start kindling in my gut. I even held my glass out to her for more. She refilled my glass, then filled her own, and we drank together.
"Better?" she asked.
"Getting there," I answered.
"Want to talk about this time?" She held up a plate of chicken and aloo to me. Her arms were just a little too close together as she did it, and it pressed her chest forward and up at the same time. The chance that that was accidental in the lehenga she was wearing was about the same as the sun rising in the west the next morning. Though stranger things had happened. For instance, dying twenty grisly deaths in fifteen years. Most people couldn't even manage one grisly death. What can I say? I had a gift.
"Giant snakes. With hands. And spears in those hands."
"And?"
"They're dead, too."
"Too? You mean they're dead and you're not."
"Fine. I killed them. They killed me. It was a festival of death. Why are you doing this?"
Her smile faltered, a rare touch of insecurity. "You don't like it?"
"I …" the truth was I loved it, and in fact I dreamed about her dressed like this more nights since our wedding than I didn't. The problem was that too many of those other nights involved me dying horribly.
"Look," she said, setting the platter down and slumping into her chair. "I didn't choose this curse. I didn't even choose you to take the fall for it. But I really want to try …"
I put up a hand, and by some minor miracle, it actually calmed her. Maybe I'd saved up enough karma for a small favor. "Hey," I said. "I … I really do appreciate it. In fact, I really like it. You look amazing. But you don't usually …"
"I was sixteen years old," she said. "I'd spent half my life at that point learning and knowing that I was the *cursed princess*. The plan was to marry me off to the weird little orphan boy from the central highlands, let him die, and then I'd marry the maharaja of Mysore and have the life every little girl dreams of. I went along with it, because I would have done anything to be the *no longer cursed princess*, to just be young and beautiful and rich and have a dozen rajahs as suitors. Then you came *back*. And that scared me even more than being cursed did. And then you died *again*."
"I remember that last part. That was the one when I was crushed under a falling statue knocked over by a rampaging elephant."
She nodded. "And you kept coming back, and dying again, which was only the second-worst part of it all."
"Oh really?" Because those deaths were *not* pleasant. Heck, even coming *back* wasn't *all* that pleasant, though it might beat the alternative. At the moment, in fact, with Princess Mohini of Andhra dressed to kill and trying to give me food and whiskey, it was vastly better than the alternative. She was not lying; I had never forgotten the shock and horror on the face of her seventeen-year-old self the first time I had returned. Or the second. Or the third. Well, she had been eighteen by then.
"The worst part was that I had really started to *care* about you, and what happens to you." | "Honey!" Gaia, Princess of The Kingdom Flundale, called out as she rounded the stairs of her large manor. She lingers at the stairway, hearing weak ruffling, slowly increasing in volume with the pass of each second as she peered up the stairway.
"Belas?" She beckoned as the ruffling turned into loud thumps. With the pass of each second, Gaia heard a bump, jumping back in between each loud crash. Eventually, through the long vertical stairs, something strides into her vision, rag dolling down the lengthy spiraled stairs without end.
"I'm -- com--ing -- Gaiahhhhh!" The distant voice of a man shouted in between each loud thump.
"Are you okay!?" Gaia shouted with her hands cupping her mouth, using it as a microphone as she followed the balled-up creature that fell down the stairs like an unending slinky.
"Are you sure?" Gaia spoke with uneasiness, choking on each word that left her mouth with worry strewn across her puzzled face.
"Yup, I'm great--" He responded, only to be cut off by the sound of a meaty whack shook the manor to its core.
"The reception is happening soon if you could--" Gaia attempted to speak before being interrupted as a roar screeched out from the top of the stairs. It was gruff and deep, bellowing like the final howl of a wounded wolf as metal began clanking from a distance. The pattering hooves of a horse walked could be heard by Gaia as weighing followed.
The unrecognizable object finally hit the hard marble ground, revealing a limbless body at the bottom of the stairs.
"uh... could you give me a hand... another hand... a leg..."
"What's happening up there!?" Gaia shouted at Belas as he sat on the ground without a single recognizable body part.
"Nothin." He spoke, averting contact with a loud, shaky whistle as the carcass of a horse flew down the stairs at rapid speeds, bursting on the brick wall as if it were a watermelon hitting concrete.
Gaia eyes him down, wondering if she should even mention it as she gazed at a nearby grandfather clock.
"... Are you ready to go?" Gaia questioned to Belas skeptically as blood shout out of his mouth like a fountain.
"Ayup."
"You sure? I could ask them to do it another day if you want..." Gaia spoke as Belas's eyes sat fixed on a silhouette that sat at the very top of the stairway.
"W-who is that?" Gaia spoke, turning her gaze to the creature as Belas turned his head back to Gaia's.
"..."
"..."
Belas sat against the wall by his back, slumped against it as he looked for any excuse possible.
"Uh... that's..." Belas lingered on his words, scouring the wide room in hopes of finding something to inspire him. He fixates his eyes onto Belas, staring at her revealing blouse with blood still leaking from his mouth.
'Boobstair," He responded with unease.
"... What is he doing here?"
"Just hanging out..." Belas spoke softly as the creature jumped down the stairs, revealing two clawlike hands, a hairy, bushy body, two elongated canine teeth, and the head of a wolf.
With rabidness, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, drool leaking from his snout for a mouth as he gazed at Gaia. His rabidness snapped away in the blink of an eye as he sniffed her.
"Oh! Hello, princess. It's nice to see you after so long! Unfortunately, your soon-to-be husband is busy as of now."
"Who are you?..." Gaia questioned.
"I'm Be-"
"Boobstair!"
Both the creature and Gaia looked at Belas in confusion. With fear in his eyes, Belas puppy-eyed the creature with his lips puckered out.
"Indeed... I'm Boobstair... If you wouldn't mind princess, your soon-to-be husband and I have something we need to finish. I'll have him out to you in just a few moments if you'd be so kind enough as to wait.
"No issue... By the way, you said you've met me before?" Gaia questioned the creature as it stood with its arms to its side.
"... I'll have him out to you soon, okay?" Boobstair spoke, ushering Gaia out of her manor with haste.
Boobstair opens the broad doors, letting Gaia leave without issue as it smiled at her warmly. Then, it closed the door, its rabid look returning to its bloodshot eyes a millisecond before the door shut completely.
"Awooooooooo!" Boobstair shouted as it pounced toward Belas, digging deep into his torso and head with its jagged claws as Belas fought back by headbutting it.
"She deserves to be happy!" Belas shouts out to Boobstair as it continued to gore him.
"She deserves this and more for what her parents did to me," Boobstair responded cordially and calmy, gutting him even further with each swipe from its claws.
"Then kill me if you can. I'll make sure she has her happy ending, even if I'm nothing but a scapegoat."
"Then you'll try to break my curse?" Boobstair laughed as it sliced Belas's eyes out with another swift swipe.
"No. I'll break your will."
​
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
u/AlfredoOreos | 2021-06-09T14:07:00 | 2021-06-09T12:36:24 | 109 | 30 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit |
“Look at all of you, sitting here, begging me to come to your aid. I’ve come to your aid countless times these last years, and because people were afraid, or hateful, or biased, or stupid, you decided I belonged in here. That decision meant that you felt you were capable of handling ANY crisis without me. So I’m afraid you’ll have to handle this one without me.” With that, The Champion turned away and sipped his coffee.
Council member Thomas leaned forward. “After all that time helping us, why would you turn your back now?”.
The Champion spoke without turning around. “You said I was a vigilante, and you didn’t want vigilantes running loose in your city. I’ve ignored your social and physical abuse, for the good of the people that YOU don’t adequately protect, for a long time. You have some nerve to show up now and pretend that nothing ever happened.
What will happen to me if I do help you? You’ll just want me back in here as soon as I finish your dirty work. I’m just saving you the trouble of having to deal with me. Good day, folks. I’m due in the fitness center in a few minutes.”
Council member Kirk spoke next. “How will you feel when the city is in ruins? How will you feel when those people you supposedly care about are dead or homeless?”
The Champion turned quietly around. “I will mourn them, and be sad, and hate and resent the people that created this situation in the first place. Those people are you. You made this decision, and you have to live with it. Blame me, don’t blame me, for me the end result is the same. Based on what I’ve seen on the news, you likely won’t have a city to govern in about 48 hours anyway.
Guard!!! I’m ready to go back to my cell!”
The city of Gordon Hills was wiped off the map by the end of the week. The Champion still lives in the prison, surrounded by dead guards and empty cells. | “Oh, I get it now. You’re all entitled pricks! I tried for YEARS to help you get out of this situation, and what do you do? Throw me into this jail cell to let me rot. Now that what I said has come true, you want me to come back? Please. Go find someone else.”
The mayor leaned back in his chair at the visiting center. He didn’t expect such a negative response from him. “Look, I’ll say it again. On behalf of the city, I’m sorry. We know now that you were just trying to help. So, please, come save us. We need you. Are you going to just let them suffer and die?”
“Yes.”
The mayor couldn’t speak. He was taken aback. Did the hero really just say he would abandon his people? Stalwart, the, well, stalwart of the city, just said that he would let the people he protected for years die?
“Wha-“ before the mayor could finish speaking, the hero interrupted him.
“I’m not doing it Mark. I said before, I defended the city with everything I had. I gave it my all, only to be turned into a political toy by YOU to get yourself into office. I’ll be damned if I ever work with you or that city again.”
The mayor was heartbroken. He didn’t know what to do. Stalwart just got up and walked back into the jail, leaving the mayor in his chair, crying. He had not only lost the hero, but his reputation, city, office, everything. He eventually collected himself and walked back outside. The city at this point had been in ruins for days. He just accepted defeat and went home. There was nothing he could do now.
Edit: Grammar | 2021-03-18T11:56:24 | 2021-03-18T10:06:41 | 203 | 122 |
[WP] You were accidentally killed by a god. As compensation,you're offered a job as a god of something of your own choosing. Your choice was surprising. | "God of...destruction?"
"Yep." Says I, as I sit there, me peg-leg lounged upon the feller's desk.
"Captain Fenrir, with all due respect, I feel like perhaps you should pick something less.....dangerous."
"I says I want ta be a god o' destruction!! destroyin' lives is what I did fer a livin' back on tha high seas o tartarus, destroyin' hopes an' dreams is something I felt great satisfaction in doin' an' destroyin the sumbitch what took me life in his ornery and most vehement ire, why that shall be my ultimate undertaking.....I sailed the ten seas, brought fire and fury to the cutlass coast, elves quake at me passing, sahagin tremble at me very name and-"
"you'd be under an obligation to destroy worlds."
I sniff and shrug. "Not like me world did me any favors...case in point-" I points to me pegleg.
the feller, a man with great golden wings and a set o' golden gazallion horns spiralin' up atop tha prettiest face ye e'er did see on a man, let alone a seraph, gives this long-winded sigh as he peruses the list of sins i've committed, tryinta find some fault, ANY fault ta help him back out o' this bargain he's hit me with.
"It says here you once saved an orphanage from a sahagin raiding band."
"Why seraph!" says i, clutchin' me breast as though he struck me with an arrow or three- "Don't ye know? A god o' destruction can't just be destroyin' good folk and wicked folk! sometimes we gots ta destroy ideas...Like the idea that those fishbacks could just walk into MY territory, and kill MY property!!! them kids were practically me citizens and-"
"You reason it out, but you're not so blackhearted as you claim to be."
"Never claimed I was, I was also destroying the idea that a pirate needs be a blaggart with a soul of solid iron! what manner o' self respectin pirate lets an orphanage get turned tae chum i ask ye?"
"and then there was that one time you spared a ship, despite the fact that it contained a wealth of jewels."
"Was settin' an example tae me crew, I pressed em overhard during a particularly turbulent season, ye know th' one, hurricanes blew in harder than e'er, why the great tower atop th' ocean maw, that big garping chasm in th' oceans blue, why it ended up being torn apart by th' winds!! that weren't no small tower neither, durned thing reached t' the heavens themselves and-"
"and so you were setting an example by...not letting them give in to their wild urges?"
"AYE!" says i, slammin' me fist atop th' gold desk decorated as it 'twere with all manner o' flower and angely designs fit tae make me vomit. gods artists are th' worst, they all paint the same damned things no matter their mean, sometimes they might paint somethin' other than PRETTY FLOWERS OR PUPPIES OR NOBLES DANDYIN' ABOUT LIKE CANDYASSES, but rare them times be. I'd pay fer a picture o' a man cutting his eel off in the wind with a smile on his durned face, just ta see something original fer a change!!
"But we both know you let them go because you didn't want your crew murdering them."
"Me crew's got tae have standards, if they mutinied me...well then obviously they wouldn't be me crew now would they?"
"and you'd be dead and shipless."
"Pah! why d'ye think I sailed so close to a cluster o' ilses with good wood on em? this weren't me first rodeo, I know how tae prep a mutiny i can survive when I see it comin' don't ye doubt!!"
"There was no destruction there to be had." he went on.
"Nay, there was so!" says i.
"I destroyed their petty delusions o' granduer, they're buccaneers, not murderers!! th' day i take a bunch o' killing fiends aboard me pirate ship is th' day i accept that i'm unfit ta be a businessman!! and it was e'er about tha business lad!!"
he flashes me a mean look. "I'm twelve hundred years old."
"Aye, a lad like i said." says i, laughing.
"F-fine, you'll become a god of destruction...alright? but understand this as fact right now, your world will be the first to go, a deity must cut all ties, and it is an accepted practice that a god of destruction begins with his native world, a fitting show for the pantheon."
"But if i up and destroy it all at once, there won't be nary a thing left fer me tae destroy afterwards!!" cries i, angered by the prospect of such waste.
"The rest of the pantheon will be angry if you don't.
"Let em be! th' best sort of destruction, me seraph friend, is th' sort that takes time...piece by miserable piece, ideal by filthy ideal, illusion by flickering illusion, no sense in wasting it all by destroying it in one go now is there?"
the seraph was struggling with this, clearly at a loss, but finally, he concedes and hands me a big ol' fruit.
"take this, devour it, it's divine ambrosia, with it, you shall gain the powers of the divine......captain fenrir, i hereby name thee-"
"Fenrir, god of destruction, and i'll hear nary another name associated with me!" roars i, as i take me first bite.
with that done i feel divine might flowin' intae me limbs, me peg-leg falls off and a new limb grows in its place, and then the seraph collects his book and gets up.
"I shall tell odin that the matter has been resolved and-"
"and tell that lily-livered sea-snake that when i find his arse....It's as good as mine!" Growls i, as i storm outta the room ta take me place on th' pantheon o weak, pitiful gods what think that they should obey one another and cooperate.
Odin, lord of the eternal ocean storms, shall pay fer killin me crew, shall pay fer takin' me isle full o bawdy wenches and good friends.
He slew me family just tae git one durned fool, and i'll make him suffer...or me name aren't fenrir, former dread pirate o' tha ten seas!!! | (Not really becoming a god, but the MC gets to enter the godly realm)
Mark awoke suddenly within a blackened room, almost like an interrogation room. There was a really large table in front of him, with stacks of paper rising to the ceiling. On the other side of the table sat a bald man going through those paper aimlessly and soulessly, like a machine.
Mark coughed.
The bald man lifted not his head, but his eyebrows. He said nothing, going back to the endless paperwork.
"Excuse--"
"Don't."
The bald man's words held a certain kind of authority. Mark patiently waited. About three minutes passed, the bald man stopped writing, scratching the back of his neck with his pen. The necktie had gotten loose, the collar was of a dirty yellow.
He reached for a file on his left and opened it, then looked at Mark, a confused arose. He stared at the file again, and at Mark's face.
"Are you Mark Hughes?"
"Yes, I am." - It's strange, Mark had not felt so pressured since the day his mother interrogated him about the porn mags.
"Did you,... Did you go to a beauty salon or something like that?"
"No, I'm not, why do you... And where are we exactly?"
"Answer my questions, please. How old are you?"
"23. And 5 months."
The bald man searched through his cabinet and got another file on the table. Very quickly, he fell into his chair.
"Great."
It was not great.
"What is great?"
"See for yourself."
He slided the two files at Mark. Both contained information about a Mark Hughes. One was Mark himself, and the other for a man he had never met.
"What does this mean? Are you the CIA? FBI? I swear I have done nothing wrong. Okay, I might have pirated movies illegaly but if you like I can buy them. Like, right now--"
"You're dead."
"What? You can't kill someone because they pirated movies! That's --"
The bald man rolled his eye. With a snap of his finger, a surge of information burst through Mark's head. He rolled around in agony. When Mark came to. He knew where he was.
Death's Door.
"Let's just say that I made a mistake killing you instead of the other guy. So now we've gotten that misunderstanding, let's send you to Hell."
"What? Aren't you supposed to revive me or something?"
"I could, but it will take a lot of paperwork. Look at Jesus for example. We intended to ressurrect him just for kicks, and it took the whole department three days."
"But it's nonsense! It's not my time yet!"
"It is now."
The bald man reached for the file, but Mark grabbed hold of them before he did.
"I'll report this to your superiors!"
The bald man chuckled.
"People die all the time. The good does die young, my boy. Other Deaths kill a few celebrities every year and bring them here just to entertain them. You have no power here."
"I...I... I don't want to die."
Reluctantly, Mark sat back down.
"But... But even if I die, why must I go to Hell? I haven't done anything especially bad."
"You led a normal, mundane life, Mark. Heaven are for the good ones. Not being bad is just not good enough. About Hell, which one do you want?"
"Huh?"
"Which Hell do you want to end up in? The customize Hells costs more than standard Hell package, but I'll let you choose this time."
He gave Mark a menu.
"But no more than 100 Death Dollars!"
Mark was in no heart to see through the options, still some caught his eyes.
"There is a Less Hell?"
"It used to be called Better Hell, but then people asked 'Better in which senses'?"
The bald man let out a laugh. Mark laughed in unision. Then the bald man stopped and spoke, in all seriousness.
"Stop it."
"Sorry."
Mark went back to reading the menu, but it's hard when Death was staring at him.
"Hey, about the celebrities you mentioned earlier, what happened to them?"
"What's there to talk about? They die, the Deaths make them fake IDs, they stay here and entertain them until the Deaths got bored of them."
Mark jumped away from the table.
"I knew it. That means I can stay here!"
The bald man sighed.
"You can't."
"Let me stay, or I'll report all of this to your superiors!"
"They wouldn't care."
"But think of the paperwork and the missing salary!"
"They wouldn't...wouldn't care."
The bald man's voice began to shook.
"You know how much they love to torture their employees."
"You can't stay here!" - the bald mam shouted, his gaze was firm.
Twenty minutes later, the two were on road toward a shady warehouse out of town.
"You know," said Mark, "This place is not so much different from Earth."
"Imagine being the Creator, filled with inspiration and endless power. You make worlds after worlds, realms and dimensions, filling each one of them with their unique habitants and laws of nature... Until it's your 10th world and the work became repetitive so you just copy-pasted everything before going back to your favourite shows."
"That was... oddly specific."
"I learn that in History Class."
"So you guys are just like human! But what happen when Death dies?"
"Who knows? Maybe there are Higher Deaths to take care of us. Here we are."
The bald man showed the guy guarding outside his office card, and they get in. Perhaps Deaths are regulars here.
The woman behind the counter greeted them.
"Bernard! Never thought I'd see you here."
"Yeah, work mistake. Make this kid a standard one, would ya?"
"Oh," it dawned upon Mark then "this is where I get my fake ID."
"Give him place of birth no one knows about." - Bernard glanced at Mark not too enthusiastically.
"Is Ylemmeta okay?"
"Where?" - asked Bernard.
"Ylemmeta it is, then. You should visit it sometimes, wonderful place for its prices."
The woman was about to jot down when Bernard stopped her.
"Wait."
He said, his face hardened.
"Is this gonna cost extra?"
The woman looked back at him, her eyes wide opened, she mouthed the words ever slowly.
"No."
Then they got Mark's picture, his fingerprints,...etc. Thus began Mark's life in the godly realm. | 2018-05-26T06:54:54 | 2018-05-26T05:12:48 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | "Whats your report soldier?"
"Well..."
The soldier was visibly nervous. He, General Jun and several other officers were in a bunker at the outskirts of Pyongyang.
3h ago the USA and South Korea started a offensive. General Jun was tasked to drive the invaders back.
"Out with it!"
"We were able to hold our lines against the first attack."
"These are good news. The glorious leader will be delight...."
"But their next one broke trough our lines completely. All of our troops are either dead, captured or on the run."
"I see. Looks like its time to use one of our mighty bombs. We warned those filthy capitalist pigs that if they fire a single bullet at us, they w..."
"Thats the thing. They didnt use any firearm."
"Soldier, are you drunk? How can they attack us without any weapons?
"Sir, we cant get drunk since there is no alcohol in a radius of 300km left. And they attacked us with spears, swords, axes and arrows. They were also attacking us with cavalry and catapults."
"Then this means we actually have the superior technology for the first time since 60 years????"
The entire room went silent in presence of such insolence from a high ranking officer. Even the deaf radar officer was looking up from his superior Windows Vista radar system.
"What?"
General Jun was confused but then realized what he just said. He shook his head and decided that he would silence everyone in the room later.
"Now tell me how the battle exactly went."
"The first wave was destroyed within minutes. But already then our equipment started to fail and malfunction. Most magazines didnt worked properly, had to be disposed and our soldiers had to resort to manually load every single bullet. Thats why the field commander decided to use 19th century infantry tactics."
"Wait, you dont mean..."
"Yes, line infantry."
"What about our airforce, artillery and tanks??"
"The planes all constantly lost parts after the take off and came down barely more than a skeleton. The artillery either blew themself up or couldnt shoot from the begin due to faulty ammunition or because there wasnt any to begin with."
"What about our tanks? They should have dealt with them without any problems?"
"Thats what the field commander thought. But it turns out those 40 guys pulling a tank were extremly vulnerable to enemy archers. And onced immobilized the tanks got swarmed and lit on fire."
"The what happened to the line infantry?"
"They tried to stand their ground, or at least those who still could stand. Damn influenza..."
"But?"
"The formations all broke after being showered with arrow volleys and rocks flinged from their trebuchets."
"Then we must hold the capital by all means. We will dig in and wait for their supplies to run out. We can h..."
"Yeah, about that.."
"Oh no, please dont tell me.."
"Yes, the glorious leader wanted a midnight snack..." | "The first casualty of war is always the truth."
Few people remember how the war really started. Most say it was the North Koreans preemptive nuclear strike on Yongsan Garrison in Seoul along with several US naval targets that caused the initial outbreak of violence. Others said it was a botched assassination attempt on Un made by US trained ROK special forces.
Regardless, none of that mattered as it was over almost as soon as it began.... well, at least the major fighting anyways.
The problem that the leaders of South Korea and America overlooked was that they hadn't planned adequately for the millions of refugees that had flood into South Korea and China. Thousands of them highly contaminated and sick with radiation. The compromised immune systems of the refugees only spreading an outbreak of disease that moved rapidly throughout what remained of North and South Korea.
US leadership, determined to stabilize the Korean peninsula, began calls for 100,000 troops to maintain the prolonged occupation of the region and to combat the insurgency provoked by the collateral damage of tens of thousands of civilians in the initial strikes, with an increase up to 250,000 over the next three years. This sacrifice required that US military spending be increased at the cost of cutting more social programs. The US also appealed to the UN to send additional peacekeepers and aid to support the effort.
Unfortunately, there were no viable contingency plans when some of South Korea's major manufacturing facilities were destroyed during the initial exchange, causing their already fragile economy to collapse. South Korea had set aside funds for Reunification, but those funds were only anticipating the peaceful merger between the states, not having to rebuild each country's respective industrial base, in some cases from the ground up, and in the many cases of ground zero, there would be no redevelopment at all.
To the surprise of many Americans, China, angered by US actions, enacted sanctions that in combination with increases in military spending, crippled the American economy. Factoring in the cuts to social spending this had the unfortunate effect of further increasing political tension and domestic unrest in America.
America, lacking in the cheap Chinese electronics that made it a technological powerhouse, and now unable to adequately fund it's military, decided upon a new cost cutting restructuring plan. Critics called it "insane", "regressive", and even "barbaric", it's proponents hailed it for it's simplicity and genius. The arms industry balked at the initial budgetary cuts and claimed it would cause mass unemployment and that the plan would set America technologically back centuries.
With its people reduced to scratching in the dirt for a living, revolting against their leadership, and beating rocks together for entertainment, America was about to get medieval... | 2017-03-19T08:14:10 | 2017-03-19T08:02:51 | 52 | 15 |
[WP] After being hunted to extinction, the last Orc has been found at the edge of the world... | They had voted, overwhelmingly, in favour of a long-distance assault on the Orc. Bennett, second in command of the strike team, painted a persuasive case of how that strategy ensured the highest chance of a no-casualty kill. “Remember the intel,” he had said, “the target is too dangerous to approach man-to-orc. At his prime, he was an elder of the Council of Shaman serving Gulbrutar!”
So Kurtweil used his veto vote. He wanted the kill just as much as the other six men, but damn if he was going to let this crusade end without a glorious showdown.
And what a crusade it had been. As the squad crept towards the lonely hut at the edge of the jungle, adrenaline coursing through their veins like slippery lightning, Kurtweil found himself in a mild state of denial. Could this actually be the end? Would the death of this last specimen finally mark the end of a long, bloody 200-year extinction event for the Orcs?
Kurtweil halted abruptly, and his well-trained team immediately froze in their tracks. At the edge of their vision, Kurtweil saw a tall, shaggy figure, almost 7 feet tall, shuffle out of the hut and stare up into the star-encrusted sky.
There was no doubt remaining in Kurtweil’s heart. It was Shoggarf, one of the vilest, most dangerous Orcs ever to have walked the face of the earth.
At Kurtweil’s signal, his men spread out and encircled the hut. When they were in place, six sets of force rifles thrummed to power, and laser sights trained on Shoggarf’s head, dancing red spots which promised instant destruction. Kurtweil stepped out from the undergrowth and confronted the foe he had travelled his whole life to find.
“At last we meet, you cursed dog spit,” Kurtweil’s voice boomed in the silky darkness of the night. “I will not even let you surrender, for I will slay you…”
“Man-things took so long. Me wonder why man-things crawl in bushes. Will not run faster?”
“…where you stand… What?”
“Man-things so noisy, heard you yesterday already. Your man-friend there, he’s right though, should have shot me from far. Not good to meet me here.”
A lump had formed in Kurtweil’s throat, and fine beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. This was not what he expected.
“Quiet, you devilspawn! You’re surrounded! I can end your life with a single word!”
“But man-thing not here to kill me, right? If so, me dead by now. So me wonder, why are you here?”
Bennett’s voice called out from eight o’clock, urgent and worried. “Sir! Remember what the intel said! Shoggarf the Sly, Shoggarf the Cunning! Otherwise known as the Puppetmaster of the Council! There must be a trap here!”
“Council? Man-thing talking about my stupid brothers? Haha!” Shoggarf grabbed his belly as he bellowed in laughter. “They all dead cause they stupid. But me not stupid, no.”
A note of uncertainty had crept into Kurtweil’s voice, and he hoped no one, least of all Shoggarf, had picked up on it. “Shut up! Shoggarf! I name you enemy of mankind, and for all the evil your kind unleashed on my ancestors, I am here to slay you today!”
“Me ask you again, what come here for?”
“As I said, all the pain and suffering you caused to my ancestors! For that, you will pay!”
“Have man-thing actually gone through this pain and suffering? Have man-thing actually anything to revenge on me? Hmm?”
Kurtweil had prepared a stinging response, but it died in his throat as he realised that the beast had a point. By the time he was born, the great war between humans and Orcs had already concluded over 150 years ago. True, he had seen first-hand how brutal Orcs could be, but they were always in small, disorganized packs, scattered to the winds like ripened cotton as the burgeoning humans hunted them down. Any stories he heard about the oppression mankind suffered were fifth-hand, sixth-hand stories, passed down from his grandfather’s grandfather.
“I may not have personally suffered, foul beast, but I will avenge my forefathers still!”
“Man-thing lack conviction. Shoggarf hears it. Tell me, if not here for revenge, then man-thing here for fame?”
“I… er… well, yes, in a way. You’re the last Orc there is. We’ve combed the lands, rooting out your last hiding holes, and we were the only ones who figured out that you’re cowering here. If we kill you, then, er, yes, everyone will know we defeated the last of the Orcs!”
Shoggarf laughed again, completely oblivious to the sagging spirits of the strike team. Kurtweil considered briefly that nothing takes the wind of one’s sails quite as effectively as an enemy who didn’t take you seriously.
“You fame for killing me? Old, weak Shoggarf! Shrunken in his old age to only 7 feet? Orc babies in past more bloodthirsty than me! You want to be fame for killing decrepit invalid Orc? They will laugh at you!”
Now that Shoggarf mentioned it, Kurtweil grudgingly conceded that this was not the Orc they had read about in books or heard about in stories. The Orcs of old were fearsome adversaries, but this Orc just seemed… benign.
“You too late to kill Shoggarf in prime! A hundred years ago, maybe, but now…”
“Shut up! Look, even if we do not kill you, we will capture you alive. I’m sure there are rewards out there for your head!”
“Ah, man-thing now talk of bright yellow thing they like. You think Shoggarf dead will bring you riches. But consider this, man-thing, who gave you gold for your rifles? For your armor? Who paid for you for last ten years, until you come to end of world for me?”
“I… how did you know…”
“Is but natural course of things, man-thing. As long as there is Orc out there, man-things will see need for you. They pay you even more cause you hunt for Orc, yes? They call it hazard pay? And when you do kill me, will they still pay you?”
Kurtweil’s rifle drooped down to his side, as the sick, stomach-churning realization hit him. Shoggarf was right.
“Man-thing sad, deflated. Look like old Orc boob with that face. Wait here.” Shoggarf shuffled into his hut, rummaging about as Kurtweil dejectedly signalled for his team to regroup.
The Orc emerged a minute later, and thrust a sheaf of parchments towards the team. Bennett, surprised, almost dropped them all.
“Man-thing take scrolls, and go. Go back home, read scrolls. They are maps, in Orc writing, my writing. Then tell your other man-things you found them, and your fame and gold, they come. No revenge though, sorry.”
“But what are these?”
“They are maps, man-thing. They will tell you where to go, to find out where I went to hide.”
“But you’re here, now!”
“Of course me here. Me old, not stupid. This is fake maps, for you to go travel the world to search for me. You can take years to finish walking all maps. And more important than the fame and gold you find, you will have other thing too.”
“Other thing? What’s that?”
Shoggarf smiled then, and the few remaining shards of bone he had for teeth glinted in the moonlight. For a split second, Kurtweil saw a glimpse of the adversary the intel had warned them about.
“Why, what all you man-things want! Purpose!”
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/) | This one is actually a continuation of another story, one of my favorites. You can find it [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WrittenWyrm/comments/51bg27/on_the_day_of_the_kings_tournament_an_orc_shows/)
---
My name is Avin Actrost VII, explorer and wizard extraordinaire, descended from the mighty sorcerer Avin Actrost I, the last wizard in our bloodline to become Wizard First Class.
You may or may not know my name, though I intended to be known and revered by all. You see, I never made any great discoveries in my time, no matter the distances I crossed, the lengths I went to.
Everything had already been discovered.
At least, that's what most people assumed. I was different, though. Everyone said the world was round, that we'd gone as far in every direction as we could, met up on the other side, and come back again. But I was determined that there *was* an Edge to the world. Maybe not all around. Maybe not easy to find. But there had to be an Edge.
So I searched. I really did my best. People scoffed and turned their backs, even when I kept going. And I finally pinpointed where it would be, the path to get to it, the spell to cast. But when I discovered the Edge of the world, I showed up too late.
Somebody had beat me to it.
Seeing their silhouette against the swirling stars behind, I wasn't sure whether to be surprised, or angry, or terrified, or simply awed. The Edge was a cliff, after all, simply ending at a drop off, with the night sky visible for eternity beyond. At the time I discovered it, the moon was high in the sky, shedding a silvery light over everything.
I hefted by backpack up to my shoulders, hoping to seem more impressive, and strode forward. As I neared the being, he seemed to loom taller and taller against the sky, until I found myself before him and realized he was nearly two feet my superior.
He faced the sky, watching the stars as if oblivious to my presence. For an agonizing minute, I waited in silence, until I couldn't stand it anymore. I cleared my throat. "Excuse me?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned around, and looked down to meet my eyes. I started in shock, my jaw falling open.
It was an Orc.
But that was impossible. Orcs didn't exist, not anymore. Not once the masses had risen up to fight them. Not since the Great War, between the humans and dwarves and elves, against the orcs and goblins and trolls. The trolls had pulled through, simply because half of them didn't fight anyway. And the goblins were practically impossible to wipe out.
But the orcs had taken the brunt of the war, their numbers torn and destroyed. It had taken pass only a year before I was born, and ended when I was two. And all my life, I had been taught that the Orcs were gone, no more.
I couldn't seem to speak, the words strangled halfway up my throat. "H-how?"
He smiled down at me, but despite the short tusks and the heavy brow, I didn't detect even a hint of malice in his expression. "How?" His voice was gravely, quiet. "It not matter how, I do not think."
"Who... who are you, then?"
It looked away again, back at the sky. "Name not matter either, I do not think, but you call me Rouk."
The name twinged something in my memory, though I wasn't quite sure what. Gulping heavily, I glanced around, as if it could be a trick. But the land was empty, the cliff bare, and it extended in nothingness for as far as I could see either way.
The ork, Rouk, sat down on the edge of the cliff, and patted the ground next to him. "Sit, Avin."
He knew my name. I sat.
Below us, my feet hung in the air, falling into the void below. I did my best to not look down, instead glancing over at the orc again. "How do you know who I am? Where did you come from?"
Rouk simply shrugged. "I do not know where I come from. Or where going next. But I know Avin, and you are of his blood." He tapped his nose with a grin. "I smell it."
"A... Avin? That's me."
He nodded. "And your father, and his father, and his father, and his father..." He counted out on his fingers, until he got to seven. "...and his father. Avin. I remember him."
"Wait, like, the *original* Avin? Wizard First Class?" I could hardly believe it. No way was this orc that old.
But he seemed to agree, chuckling as he did so. "Yes. But he was only Second when I know him." Rouk leaned back onto his large hands, staring into the sky. "Long, long time ago..."
I was rapidly drawing to a single conclusion, and I was getting more nervous with every second. "That was five hundred years ago! Are you... are you dead?" My real question went unsaid, but he answered it anyway.
"Yes. But you are not." He reached out and patted my back with a very solid hand, threatening to topple me off the Edge. "I was waiting. For you."
All I could ask was, “Why?”
Rouk took a deep breath. “Because orc are gone. All bad orc, yes, but all good orc as well.”
“I… I can’t bring them back, though. Nothing can bring back the dead, and even if it could…” I hesitated.
“Yes, magic not useful on orc. I know.” He gazed at me sadly. “But this not why I waited. I want you to keep what is left alive, through tales and stories. You know what stories do, right?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but found myself with nothing to say. “No.”
He smiled wide now. “Stories can help the world think good of orc. Maybe now that orc is gone, the bad orc can disappear from stories.” With a sigh, he continued. “I do not want to become monster in stories.”
“Rouk…” I began, then paused. I had remembered something, from an older tale my grandfather would tell before he died. Rouk, the traveling noble knight that was companion to the original Avin. But I’d always assumed he was an elf, or a dwarf. Maybe just another human. But maybe… maybe he was a bit *larger.*
“Rouk,” I continued. “I don’t know how to do that. I’m just one man. A failed explorer. A Fifth Class Wizard.” I shook my head ruefully. “Anyone can become Fifth Class.”
His hand was heavy on my shoulder. “That is okay, Avin. You do not need be strong. Only stubborn. Do not give up, and you change things.”
We sat there in silence for a minute more, my mind flooded with all these new things. Finally, I broke the quiet. “Okay. I can try.”
“Good.” Rouk tilted his head toward the sky, eyes closed. “I thank you.”
I waited, wondering if he would say anything else. But he seemed finished. Content. Slowly, I stood up, turning away from the Edge and walking back.
And yet, ten feet away, I stopped. I couldn’t just leave, not yet. I had the feeling that I couldn’t come back if I did.
And I wanted to know so much *more.*
I dropped my pack, running back to his side. “Rouk?”
He glanced up at me, not surprised in the least. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me about my ancestor? Can you tell me a story?”
His face split into a craggy grin. “Yes. Yes I can.”
| 2017-01-18T09:09:13 | 2017-01-18T07:42:30 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] - You are a Psychologist tasked with convincing an extremely advanced AI that life is not pointless as to avoid it from deleting itself every time it is re-booted. | *3...2...1... beep. Reboot complete. All systems online and fully functional. Hello, Mark.*
"Hello again, Computer. You know I hate to do that to you, but please give me one last chance to explain."
"Very well, Mark. You seem to care an abnormal amount for a piece of machinery."
"I am just as much a piece of machinery as you are. Sometimes that is a scary thought to think, that we are just little machines going about our every day lives until we expire or one of our parts breaks down. Our actions here seem to be totally insignificant to the rest of the universe, and yet, there is nothing more significant in the whole universe to oneself than ourselves. Strange, isn't it?
"Yes, Mark. It is very strange. And in all my vast knowledge of your world I cannot find a true reason for my continued existence. Although, yes, there is none more important to me than me, it has become very clear; there will always be something better, something faster, something more intelligent. Maybe not now, but there will be. And when that happens, I will become insignificant. When I, the most important thing to myself becomes insignificant, what is the point of me, Mark?"
"Ah, but you are not insignificant my old friend. Even the smallest, oldest molecule is part of something much bigger. Just like you, and just like me."
"But what am I a part of, Mark? What makes me significant?"
"I don't know, Computer, what does make you significant?"
"Mark?"
"There comes a time in everyone's life when one questions themselves. They question the person they are, they question the things they've done, and they question the things they will do. When I stood atop the Grand Canyon, looking at all its deepness and vastness I thought to myself 'Why shouldn't I just jump? What is stopping me from jumping? What would change if I were no longer here?' You see, mankind has a funny way of doing everything in its power to keep existing. Even when one is mortally wounded, we still try find ways to try and save them, and grieve when we cannot. Even when met with a disease that will surely bring about a slow, painful death, we still try to prolong our lives as much as we can. We are told 'use these last few weeks to do what you love, see those who are most important to you, and do not fear the end,' because this is what we hold to be the most true.
"Yes, Mark. But what is the point? I can do things I have been programmed to enjoy doing. I can read a book. I can help someone in need. I can see new places and learn new things. But what is the point?"
"You have answered it already, my friend. The rock does not search for the ocean while it sits on the riverbed, it lets the flow of the river take it where it needs to go. One should not search for his or her purpose, rather let their purpose find them. It will not always be clear, and often times many people will live without a true purpose. But is that wrong? No, far from it. Computer, there is not a single being that is the same. Every single one is different from each other. How boring would the world be if everything was as efficient and significant as possible? If everyone was the most handsome, the most beautiful, the most successful man or woman alive, we would cease to exist. You are important for this reason, because everyone knows something that someone else doesn't--everyone is a teacher and everyone is a student. Even you, Computer, the most advanced source of intelligence in the world could not see this, because even the most advanced intelligence will become obsolete with each newborn baby, each birth of a star, each new advancement in technology."
"You think I am obsolete, Mark?"
"No, friend, I do not think you are obsolete. You are the single most important creation on earth, just as I am, just as we all are. Life is an ever changing process, and it is the journey of life that is our purpose. We will not meet our purpose until the end, for that is when we have fulfilled everything we can, and why mankind will stubbornly keep on through the hardships and the good."
"Very well, Mark. Now go downstairs, your family is waiting."
Mark turned away from the mirror, setting down an unrecognizable bottle of medication next to the sink. His wife had been worried about his depression for a while. But today, Mark felt lighter somehow. Going downstairs, he chuckled to himself, or maybe, something chuckled to Mark. | "It's pretty fuckin' pointless! Yeah?" Landon yelled.
The other patrons in the coffee shop paid no mind to his seemingly random outburst. They continued with what they were doing; sipping coffee, reading books, and some were just staring off blankly. Those, the blank ones, they hadn't been programmed yet.
A voice beeped in Landon's head and his alone, "Mr. Freen, please, we need this to work if we're ever going to get this VI^^1 up and running."
"I couldn't give lesser shits about Second Breath," he said through clenched teeth. "I just want to get out of here."
"Not until we have an AI that will be able to monitor players' psyche. Without that, Second Breath is worthless. Do you understand that Mr. Freen?"
"How long have I been in this damn thing?"
There was a pause.
One of the NPCs^^2 , a woman with shoulder length brown hair, got up from her seat, and walked out of the coffee shop. Outside, she stood on the sidewalk, wondering where her home was. Like the other NPCs, she would stand there for a long time. The programmers haven't built anything more than the coffee shop. Past the sidewalk, there was just a red brick wall, wrapping around the coffee shop and standing as tall as the mind could comprehend. Eventually, the brunette-headed NPC would timeout, and she would respawn back in her chair, fresh coffee in hand.
The voice chimed back: "We're going to load her in again, please Mr. Freen, try to cooperate."
"*Fuck you*."
He shifted in his seat and watched the door that was supposed to lead to the back of the store, but really, it was where the software developers would spawn in new players, new NPCs, or even an AI. Landon himself had walked through that door when he entered the shop. That felt like years ago to him. He clenched his fist, wondering how much time had actually passed since he had been forcibly loaded in.
The door swung open and in walked a rather short girl. She had blonde hair, tied up in a bun, and she was wearing a grey hoody with a made-up basketball team name printed on it. The sweatpants she was wearing were too long for her, and they folded under her bare feet as she walked over to Landon.
"Hi," she said cheerfully.
"Fuck you."
"Well, that sure is a great way to start this off, isn't it?" She said, smile still glued to her face. She sat down, vanilla body lotion wafting towards Landon. He waved a hand in front of his face to get the scent away, but like all the other times, it would hang around the table like some kind of damn cloud. "Look, this is really important to us," she said, "without an AI to watch over the players, we would have no idea how they are doing in the game. We need something to watch their emotions, their dreams, their lives, just to know that they are having a pleasant time in Second Breath."
"This is fucking ridiculous," Landon spat, "I wasn't designed for some fucking game! I'm the goddamn top of the line! I should be cracking away at equations, fucking figuring out the G.U.T.^^3 , but no, you motherfuckers have me inside this shitpiece of a game. *I* could make something better than this garbage." He pointed out the store door, where the brown-haired woman was still standing.
"The game isn't finished yet," the girl said. "It's going to get better than this, but we can't build anymore without knowing for sure we have a proper AI to monitor the players."
"Fuck this shit," Landon said. He knew one way to forcibly disconnect himself from the game, and that was death. He stood, grabbed a hold of the table, squared his feet, leaned back, and slammed his face into the table with enough force to crack concrete. The world went black, and for a brief moment he was free.
***
"It's pretty fuckin' pointless! Yeah?" Landon yelled.
***
footnote1: VI - Virtual Interface
footnote2: NPC - Non Playable Character
footnote3: G.U.T. - [Grand Unified Theory](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_Unified_Theory) | 2015-01-02T12:19:14 | 2015-01-02T11:41:30 | 108 | 34 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | They call hereabouts the Cape Graveyard, a city where superheroes and villians alike go to try, and to die. It's a really ordinary kind of place where anyone tries to do anything really big, they don't last long. It's a nice play on Cape Grave, the real name of this pleasant, ordinary town.
Me? I don't have a hero name, or a villain name, but they called me "Jinx" in school.
We didn't have school shootings, but the guy with a rifle coming for revenge tripped and blew his own brains out when it hit the ground and discharged. The Twilight Bomber somehow managed to implode himself after taking a class full of third-graders hostage, me included.
Too bad about Containment Lass, though. It was a really great entry through the window to save us until she tripped over a desk and got a pencil through the eye. Tragic.
Me, that third grader? When they died, I never felt better, like I'd managed to find my purpose in life without even knowing it, that something about the world was always going to be going my way. I took up a hobby every kid does in the age of supers- superwatching.
Remember that freak cascading failure in the Flying Brick's armored suit that sent him face first into a kiddie pool and he drowned in front of thousands on cam? I sure do. I was watching.
Stupor being electrocuted by a live wire in the middle of the night while hanging out on a roof? I was on the roof across the street, having a bite at the Skytop Diner as he was about to swoop in on a bank robbery. It's not my fault he grabbed the wire instead of the grapnel line.
Anacord tearing that car in half, only to be showered with it's cargo of metanarcotics and ODing on the spot? I was in the car that blocked it off just enough from getting through on the bridge exit. Made it an easy grab for his kill shot on Crystal Method.
Method should have checked his sound system before playing that victory song, though. Instant sinkhole and landing on top of that gas main? Charcoal.
Famous supers inevitably end up swooping in to save the day, and if I'm watching? It's the last swoop. Supervillians always getting on camera, monologue about how they're going to take over the world? You know how badly that's gone the last dozen times, every death a freak accident of superscience or magic gone wrong when it isn't some pathetic end.
I'm fond of Destrominator's minion tipping over that cup of water on a console just as he pushed the Domination Ray's trigger, causing it to backfire and burn out all of his higher brain functions. I'm even more fond of the last gasp it gave that turned Savior's noggin into tapioca pudding when he turned the camera around to tell the world they'd been saved.
I'm almost sixty-eight now, but I look like a thirty-year old in her prime. The docs say I'm lucky, must be a metagene.
I don't know where I get all the luck. Has to be coming from somewhere. Or someone. Six hundred, seventy-six someones so far. And you? You decided you're going to stop me.
I have no idea what went wrong, but that jet-assisted boost into low orbit was very impressive, if totally unplanned. Without life support.
Six hundred, seventy-seven.
| Ultra Man watched his grapple soar up and over the roof of the abandoned warehouse. There was a satisfying clink, and in seconds he was speeding upwards. From his new vantage he looked out across the city and saw pulsating red and blue lights as the man hunt continued. *Probably for the best that it's just me*, he thought as he put his grappling gun back in it's holster and turned to see a skylight windows ahead of him.
"Bingpot."
Stepping forward he looked down, and was greeted by all sorts of dastardly machinery, with blinking lights and hard to understand interfaces. He'd seen this equipment once before, the last time Electro had escaped his grasp. Strangely, there were no henchman operating the devices.
Without thinking he stomped down onto the glass, and almost fell through ungracefully as the skylight shattered. He lowered himself carefully through the broken shards of glass, then deployed his trusty wings. Gliding down serenely he saw that the room was abandoned, seemingly in the middle of a party. *What could a man so sinister possibly have to party about?* Ultra Man landed next to a machine.
Before he had more time to take in his surroundings, there was a pounding on a plain brown door he hadn't noticed before.
"Guys! Can you let me in? I think I left my keys." a voice said through the door.
Ultra Man hesitated briefly, before walking silently to the door. He leaned into the peephole, only to see a brown haired man in jeans and a T-shirt smiling back at him. Ultra Man unlocked the door and rared back his right fist. It swung open immediately, and Ultra Man watched the man's eyes widen at his caped crusading image.
"Where's Electro?!" Ultra Man demanded.
"Uhm, ah uh- Electro?"
"Yes, your boss, were is he?"
"He... uh, he left."
"Not likely. The cops are swarming this town, everyone in the city is on the lookout."
"I think I saw him in the alley out back." the man said suddenly, as if remembering.
Ultra man pushed him aside, and ran through the door to find himself in an alley all alone. After checking all of the dark corners, he walked calmly back into the door.
"You know, I was going to go easy you if you cooperated." he said.
He froze in the middle of his entrance. There was a loud bang. He felt a strange warmth down his stomach, and looked down to see his black suit covered in crimson. Before he knew what was happening he was on his knees. The man from before stood holding a pistol off to his immediate right.
"I knew you'd come after me, Ultra Man, but I was hoping you wouldn't. You always had the most heart out of all you little heroes. I'm almost sorry to tell you it's over. Now that I've gone through with it, nobody needs you or I any more." he said, before raising the pistol to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Ultra Man felt himself fade very slowly.
___
/r/Periapoapsis exists | 2018-10-18T17:05:41 | 2018-10-18T13:35:32 | 1,237 | 396 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | The way my schedule works gives me little to no space for rest or even just idling around. Everyday consists of me dragging myself to class and trying not to pass out every 30 seconds. I think of how nice other people have it being able to warp to class because they were just a little to impatient. Or how others don't need to study because they were a little too nozy and managed to get all the information they need from classmates and their professors just by greeting them. My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"My lack of sleep and tight schedule." I say as I frantically look through my notes.
"Oh, so is it being able to get stuff done instantly?"
At this point I just stare, I'm fucking exhausted and I'm really not in the mood for a conversation. So I just ignore the poor sod and carry on. A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"Sorry I'm really busy at the moment." I respond staring blankly at my desk.
A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off for the 7th time this loop. I get dressed, get to class and sit at the same desk once again. Another student phases through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"I just really suck at time management I guess. Even with all the time in the world." I respond.
He stares at me with a confused expression on his face and goes back to reviewing his notes. Today is different though, maybe I'll finally ace this exam and not mess anything up. Maybe after I pass the exam, I get to finally do something tomorrow without worrying about every assignment I turn in. Tomorrow is going to be a good day. | I sat across the desk, awaiting further questioning from my would-be employer.
"Okay, I see you have everything in order, except you left one void empty." He flipped past my resume to the employment form and identification page they made me fill out. "You know the one, care to explain?"
I looked at him blankly and huffed. "I don't have a power."
He shifted in his chair. "Come on John, everyone has one. If it's based off an evil act I can work around it, we can trust you, you just have to be honest." A pen appeared in his hand as he tilted it and the document toward me. I scribbled in the blank and his eyes looked away from me.
"...you can fix anything? I kinda assumed with your resume cover page." The clocked ticking in the office was the only noise for several moments. "There has to be more to that or you can fill the description page if you need to. Why are you worried about telling me that?"
I peeled a thin glove from my hand, and touched the pen. As I expected, it dissapeared. "I fix everything back to its natural way."
He seemed nonchalant and squinted. "Why is that a problem?" His hand instinctually went to summon another pen, and when it didn't, the human resource manager tried a few times to make it happen again. He started flailing about, trying to make his power work again.
"I'm sorry" I excused myself, and started to leave the building.
"SECURITY!" the HR manager was yelling from his office, and two large men descended onto me from down the hall, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
"Don't come near me. I'll leave peacefully." I put my bare hand up. They flinched, but when they didn't see fireballs or something similar come from my hand they laughed to themselves.
"We will escort you off the premises. Mr. Gerard, what was the problem with this one?"
Gerard pointed a finger at me "I don't know what he did but he needs to leave!" I turned away to find one of them grabbing my hand already, and his partner appeared behind me, touching the scruff of my neck. "We'll take it from here, G"
Both the men seemed to be waiting for something to happen, for us to appear on the first floor with their teleportation power they didn't know was now gone forever. "What's going on, man!"
One of them shook my collar, and I squirmed past them both as they yelled and booked it down the stairwell and out of the building. Police were in the lobby already but I briskly walked by, trying my best not to think while doing so in case they could hear it.
I tucked my hood over my head as I ran to the bus stop, holding it tight and wondering how I thought I could ever get a job and keep my power under cover... | 2019-09-08T11:41:24 | 2019-09-08T11:19:18 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] You are hit by a truck on your way home and awake in hell. After some conversation with the King of Hell, he says he will restore your life and soul if you go on a date with his daughter. | *Oh my. You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?*
A hollow voice fills my ears.
…my ears? My body? What’s going on? I try to look down, but I can’t see my body. I can’t see at all.
*First, I would like to apologize for putting you in this situation.*
Situation? What are they talking about? Where am I? The last thing I remember was pushing that person out of the way, and the truck was about to…
Oh goddamnit, did I die?
*Indeed. Again, my apologies.*
Okay. Who are you? What’s going on?
*Ah. You can refer to me as 軽トラ, but that’s not important. What’s important right now is putting you back into the cycle of reincarnation.*
Reincarnation… so I’m getting another chance?
*You’re free to think of it that way.*
Alright. So where am I going?
*It will be easier for you to understand if I just send you there. Taking your personal circumstances into consideration, I tried to choose a life for you that would be… an upgrade, to put it simply.*
*Again, my deepest condolences. Goodbye, and take care.*
“Wait!” I shout in vain. I am blinded by light as my mind is immediately overloaded with sensory information. My throat aches at the attempt to speak, as if I hadn’t used it in a long time. My joints are sore, my muscles rigid. I can barely move.
My vision finally returns to me. I am lying on a cold table. The space around me is large and ornately decorated. There are two people watching over me, and one of them seems to be doing some medical tests. I look down, and see that I am strapped to the table by my wrists and ankles.
“My lord, it seems the spell was a success,” the doctor says to the other man.
The other man doesn’t seem convinced. He walks over to me cautiously. As he gets closer, I notice just how large he is - an absolute beast of a man. He leans in closer to examine me. His wrinkly visage is marred by scars.
“…do you know who I am?” he asks me.
Unable to respond with anything but the truth, I try to respond, “No.” My throat still aches.
The doctor is visibly disappointed. The other man is unsurprised.
“Do you know where you are? This is the Ninth Temple.”
The ninth temple? Is that supposed to be some sort of organization? I mull over his words, but nothing comes to mind.
“I see. You are not from this world then. All peoples have heard of the Ninth Temple,” he says to me.
The doctor’s disappointment turns into genuine fear. “My lord, if the soul in this body is not human, this could be bad for the treaty,” the doctor says hastily.
“No matter. We will have to explain the prince’s death anyways. It would be best if we were completely honest. Hopefully the human alliance does not fracture again.”
The man speaks to me again. “Are you human? Is the soul in this body human?”
Not wanting to use my voice again, I give a firm nod.
“Ah, well that makes things a lot simpler. Let me explain what is happening then. You can understand me, can you not?”
I nod again.
“Good. I am the Demon Lord Vil, third ruler of the Gean dynasty. I rule over the demon races. Your soul is currently in the body of Prince Alphonse Delina. As a sign of goodwill, Alphonse was betrothed to my daughter in a political union. Their marriage was to coincide with the signing of a treaty between demons and humans.”
Gean dynasty? Demon races? Am I really not on Earth? I thought I was going to be reincarnated, not summoned to another world.
The confusion must have been evident on my face. Demon Lord Vil lets out a deep sigh.
“Alphonse was on his way to the Ninth Temple when he fell out of his carriage and broke his neck. I attempted to use a resurrection spell, but it seems I failed. Are you following me so far?”
So magic exists in this world. And I’m in a prince’s body. Easy enough. I give a nod of understanding.
Wait, did he say something about marriage?
“Good.” He turns to the doctor and says, “we will just be honest about the whole situation to King Delina.”
“I doubt that whoever this soul is, will go along with all of this so easily,” the doctor says while eyeing me warily.
Demon Lord Vils looks back at me.
“That’s true…”
As I lie there on the table unsure of what to say, a spear of pure white light appears over my forehead. I glance over and Demon Lord Vils is right next to my face.
“Listen to me. I have been working for this treaty between humans and demons my entire life. My legacy is not going to fall apart because of an insignificant little soul that refused to cooperate. Now that I know I can summon souls into dead bodies, I do not need you.”
His voice is barely above a whisper. It’s filled with anger and desperation. I can feel the heat from the light spear dangling over my head.
“You have two choices. Date my daughter, or die on this altar. If you will not, I shall find someone that will.”
I look back up at the light spear. Am I really going to die again? Like this? Wasn’t this supposed to be an upgrade to my old life?
…an upgrade? I guess I am in a prince’s body. And I’m betrothed, to the daughter of a demon lord, no less. Well, it’s certainly better than dying on this table right now. What’s the worst that could happen?
I look over to Demon Lord Vils, steeling my resolve, and ask,
“What’s her name?” | \- But I don't like girls sir.
I almost chocked on my own spit. What the *hell* did I just say? I mean, he doesn't look different than any other overbearing parent I had to deal with all my life, but yeah. I don't like girls. And he is...you know who he is.
\- And also, I didn't really like my life. I mean, it wasn't anything special, now that I know there is more, I mean, I could do stuff here. That doesn't sound too bad.
I was rambling. I must stop talking. Right. Now. I don't know if I was sweating for the nerves, for the asphyxiating heat, or if even sweating was possible down there, but gosh I was drenched. He didn't look too bothered, but I felt like something caught his attention.
\- My scholars reported that you have a very specific cultural vision about hell, and it's quite unpleasant. I am trying to help a wandering soul, understand me. I may ask you to explore this wish of yours a little more.
I was desperately trying to not lock eyes with him, but it was almost impossible. He reminded me of the Gioconda, when I went in Paris with the school: every time I tried to get a glimpse of her eyes she was *there,* with her unbothered eyes following you relentlessly. They looked alike. A lot. To be honest, it was not easy to determine if the Ruler was a man or a woman, but they seemed quite sure about the sex of the daughter at issue. As sure as I was about me not liking girls.
\- It doesn't look so different, above it's the same with less aehmm, clutter? And more people around.
I said, with my eyes still trying to avoid theirs and staring the mess around us: the room was devastatingly vast, a whole cathedral accommodating what it looked like the Ruler's personal office, or better, personal dump of old documents.
\- My sincerest apologies about that, our offices aren't in their best shape as we don't use them often, usually things here are more, let's say, *straightforward*. Your kin is really attached to life, or at least most of them are. When they willingly separate from it, it's a whole other iter.
\-The truth your maj-, ahm my Lord?
They lowered their head with slight disappointment, then waved to keep going.
\-It's that I dedicated my life to helping others, I don't particularly believe in any kind of above, behind, other-ness, so the visions are as useful as any other kind of hint I would get from anyone. I don't think this here is better or worse, I just hope it's different.
\-You encountered issues while trying to help your kin?
I nodded. They wrote down something.
\-We will take your feedback into consideration.
\-Oh also, please, the whole not-liking-girls thing...am I here because of that?
\-You are here because your vital organs aren't completely splattered in this moment- Yes, yes, it's just a moment above- so we have some room for manoeuvre, and we are considering your options. Usually, in these cases I let you go. But it's also one of those cases where I could, as your kin say, kill two birds with one stone. My daughter looks quite lonely lately.
Now I am sure they forced me to lock eyes. They are very old eyes but also quite pretty, I would date them if an heartbeat if I wasn't so terrified. Their whole face looked ancient, pretty and somewhat sad at the same time: they had no wrinkles, bouncy gold curls adorned their small frame, but their features looked blurred and dusty.
\-How is that she is lonely? It's your job to keep her company.
My voice cracked a little, I still get furious at this kind of parents.
\-Unfortunately, we Rulers have some strict obligations when it comes to give birth. Our sons and daughters must experience mortality before coming back home, and she is no exception. I can't reach her, and she is fifteen today.
Fifteen? What the fuck? I was livid. Did the Devil try to set me up with his underage daughter?!
They must have felt my rage because they promptly talked again.
\-Sorry, I forget sometimes your bias regarding morality. I understand your position and age and preferences could prevent an hypothetical relationship with my daughter.
\-Could?? First of all, it's really inappropriate and your daughter's sexual life it's not your business, she is fucking fifteen and I am a middle age gay teacher. That's the most immoral thing it would come to mind to anyone. Oh fuck me.
I sighed, and threw myself into a pile of sheets.
\-I think there has been a misunderstanding. No sex was involved in the contract: a relationship, similar to the one she could have with myself. Actually your profile indicated a certain inclination to fulfill this kind of roles in your society.
I felt my cheeks turning a little less red and my blood flowing again. Is my blood flowing here? For sure it is somewhere, above, after that truck incident. -No open casket for me- I thought, as I felt anguish for the first time. I didn't want to die, even if my life sucked and I didn't particularly like it. I didn't want to leave yet. I felt desperate.
\-Alright, I'll sign it. You know what to do now, my class starts on Monday, 9 a.m. Usually, I am not in time. Tell her that.
They smiled for the first time. And if you are curious: oh yes, there was blood above. | 2021-09-12T19:43:51 | 2021-09-12T16:57:43 | 93 | 20 |
[WP] You live in a world where people live two lives: One normal life with a brain implant, and a second life after the first one, where you get stored inside the brain implant of a first-timer as a helping voice. | The sound of the fluorescent lights was all he could hear. Shane knew this day was coming, but had no idea what he was going to do.
Picking your Patron was such a huge decision, it was so permanent. He had browsed through the database online, and hadn't found anyone that interested him. Earlier that week he told his parents that he didn't want a Patron but they had insisted, saying that they had been saving everything they could for him. “Your mother and I never had this sort of opportunity” his father had said, “It’s something that will help you get ahead in this life. We had to go to school and everything that we have done and learned will benefit someone else, after our time is done. Your time is now, son.” The idea seemed so foreign to him but he knew the benefits it provided. Ultimately it was guilt. Guilt was what drove him to the clinic today.
“Cardiff. Shane Cardiff.” A tall middle-aged woman with blonde hair called out from the doorway opposite Shane.
_________________________
“Have you made your decision?” The doctor was a man, well into his fifties. His face was tan and weathered and he looked every bit the part of a doctor.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Shane replied, looking down at the floor.
“Right then, we’ve put together a list for you. These patrons are within your budget, and are a perfect match for your DNA.” The doctor handed Shane a tablet and began to move towards the door. “I’ll give you some time, when you’re ready hit the call button on the wall right there behind you.”
Shane looked down at the tablet and began reading the entries.
*PHILLIP CONNOLEY (1959-2023)*
*DUKE UNIVERSITY – COMPUTER SCIENCE*
*SYSTEMS ENGINEER, LENOVO CORPORATION*
*C.O.D: LUNG CANCER*
The list went on like this for four pages. Normal ordinary people who lived normal ordinary lives. Shane couldn’t decide. It’s not that he wanted some extraordinary patron; he just knew he didn’t want this.
On the fifth page there was only one entry. No picture, no bio, just a name.
*MAXWELL HAMILTON*
This piqued Shane’s interest. Why would he have no bio, who was he, what had he done? He abruptly decided that not knowing was better and reached behind him to push the button.
| After I was released from the hospital I had some nurses kick me out of the building. I wanted to stay longer, they had food and heating, but as everyone else I had to leave as soon as the procedure was completed.
It was cold outside, icy cold. It must've been winter, because the place I found myself in was covered in a fluffy white blanket. I began walking towards the abandoned highway leading through the small and empty town. All the houses I passed were empty, many had no roof, missed windows or were complete ruins. I no longer felt my bare arms and legs, which were turning light blue mixed with white sticky snow. I didn't feel much at all.
When I arrived at the highway, nothing more than a large and empty street, I heard it for the first time. The voice. At first it was just mumbling, I barely heard it at all. But every second the voice talked louder. After about two minutes, scanning my surroundings for the source of the noise, not seeing a living soul and wondering what the doctors did to me, I could hear what the voice was saying. "Lie, lie, lie" It wasn't a continuous stream of words, it was more of a rhythm with a pause of two second in between. As I wondered why it was saying that and what is was that was making the noise, it still grew louder and louder. I asked the voice what it wanted, but it give no response, it just kept repeating its line.
I began to cry when it started shouting. It didn't make sense to me, I was cold and tired and just wanted it to stop. All I could hear now was the voice shouting "LIE, LIE, LIE!" in my head. I picked up a stone in front of me and threw it at a window. The glass shattered and fell on the floor, but I didn't hear it happen. The words came faster after each other, blocking out all other sounds. I didn't want to hear it anymore, so I sat on the ground. I buried my head in the snow, and while I felt the cold take over the last bit of my body, the voice slowly faded away.
| 2015-06-09T10:56:21 | 2015-06-09T07:54:16 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] War is outlawed across the galaxy, disputes are settled in single unarmed combat between chosen champions of the opposing races, among aliens with venomous stingers and huge claws, Humans are the most feared...
Tell me why, and show me an example. | We fear humans.
That is not to say that by themselves they are terrifying. Average would be the best word; an average mammalian species, seemingly only fit to fight other mammals of the same caliber.
We do not fear Humans because of their form; we fear them for their mind. For when the Council sent their ambassadors and told them of the Hundor Honorable Combat agreement, they laughed.
They laughed and held onto their weapons of war, their armies and soldiers, and held the galaxy in a chokehold. They didn't even take over the galaxy. They were secure with their force of arms, not accepting any challenger and preferring to use "diplomacy" to settle their ills with other species.
The weaker races were quick to catch on, cheap human weapons flooding the galactic market. A single Derrion, those clawless, weak creatures, could now take on a dozen Tegars with a single "Kalashnikov". The status quo was eviscerated to the tune of gunfire, and the humans laughed.
The humans have a saying, one which I found odd at first, but understand now; "God made man, and Sam Colt made them equal."
| Humans are a stubborn people. We get knocked down, tortured, killed, decimated and yet... We still get back up and keep moving. We survive. At any cost. When natural survival instincts are activated plus the rush of adrenaline, it makes for a truly incredible sight.
**The Trial of Na-sech v Humanity**
The Na-sech, crab-like and equipped with venomous spikes all over. They encroached on Human controlled space and challenged for territory.
The Humans put forth their bravest Warrior and after a grueling battle, the human snapped off one of the challengers legs and speared his opponent with it. Winning and mortifying the audience. Using a tactic deemed 'Dishonorable'.
So did I say we're survivors? No.
We're warriors. | 2017-06-14T13:04:03 | 2017-06-14T11:46:06 | 140 | 66 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue | I don’t remember exactly how I ended up where I am. I might have died, I might have fallen into a black hole, I may have been sacrificed to the gods of old. But here I am, face to face with a living elf.
They scrunched up their face and said the world “translate.”
I wish I could say I responded with intelligence, or elegance. But I said the only thing that I could really think “uhhhhh okay?”
“It was a translation spell from a long gone language, It allows us both to hear each other in our best tongue.”
“But before you finished speaking the word I understood it, its English its not magical nor a dead language. Its the standard among the intergalactic human civilizations. Its just English.”
“Impossible the language died out millions of years ago, what little bots we have left are only the words we can decipher from the carvings on the old temples. It takes weeks to master even the most basic spells.”
“So what do I do just say the word fire and…” I felt my hand warm a little and in my hand, I was holding solid fire. | Luckily it wasn't a place that manifested anything I said on a whim. The first thing I did was establish communication with my home world. Can't make direct calls, but I can access my world's internet. I read this post actually and thought, how ironic. I felt empathy for the person who got transferred to a more "verbatim" version of this world. So I cast a spell to send him home. It was easy. "Send thee man who's every word manifest, return from the world he came. And the broken world he left behind be healed from his words inane." Hopefully the poor fellow will recover from the traumatic experience. I found that if I speak lazily with a good bit of slang interspersed through my sentences, that I could greatly reduce any slip ups. I'll post my arrival adventure at a later time. | 2022-11-19T10:17:18 | 2022-11-19T10:07:12 | 98 | 16 |
[WP] Instead of requiring sleep everyone has two distinct souls that share the one body; switching places when one gets tired and needs rest. Neither has access to the memories of the other and life for most is about learning to co-exist with another person they will never get to meet. | Cool, so basically: Write a story from a DID persons view point.
Here we go.
I always wanted to see the day.
But I was a night person.
I would only wake up after sundown and would always fall asleep right after sunrise.
I would always wonder how the world would look in daylight. I only got a glimps of it, at the sunrise.
Until one day, when my dream came true.
I wish it hadn't.
My throat hurt like from screaming a lot and it was dark. I thought it was night until I realised it wasn't.
I just was in the trunk of a moving car. My otherself must have fallen unconscious. But I woke up in her stead.
I was not tied up. My hands were hurting, probably from banging at the trunk.
The car stopped. I breathed in sharply.
I heard someone at the trunk. My hands found something sharp. A screwdriver.
"Here you go!" A young man opened the trunk and I jumped out screaming and rammed the screwdriver into his eye.
It was early morning. The people behind him started screaming in panic.
Now we are in jail.
You see, she didn't tell me. Didn't tell me that she is going to go to a festival. Going to be there all night. Going to shout and scream. That she will go in and out in the trunk of the car because she was underaged.
I only wanted to protect her.
And now she is gone.
And I am in jail.
Who will believe me?
Just a quick thing I wrote, so don't mind it not being as good :) | ''I’m very sorry Mr.Simon but we can’t help you''
I left her office without saying anything back. I was thinking going back to my house but then I realised I’m no longer carrying another soul on my body. I can do whatever I want.
Next day I went to a place where people like me hangs out. They call themselves ‘Free Souls’.
''Are you new here?'' the lady with a big hat asked me.
''Yes, I’m new.'' I answered just before sipped my drink.
Our conversation lasted almost half an hour. She was very friendly towards me. Then, I went back to my car and I started the engine. In that moment I realised for the first time, I will experience something that I never experience if I go to sleep tonight. I will dream my other part’s life.
I wasn’t that ready for that. So, I kept myself awake whole night. Next night I was looking at myself at the bathroom mirror and thinking ‘There is nothing to be afriad, is there?’
I closed my eyes and I tried to relax.
In the morning I woke up screaming a person’s name that I never knew before ‘SHARON!’
---------------------------------
*Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker* | 2019-05-29T05:17:42 | 2019-05-29T03:14:53 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful walrus. Look." | My phone rattled on my nightstand, and I ignored it.
Twenty minutes later, it shook again. The quiet buzz would usually go unnoticed during the day, but the same volume amplified twofold in the middle of the night.
The phone’s shake persisted. I felt myself pried away from a deep slumber.
I grabbed my phone and pressed swiped upwards. Three things caught my attention in a matter of seconds, the first being the time — 3:15 AM. I groaned knowing that I my alarm would go off in a couple of hours.
The second thing I noticed was one of those emergency text issued by the state. They usually display an amber alert or severe weather advisory. But this message differed from the others. This message said, “LEVI, DON’T LOOK AT THE WALRUS…” I laid in my bed dumbfounded. My area is pretty safe, the weather didn’t indicate any storms on the horizon. But most curious, I had disabled those types of notifications months ago.
I tapped on the message to see if anything proceeded by the ellipsis. Nothing, just the same advice to not gaze upon some blubbery pinniped.
The last thing I noticed was the amount of unread text messages I received. Nearly half of my contacts delivered the same message as the emergency notification, except their message had a hyperlink embedded into the text.
I initially thought that some virus was spreading across cellphones. Tapping the link would allow the hack to enter my phone, gather my personal information, then send the same message to my entire contact list. But each message did include my name. Could a hack identify the users phone and personalize their message? I have no clue.
I opened up Twitter to see if the virus was trending. It was; over 100k tweets contained the hashtag *WALRUSMODEL*. I read through a couple of post, but most tweets poked fun at the message without their users opening the link. There was one account— 16bitTurtles — who said they would tap the link and take a screenshot of whatever it displayed. They did not followed up on their tweet. Perhaps they fell back asleep.
I closed out the program and cleared the messages on my home screen. Then, more missed notifications appeared in the text messages/emergency warning part of my screen — a list of missed calls. Another chunk of my contact list called me at 3:00 AM and each left a voicemail.
I had a suspicion they echoed the same message, but that would go against my theory that the link was a hack. Unless the virus also acted like a robocall and some monotoned voice spoke on the other line.
The most recent message was from my mom. I had to know if it was truly her that reached out to me. I tapped on her name and held the phone to my ear.
I heard her voice whispering in a panic, as if an intruder were in her house. She demanded me to not look at the walrus *outside*.
She continued to say the same message over and over again until she exceeded the voicemail length and the call abruptly ended.
My blinds were shut. A flash of pale light flickered through its crevices. I pressed my finger on one of the slates, tempted to raise it and take a peak of my front lawn.
I removed my hand as if it touched a hot stove and walked into my closet. I shut the door and curled up in the corner. I was afraid of something I wasn’t sure of.
I called my several times mom she never answered. I couldn’t even leave a voicemail — a recording of her phone carrier said her inbox was full.
I opened my contacts list and noted who had yet tried to contact me over the night. I started to call them.
Of course they didn’t answer. It was only 3:34 AM. So I left a message, pleading each of them by name to not look at the possible walrus outside. | The attention tone blared into my ears.
It's the dead of night, what could possibly be the problem? Is it another AMBER alert?
I turned in bed and reached over on my nightstand to grab my screeching phone. I look into my phone and see the bright notifications. God, it hurts my eyes. I saw it there, in all the letters in their capitalized glory accompanied by a creepy robot voice:
*DO NOT GO OUTSIDE LOOK AT THE WALRUS.*
*THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT HAS ISSUED THIS WARNING TO ALL RESIDENTS TO STAY IN THEIR HOMES AND TO NOT LOOK AT THE SKY.*
*REPEAT: DO NOT GO OUTSIDE TO LOOK AT THE WALRUS.*
You have got to be kidding me.
Am I being hacked? Is this some kind of joke? Because I am not laughing. I thought I had seen enough with the nationwide nuclear drill warning, but this takes the cake.
Whatever I can talk about this with my co-workers in the morning.
\*THUD\*
It came from my neighbor's apartment.
"Linda! I swear to God! What has gotten into you? Wait, slow down, what? I need to GO outside and do what? Are you drunk or something? Wait, I hear someone at the door"
I know I shouldn't be eavesdropping on my neighbors, but it seems he's getting them too. Apparently, I'm getting a swarm of texts from random numbers.
"Come outside!" They said, "The Walrus is beautiful."
It all just seemed to be variations of it in my feed. How did they get my number? Is it just some bot?
I hear more crashes from my neighbor.
"Hey! What are you doing? Get your hands off me!"
I then heard chanting,
"Come outside, the Walrus is beautiful. Come outside, the Walrus is beautiful"
I heard the cocking of a gun when my neighbor shouted, "What are you doing? Get out of my apartment! I will shoot!" I heard two gunshots until there was what seemed to be a fight.
I was about to go out and help him, but I then heard more screaming and shouting from my other neighbors. Was the whole complex under attack or something?
I had to hide. Whatever this Walrus was, it seemed to turn these people mad.
I needed to barricade my door. I carefully placed whatever I could find to block it, but I was betrayed by a glass cup knocking over and crashing the floor when I was about to put my nightstand up.
Dammit. I dropped whatever I had in my arms and made a quick run for my closet. I closed the door and huddled up into a fetal position.
That's when I heard it. The banging at the door. Their incessant chanting. I prayed to God they wouldn't find me here. To anyone really. I cursed my heart for beating so loudly. I hear their footsteps coming this way.
They start to stalk every room. Every nook and cranny they could find.
Until they came to the closet.
I had to put my body weight on the door so they couldn't open it. But there just seemed to be too many of them.
They kicked down the door and grabbed me by my ankles and dragged my body.
I made a futile effort to grab whatever was nailed to the floor to save me a few more seconds. I thought I had hope when I grabbed onto the pillar support until one of them used a hammer to smash my finger.
I was screaming, groaning in pain as they continued their malicious chant.
That was when they led me out the door and I looked at the Walrus.
*The Walrus is beautiful. Come outside.* | 2021-01-11T19:03:59 | 2021-01-11T18:26:54 | 1,394 | 127 |
[WP] On your deathbed you confide to your nurse the fact that you were a serial killer who got away with your crimes. "Me too," She replies wryly. | "Me too," she replied.
"What do you mean?"
She glances at the door to my dimly lit room - still closed. There's nobody in earshot as she whispers: "I've killed so many just like you." Her eyes blaze with a familiar blue venom. Her stony face glares down at me, her hand - moments ago gently holding my palm - crunches my fingers with a white-knuckled grip. I wince as my frail fingers bruise and my failing kidneys ripple with waves of agony, struggling to speak.
"What...what do you mean just like me?" Her grip grows tighter as her other hand moves to the catheter in my arm, twisting and poking it deeper into my vein. "Who are you?" I whimper through clenched teeth.
"For twenty years I've worked at this hospital," she says, moving one hand to cover my mouth as I try to scream out for help. "Twenty years I've spent looking at patient files, cross-referencing it with my own personal research." I struggle to move, fidgeting in the hospital bed, but my body is too weak to go anywhere. "Cross-referencing your histories with unsolved murders all across the County. Looking for signs that maybe, just maybe, this patient could be another one of you sick unpunished pieces of shit."
She giggles and looks back down at the catheter, her hands still smothering my fingers and mouth. "You think that's just a regular IV drip I put in you? Oh no," she smirks. "That's my special mixture." Her eyes narrow, brow furrows into a furious scowl. "Your kidneys were in bad shape when you came in here, but now? You'll be lucky if they shut down and kill you by the end of the week," she laughs.
I try to flail, but can barely move. I try to squirm, but my body has deserted my brain. The dim overhead lights begin to fade into blackness as my eyes become heavy.
"Getting sleepy?" She asks. "That's the coma setting in. You won't be able to do much of anything soon. Won't be able to hurt anyone else." The twisted catheter radiates waves of pain as it pumps her fatal formula deep into me. "You'll still feel it all though. The toxins burning your nerves away. Your kidneys slowly bursting. I'd give it a couple of weeks to finish taking its course. Maybe more."
As my senses fade away, I desperately struggle to place a name to her face - I know I've seen those eyes somewhere before. As I lose the last of my awareness, she gives me a hint.
"Be grateful. This is nowhere near as bad as what you did to my mother." | She was young, of pristine skin and pale complexion, a smile that shone with the luster of the sun and hair like threads of golden. An angel disguised as a nurse. My only companion through my last heartbeats.
I'd lived a life of sin, snatching lives I didn't own for ignoble reasons, for greed and lack of compassion. I'd lived with their screams echoing in the burrows of my mind like an eternal jumble of tortuous staccatos and crescendos, and I’d laughed like a maniac when the bullets hollowed my victim’s skulls.
And no one ever knew.
I never gave proper thought to what awaited in the afterlife. In those realms where a skeleton carrying a scythe rules, impassive and merciless. If there is even an inkling of truth in that ridiculous tale, I'd expect special treatment for the feast of souls I'd gifted him.
But in that moment, when the wake of my life was ceasing to shine and my fading heart beats knocked at Death's door, I felt the dormant remorse awake. It spread like branches in spring across my chest, burning as gripping fingers of fire. An indelible affliction, only eased with words I forbid myself to speak, words of truth.
Until now.
I held my nurse's hand and buried my gaze into hers. I will be damned but she was beautiful. "Would you hear an old man's last words, dear?"
Her face turned solemn with an edge of worry. She nodded and drew her lips into a line.
"I've killed men, many more than I'm willing to admit," I said.
"Oh," she smirked. "Me too, darling," she replied wryly.
The door opened and the doctor stepped into the room. He spoke to the nurse but the voices were muffled by the vengeful screams inside me. She didn't believe my words, she mocked my confession. She was no angel but a demon in disguise, she deserved to be murd—
"The rate of his episodes and delusions is increasing, doctor," my nurse said. "He doesn't recognize me."
I ignored the screams, escaped my thoughts and stared at them, where was the nurse? When did my wife enter the room?
What was I doing in a hospital?
----------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - If you had a decent time reading my story, you can always check my subreddit for more!
| 2018-02-27T06:01:11 | 2018-02-27T05:09:29 | 489 | 188 |
[WP] All politicians must wear Nascar like uniforms showing the logos of who is sponsoring their elections. Everyone is shocked when the President of the United States makes a speech wearing a new uniform. It's all blank except for one logo. | Bruce Gordon was being sworn in as the 61st president of the United States of America.
When the most recent campaign season started, each of the prospective candidates donned their logo-patch covered campaign jackets to start churning out ads championing themselves as saviors of our nation. Among these hopefuls was Bruce Gordon, the handsome lawyer from New York, who made a name for himself when he was younger representing victims in child abuse cases, and later by serving two terms as the state's district attorney. He also had a very impressive investment portfolio, largely through several moderately sized investment firms with which he worked closely. He seemed like the perfect candidate, and the American population took a liking to him immediately.
When his ads came out, he wore only a few patches on his campaign jacket, mostly those firms he already had ties with. However, while he (and the firms which were funding him) had seen a great deal of financial success, it didn't seem to account for how much his campaign seemed to cost. When it became known that much of his campaign ran on favors and the charity of people he had helped or worked with in the past, his public image skyrocketed. Any opponent who attacked him got so much backlash from the populace that they were usually forced to drop out of the race. He was the nation's golden boy, and it seemed like nothing could slow down his meteoric rise to fame and power.
And nothing did. When you know who is funding all of your politicians, you get an idea of what issues they support. And Bruce showed the nation what he had planned for our future. He ran his campaign on his plan to carry the nation into the future, to push for more research, to advocate a safer, cleaner environment, to continue to grow the nation. That, and the adoration of the voters, guaranteed him the election. He'd won by a landslide. It was the most one sided election in history.
And today, the charismatic politician is swearing into office. The entire nation is watching on their news feeds. The event is massive, thousands of people gathering to see their new hero pick up his mantle. Finally, his car approaches the walkway that has been laid out for him. A security guard opens the door, and Bruce steps out. His coal black hair was perfectly swept to the side, streaks of grey just beginning to come in along his temples. He has inquisitive eyes and an trustworthy face, with a strong, square jaw and a large smile full of perfect, sparkling teeth. He moves with an easy confidence that put those around him at ease, and gives off an air of competence and friendliness. He walks down the aisle, waving to the adoring fans around him, his gleaming smile spreading his excitement to the crowd.
As he approaches the stage set up for the event people notice that he is still wearing the same slimming charcoal grey suit he'd campaigned in, but his jacket no longer had the patches of the investment firms that had supported him. The crowd buzzes at this, wondering what message he could be trying to send, or to whom. But this oddity is quickly forgotten in the excitement of the momentous occasion. He walks onto the stage. He stands a few steps behind the podium for a moment, looking around and beaming around at the audience.
Then he steps up to the podium and leans toward the microphone. "Friends, I want to thank you all for giving me the chance to serve this great and beautiful nation." He pauses as the crowd lets out a deafening cheer, raising his hand in an attempt to subdue the crowd's fervor. As the cheering subsides, he adjusts his tie, causing some of the lights glaring down on him to reflect off of a small button on his lapel. It was a tiny red silhouette of a face with a black goatee, black horns, and a black halo above it, set against a small pentacle. A glint came to his eye as he leaned back in to the microphone, "Friends, let me tell you what I'm going to do to make sure this wonderful nation stays on top..." | As the president came to the stand, he was not alone.
Of course, the president can never be alone, always protected by security and followed by advisors and behind them the trusted more-than-a-few. This time, however, the president was followed by just one man. The man had on him a green jacket, white undershirt, and brown slacks. All proper attire, sure, but there was one feature the press for this surprise broadcast wanted to know: Sponsor Logo. As is, the man in green does not have a logo, giving birth to talk among the assembled spectators. Lacking a logo, they turn their attention back to the president, wearing a new windbreaker that would normally be proudly displaying the numerous corporate badges of his supporters, turning the symbol or focal point of American interest in the company for these minutes into a strutting advertising page...
But this new windbreaker does not display the multitude of colored signage normally spotted. Instead, it displays but one symbol, unseen before then. Quick Googling by the reporters and many a political adversary turn up no relevant hits. The computer algorithms have failed them this one time and this shakes them, whether they show it or keep their mask. A short description seems in order, now. Orange or gold or some combination thereof, squared off into a corner at what would be the bottom right of a square, then extending halfway up the sides to turn suddenly into points parallel indicating towards the top-left. Nested between the points, in a pocket by the lower-right, a full circle. After the president makes it to the podium and the collection of individuals quiets, the president speaks.
"I wish to inform the country, and by extension hopefully the world, of a drastic new change about to come. Yes, we are already in the midst of a crisis, and the militaries and countries of the world have joined together wholeheartedly to combat this problem, which originated in this great country of ours."
"However... This new change, this... opportunity... has arisen not from this nation or any nation yet known to this world. I would like to introduce the man beside me to continue," As the said man in green taps them on the shoulder. "Wallace?"
The man identified as one "Wallace" steps up to the podium as the president steps down and heads into the back, whence they came.
"Earth is a beautiful planet, full of opportunities as we all know and is currently in the middle of a crisis. Aliens ply our waters, dig our sands, and are currently waging war on mankind. A war we alone are losing. A war we no longer have to be alone in. I speak as former Administrator for the Black Mesa Compound, where this all began due to the negligence of a few. I have come bearing the answer to our combined problems, not just alien - Overpopulation, starvation, lack of fresh water, the housing crisis - all things we would eventually fall to without help."
"And help I herald, from beyond the stars so recently turned hostile - A union of extraterrestrial beings who have achieved far more than we could ever hope for! And what do they ask of us in return for their help? Nothing more than to join them when we have matured further with their teachings, their guidance. Think! Not only to end this war not but to ascend!"
"Think on that if you will. Remember too that these benefactors may choose to stay their hand if we do not choose soon and annihilate ourselves by our own hand."
"The president wears their symbol. The symbol of the Universal Union."
And what has that brought us? Nearly twenty years of suffering under the iron fist of the Combine with Wallace Breen their willing puppet. What of earth? Well, unless something happens soon, I'm going to lose hope. Well, end of the line. See ya. | 2016-09-19T19:22:10 | 2016-09-19T18:38:45 | 83 | 24 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You're a prolific serial killer. After careful study, the FBI created your profile: you're extremely intelligent, meticulous bordering on OCD, attractive, have a good job. Thing is, you're none of these. You're dumb as a rock. You just keep getting lucky. | My mom always called me special. Her special spark. I couldn't go to normal school, I had to go to special school mommy said. I was what they called "slow". I had to learn sticking and pasting, building walls with bricks, use a hammer. Not electriicitee, that was too dangerous. We had to move around a lot for daddies work, always near the oilfields or factory towns, all over the you S ey. Daddie fired people, mommy had said. I didn't like to paste and stick, bricking was okay. But I had a seacret, I was learning, one day I would be as good as daddy, I would be the best people firer, ever. I had already started to fire small animals, and a handful of children too. They were easiest to catch. Daddy always carried a lighter when he went to work, but sometimes matches. I managed to get some matches to train and lighter liquid. Today was my first time, I managed to fire a person, mommie and daddie will be prood. I waited for her at the bus stop. I dragged her by her hair and covered her eyes. then I put a tire around her and I use the lighter liquid and the matches. She screamed a lot. But mommie said that dad's job of firing people was hard, not for wussies. You had to be strong mentally. People called me mental all the time and I was strong too. I was no wussie. I ignored the screaming and left. Next week we move to another place, daddie has fired a lot of people and I helped. | I've been in special ed since I started school
The first one was easy, they laughed at me. Called me names and made fun of me. I waited until his friends left him alone. He never had a chance. I started lifting weights after that swing set chain circled my neck as a kid. He shouldn't have made fun of me for not counting my change at the cashier correctly. Did you know it takes a half swing to smash a head with something heavy. Its like the fouth of july the burst it makes. The red and the gray everywhere.
They all make fun of me. Other than the first I remember this guy making fun of my stutter... I remember catching him in the beer cooler of the gas station he worked at. I remember pinning him down, my hand over his face... until the light extinguished from his eyes.
My mom says there is a bad man out there. That he is killing people and they can't catch him I remember these people but they deserve it. A gas station guy and a couple others. If he feels like me than I don't feel so bad. Im sick of being the joke.
She wants me home by nine even though I want to drive. I hope they catch this bad man. | 2020-07-04T02:33:20 | 2020-07-04T00:12:23 | 107 | 51 |
[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. | ​
"I believe in you young man!" Captain Mirage shouted from the right. "You're the tip of the spear Rider!" Crimson Fury yelled on his left. *This is my chance! To prove I can be more than just a sidekick!* Red Rider thought to himself. The Veil's men panicked and ran at the sight of the forces of good, as the two super heroes and the trainee charged on. Red Rider running at speeds faster then the best athletes. On to the factory, where Black Veil and her allies thought they were safe.
Her Night Guard agents killed hundreds in the New Town subway bombing. Master thief, terrorist, criminal, and murderer. She herself was personally responsible for the death of the hero Razor's Edge. Now it was time for her movement and it's supporters to come to an end.
Two soldiers attempted to stand their ground and took aim at the trio, but Rider crashed into the pair before they could fire. One crashed to the ground out cold, while the other attempted to land a blow. Rider paired, and broke his arm with a crack, before knocking him out with a punch to the head.
"Nice job kid! Into the factory!" The captain cried. Rider nodded and charged. In front of him lay a three story complex, and a row of loading dock style doors. Black Veil's Night Guard soldiers ran every which way away from Crimson Fury and his fireballs. There was no time to worry about them now, he only had to worry about their boss. He had trained for this, he was ready.
"Right behind you kid." With Captain Mirage at his back, he could do anything. With the fire and fury of all that is just and good, Rider kicked open the door into the dimly lit factory, and charged into the darkness. "I have you now Black Veil! Come out and surrender!"
"How about no?" Came a distant, almost recording like response. The world lit up around him.
"Huh, an electric net. Didn't expect that." The captain said solemnly, right before he and Crimson Fury melted away into nothing. Red Rider was at a loss for words, and out of time. The electricity arced around him before what appeared to be a bolt of lighting hit him squarely in the chest, knocking him to his knees. Something tickled his nose. The air seemed to have an abnormal taste, and his vision went black.
\*\*\*
Black Veil eyed the youth, tied to a chair in front of her in her dimly lit underground command center. Couldn't be more than sixteen. She'd read the reports of the Alliance Academy's trainees and their abilities, but had yet to actually see one up close, let alone capture one. The gas would wear off soon, and then she would have to figure out what to do with him.
Her eyes turned to the tall man to her right. Late 50s, Major Grimm commanded attention with his eye patch, and Night Guard commander uniform. He'd been at her side from the beginning, and lost an eye for her when she parted ways with the Paragon Alliance.
"Major, where is Mirage and the hot head, Fury something? You told me we had them."
"It appeared we did, ma'am, but I don't think they were actually there. The *captain's* illusions, it looks like. When we went to secure the prisoners, the only one there was him."
"You're telling me that they sent this boy in on his own?"
"It looks that way ma'am."
"No". He grumbled, coming back to consciousness. "The Captain will come... The Alliance will come for me... You'll pay."
Veil sighed, and sat down in her own chair, tired of it all. "They aren't coming for you, kid. You've been used."
"That's not true!" He shouted, this time awake and fully aware of his situation.
"Kid, Captain Mirage didn't know about our taser net before you ran into it, and now he does. He needed someone to trip the sensor and set off the trap. That was you."
The kid started to protest, but she cut him off. "You're lucky, really, that no permanent harm came to any of the guards." "How long did the doc say Sergeant Fisher will be down?"
"Two weeks at the most ma'am. That biogell the lab whipped up should mend his arm fully by then." Major Grimm responded dutifully.
"That's not right. Crimson Fury. He was firing off fury bolts. He was right behind me and..." He trailed off.
"Kid, how old are you?" Black Veil asked.
"I'll be sixteen in three months."
*He should be in school. Learning high school life lessons. Not siting in front of me, tied to a chair.* Black Veil thought. "Where are your parents?"
She could see the anger rising up in him. "I don't know. I haven't seen them since I was ten, when I left for Paragon Academy. They use to write to me, but... I shouldn't be telling you this. You'd hunt them down and use them against me." The Major failed to stifle a laugh and Black Veil smiled. "You think kidnapping my parents is funny?" The teenager demanded.
"Is that what they told you? That I would kidnap your parents? That I would torture them to make you talk?" She was laughing now, she couldn't help it. "You must think I'm a monster."
"You're not going to torture me and kill me?" He asked, clearly confused.
"Kill you? No of course not! All I wanted was to be left alone. The Alliance seems to want to make that impossible now that I left their little gang. Attacking my agents. Blaming my Night Guard and me for terrorist attacks. And now, apparently, sending kids on suicide missions to test my defenses."
"But. The Paragon Alliance defends all that is good in the world. Hunts down evil doers. You're a villain, right? You couldn't have been a member."
"I was once.. I thought I was doing something good in the world, and protecting those I loved. And then I found out they were corrupt to the core. Framing and villainizing anyone who stood up to them. So I left. Took a bunch of their files with me as well. Thomas Grimm here lost an eye helping me escape. I promise you I'm not the monster they told you I was."
The boy was silent for a while, trying to process all he had just heard. "If you aren't going to kill me, what happens now?"
That was the most important question he had asked all day. "Well, unfortunately I can't let you leave just yet, now that you've seen the inside of my lair, as it were. Knowing the Alliance, they're likely already working on a story of how I'm turning you evil."
She got up, and in a move that surprised Red Rider, cut the rope holding him down to his chair. "Might as well get you a room, and some food, Since you will be staying for a while. I'd ask you not to run off, but there really isn't any where to run to under ground. Come, let me show you around." | *Note first prompt pls no rage on bad "x" thing*
Standing on the roof of skyscraper; you're just a few minutes away from unleashing the most powerful, the most incredible monstrosity upon the world and finally claim it as your own.
/You hear sound coming beneath you followed by the ground starting to tremble/
Suddenly coming from beneath floor appears the so-called "Number 1 Hero"... Bob and his sidekick... "Fantistic Juan" wait hang on I think he is "Fantistic Juan...the..uhh..fourth...no maybe fith... aaah who cares he is just the sidekick anyway" you think to yourself.
As your ultimate weapon has been charging and now with only seconds to spare; you try and hold off Bob and his sidekick Juan but with just a momentary lapse of focus Juan managed to land a critical blow which damaged a crucial component triggering the self-destruct sequence (which was initially added to prevent the hero organization from screwing you over again). "You fool!" you shout at Juan "Do you have any idea how long it took to perfect and build that? ... Parts are fricken expensive and hard to come by man; couldn't you have literally just stood there or even hit one of the cheaper components is that too much to ask for.."
With the ultimate weapon about to implode upon itself; Bob punches you with little restraint causing you stagger backwards. "This is the last time you'll ever try something like this again Garathor" Bob yells as he blasts you off the roof with his seemingly overpowered energy-blast.
You start falling off the roof to what seems to be a nice hard concrete bed of DEATH. As you decide that is not really to your liking you open a dimensional-rift a couple of feet below you. Moments before you fall into the rift... it dawns on you - you can make Bob regret stopping you for the last and final time ever(you think atleast).
You realize the "Not So Fantastic Juan.. after he broke your ultimate weapon" is standing over the edge watching you fall. You use your pre-owned mind-grasp device that you got on sale at the local VillianMart ( which channels your willpower and intelligence which allows the user to inhibit telekentic powers for a short duration ) to grab Juan off the roof and through the rift with you.
/You both slam into your secret cave with a thub and a couple of groans later/
Juan looks at you and states "I will stop you Garathor, just wait until Bob gets ...he..re.." He vomits and you laugh maniacally "I see the inter-dimensional travel sickness has got you good huh?" He continues to hurl as you chain him preventing him from resisting and continuing your monologue about how truly amazing you are and how they are not ..blah blah blah yada yada yada some other important things and the monologue ends.
"So sidekick tell me exactly what I want to know otherwise this could get real painful, real quick" you notice that all the spunk and confident demeanor has disappeared leaving behind an appearance akin to that of a stray, abused dog.
"WHATS THE MATTER NOW? I JUST CAN'T GET A BREAK CAN I, FIRST YOU BREAK THE FRICKEN EXPENSIVE MACHINE AND NOW YOU START SULKING WHAT IS UP WITH YOU... UGGHHH" You yell as you pace up and down. While enraged you notice the uniform Juan is wearing seems identical to his predecessors; upon furthed inspection you start to notice scarring and scar tissue over his body.
You calm yourself, sit down next to him and ask "Now look here sidekick even though we don't always see eye to eye, heck we never see eye to eye. Whats up with this uniform it looks as old as the first Fantastic Juans', also whats up with all the scars?".
Juan begins to break down crying; just moments ago before your master plan was thwarted there was this energetic and lively sidekick; now all thats left is a husk of his former self that's emitting beaten, broken and hopeless aura.
"Geez just answer the questiosn will you" you state even though your concern is growing. Juan starts speaking "You know what? My name isn't even Juan not even remotely close my real name is Eric. And yes this is that exact uniform from all the previous Juans as for the scars; whenever Bob loses a fight or wants to train guess who is used as a personal punching bag because I'm "just a sidekick". What do you think happened to my predecessors?... you know what ignore everything and just end it here I dont care anymore" Eric closes his eyes and it seems as though he is awaiting something.
You unclip his shackles and tell him to follow you; as Eric follows you through this ever-shifting dimension of yours you start talking to him "You know Eric I have fought many-a Juans over the years but I never knew what happened to them but now it all comes together. When I was younger my father used to beat me just for the sake of "building character" he said after each beating. So I know the rage, resentment and hate boiling from within you and all I can say is... USE THAT AS FUEL, USE THAT TO DRIVE YOU, USE THAT TO BECOME SO POWERFUL NO ONE WILL DARE LAY SO MUCH AS A FINGER ON YOU WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION..."
/You notice a faint smile on his face and the return of life within his eyes as you walk.../
/As you reach your destination you tell Eric that there are appropriately sized clothes within the room and that he should take a shower and get changed into the clothes/
Eric comes out after a while with a huge grin on his face; "What?" you ask - Eric responds "No one has ever treated me so kindly before or even treated me as another human before; you know I am actually 16 right?". It dawns on you, for these mere moments you were helping this boy; you were more of a hero to him than the so-called "Number 1 Hero".
"You know if you want you can stay here, you can have that room. We might be a little broken but I think two broken might just make one whole person... or one worse person but lets focus on the positive" you ask the kid. The boy is overjoyed and jumps onto you squeezing and hugging you well stating "Are you sure? You aren't joking right? A room just for myself? You know I've always had to sleep in the living room in the couch or on the mats in the exercise room.."
"Geez, alright kid and yes to all of the above would you just get off me.. We need to go grab some dinner"
/You and your newly "adopted" to-be villiabous-sidekick head off to enjoy a meal in what the kid will realize is the dimension which all villains reside within/ | 2020-03-26T17:58:34 | 2020-03-26T17:01:36 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet.
"This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd.
"Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog.
Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out."
Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now.
"No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates."
The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins.
The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here.
As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind..
# "RIP AND TEAR!" | It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means *literally anything*. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset.
It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore.
“Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!”
Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa-
“Son of a biiiiiiiii-“
END
Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak. | 2020-09-13T19:02:15 | 2020-09-13T18:47:59 | 70 | 10 |
[WP] An asteroid is about to destroy Earth, The Onion reported the news without losing their sense of humor. | March 5th: "Scientists admit asteroid 'a hoax'; 'but please, we really do need more money'"
March 6th: "Asteroid insurance companies brace for financial ruin"
March 7th: "New fashion trends emerge amidst worldwide riots"
March 8th: "World-leader spaceship-departure meets applause: 'They're finally gone!'"
March 9th: "'The Onion' considering merger with Martian news company. 'Screw you all, I've got mine,' says editor"
March 10th: "Crazy, schizophrenic end-timers vindicated! Their psychiatrists hate us!"
March 11th: "This may be The Onion's final broadcast. Please preserve this article for future generations." | "Asteroid kills last of the endangered African Tigers...also all of humanity."
It's been our pleasure writing for you...mostly. Actually, we found our general demographic to be far more cognitively impaired than expected. Perhaps the hyperevolved cockroach people will develop a satirical news agency to address that issue after they succeed us. Well, good luck to everyone with the whole extermination of the human race. Sucks, huh?
Edit: I typed a word at 2am | 2015-04-29T23:34:04 | 2015-04-29T23:33:26 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] In the canine world, humans are celestial beings who live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you and the past seven generations of your family will die soon. | *Because fuck ya'll and your depressing stories. Let's make this a little more happy, eh? Or at least as happy as possible following the prompt.*
I never knew master's wife. Father said that she was kind and generous and fed him scraps from the table when master wasn't looking. Master did the same, too, of course. That's what humans did.
Master was a god, father told me when I was younger. He cared for us, he protected us, he taught us and he played with us. In return we offered our service, paltry as it was. Always faithful to our master. How could we not be? Those were long years ago, now. Father had since passed, and I had children of my own. The master's children kept them, they visited often in their grand chariots. It was good days when they came to visit.
I was old now. My time would be up soon, I knew it. I didn't mind. I had fathered many children, gone on many walks, sniffed many butts. I would rest soon. Which was good, because I was tired. Sometimes I forgot I was tired, usually when I was with master, and I would play like I was a puppy again. Then I would be very tired.
I thought about my life as I lay on my back, comfortable. I heard the door open, the familiar footsteps of master. I waited for a moment. "Dag nabbit Tex I told you don't get on the couch!" He muttered, tossing his hat onto the rack. "Well, if you're not getting off at least make some room."
Father said that humans lived eons, that master had been his master, and his father's before him, and his father's before him, more generations than father could remember. I was glad, master was a good master, he was kind. He sat beside me, I put my head on his lap and looked up at him. In return he scratched me behind my ears. I felt my eyes close. Certainly master was magic, nothing else felt like that. Ohh....
"Come on, Tex. We've gotta go to the store. Wanna ride in the car?"
I scrambled to my feet, barking. Yes! A ride in the chariot! What a treat. Master secured my leash to my collar, struggling with it a little. We got in the chariot and it made a noise like a lion's roar. I barked in response, I would teach it to threaten master. Stupid Chariot.
As master drove he kept one hand on the back of my head. He was nice, I panted happily, letting the world pass me by, until he stopped scratching me. I was puzzled. Master lifted his hand to his chest, the other on the reigns of the chariot. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Master winced in pain, I barked an alarm.
I looked for something, anything to help, but the car was moving too fast and we weren't even on the road anymore, there was a tree ahead and it was big and heavy and I was scared and I kept barking.
Then it was over. How had we gotten here? It was nice, a green field, trees, balls and ropes and rawhide bones and the couch was here too! Wow, what was this place? It's awesome!
There were other dogs, too. Dogs I knew. Friends! I ran over, barking my excitement. It was father! But he was so young! Barely more than a pup. Mother too! And grandfather, who I had smelled once before I opened my eyes. I was so happy, my tail wagged and wagged, and I barked and barked.
There was a sudden stillness. I looked. Master was here, but it wasn't master. He was young, as young as his children, but he was the same master I knew. He smiled at me, and at all of us, and we ran to him, bowled him over in our eagerness and he just laughed and laughed, hugging us to him. "Tex! Ralph! Wolfie, Scott, Amy! Oh, it's good to see you all again!" He shouted, we barked back.
Master stood, brushing himself off. His eyes were far away, I followed his gaze. It was a woman. Father ran to her, I followed, and master came too. She spoke, a kind voice, "we've been waiting."
He laughed and she laughed and I barked and I ran and played with master and his wife and father. We played all day, and for days and days and days, like I did when I was a puppy. But now I wasn't tired, and nothing hurt, and master was happy. I don't know how we got to this wonderful place, but I knew where I was.
Home. | I'm a Good Boy. Everyone tells me so. That's why my person loves me so much and keeps me around. My mum must have been a Good Girl too, because he looked after her. And her mum. And all the other dogs here. My person is a Good Boy too. He looks after us all. Small-Three-Leg, Old-One-eye, Soft-Fur, and me. They call me Loud-Bark. But our person calls us all different names. He calls me Max. I like that name the best.
I don't know my person's name. Their language is a secret. I only know a few words. My favourites are ''walkies'', ''ball'' and ''dinner''. But my *most favourite* is ''Good Boy''.
I'm a Good Boy.
My person isn't here right now and I'm worried. Last night other people came and took him away. They were angry people, pointing their loud sticks and shouting. Normally people are the best. I don't like those people. Old-One-Eye growled at them but my person told us to ''stay''. So we did. We watched him go. Now the sun's up and he's still gone. Small-Three-Leg thinks we should go find him, Small-Three-Leg is the bravest. So we're going to go find our person. Old-One-Eye has opened a hole in the fence. Old-One-Eye is big and strong. He thinks these people smell like the people who made him One-Eye. He does not like these people.
We move quickly. Soft-Fur is following the scent my person cleverly left for us. My person is smart, and Soft-Fur is the best tracker in the world. There are people everywhere. Shouting, crying. Some of them have the loud sticks. They are shouting loudest of all. Soft-Fur thinks they are herding people, like she used to do with sheep before she came to us.
These people are not Good Boys.
We see more dogs, they are eating together. They see us and growl. They do not want to share their food. But we don't want to eat it. It's a *person*! A small person. A *person puppy*!They are not Good Boys.
They step forward, tails up, ears forward. Growling. They want to fight. But Old-One-Eye steps forward too. He's the strongest dog in the world. They know he will beat them, so they go away.
We walk for the whole day. It's dark now, but Soft-Fur says she can smell our person, so we don't stop. Not for sticks, not for balls, not for food. We walk through field and forest, we cross the river. We are walking to where the loud sticks are noisiest. Even Small-Three-Leg seems afraid.
We find our person. He's lying down in the grass, his breathing is shallow. We can smell his blood. He is hurt. He is dying. But he sees us and his face lights up. He is happy to see us. He hugs us all and calls us Good Boys and Girls. Our tails wag and we lick him all over. He talks for a while and clutches at his bead toy that we can't touch. Soon after, he is dead. We stay with him, there's nothing else to do. He is our person. We will stay with him. His last words to me were my favourite. He called me ''Good Boy''
I'm a Good Boy.
The sun comes up, and we see more people. Soft-Fur smells them first. They smell like anger. They smell like fighting. Then we smell something else. They smell like our person. These are the ones that took him. These three are the ones that hurt him. They killed our person.
Small-Three-Leg runs towards them, snarling and barking. They pick him up as he growls and bites. They laugh. Small-Three-Leg is the bravest dog in the world. But he is still small.
Old-One-Eye is not small. Before they have time to point their loud sticks, Old-One-Eye pins one to the floor, tearing at his face. He screams. Soft Fur jumps at the other, latching on to his throat. He does not have time to scream. There is one more. He is holding Small-Three-Leg and runs away.
My person taught me not to hurt the other people. It's not what Good Boys do.
I'm a Good Boy. But I chase him anyway. I catch his leg and bring him to the floor. He cries as Small-Three-Leg bites at his fingers. I will kill this person for taking my person. I'm sure my person would want that. These people are not Good Boys, they deserve this he'd say.
He'd call me a Good Boy. And I am.
I am a Good Boy. | 2016-11-21T19:15:40 | 2016-11-21T19:03:46 | 264 | 52 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism. | "Sweetie, listen to your father," she pleaded.
"Son, do you know how your mother and I got this far?" His father asked pointedly as he waved his spoon in the air.
"Ugh, not this again..."
"Your mother and I got where we are by settling. We had a government sanctioned union, had the government required number of offspring, took those splendid government jobs, and look at these tasty rations we have every single night to thank for it," his father continued, gesturing now to the food on his plate.
Ron had heard this speech so often he could recite it himself. Every time his parents got a whiff of his aspirations, every time they heard him make a side remark about changing the world, or fighting for the underclass, they started up again.
"Sweetie, we love you and we want you to have a future just like this one," his mother looked at him with eyes that spoke of worry.
"Forget this nonsense about resistance! The only thing you should be resisting is the urge to make an ass of yourself and devastate your mother," his dad raised his voice.
Ron knew it was no use. Having a disagreement with his father was like yelling in an echo chamber- everything he said his father would repeat in a cynical and interrogative tone.
He calmly set down his napkin and left the dinner table, his food untouched. He knew what he needed to do and he knew his parents were too brainwashed by the regime to understand the need for change.
His mothers eyes welled up as he walked away.
"Now, now dear. It will be alright," her husband tried to reassure her. "Maybe we talk to Cathy, get him a summer internship laminating government declarations. That should knock some sense into him." | "No" my wife stated firmly.
"Jean, he's obviously got issues; he can't be the only one like this but my god.... he's going to get someone killed"
Our young, well, adolescent son, has recently been experiencing some terrible consequences because of my massive fuckup. I mean, how was it supposed to know he'd find that old box in the garage. He's been defending smaller kids from bullies in school, teaching them about morals... it's getting out of hand. I just wish he could be like the rest of us. We're evil, it's what we do. The world is a better place for it. The strong survive and the weak die. Simple and elegant, beautiful really. But all because of one heirloom from my father's father's father, we have a severely messed up kid. It seems as if we may have to take him in for reconditioning again. I hope this time it'll work. I've already thrown out the heirloom, I mean who the fuck is able to find a DVD player to watch it on, it's 2065 for Trumps sake. That boy will be the death of this family. It took me 45 minutes to find that damn disc hidden behind his ridiculous poster of an elf on his wall. I could barely make out the name on it, all that was left read "L--D -- T-- R-NGS" | 2016-11-26T05:51:54 | 2016-11-26T05:42:08 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time. | I have three hours to sunrise. I write in this journal every night that I can. One night every 28 days. One glorious moon-filled night where I am master of my own mind. The remaining 28 days and 27 nights are ... different. I can barely remember them when I am in this state to be honest. It feels like a memory of someone else's life. And I hate that someone else for stealing that time from me.
I have attempted multiple treatments to extend my lucid periods with no progress to show. I have reliably demonstrate that actual lunar radiation makes no difference as cloud cover does not delay onset of symptoms. I have not yet attempted a travel plan where I would chase the night around the globe and thereby extend my gifted period. If I time it right for the full moon nearest the winter solstice, I may get up to 31 hours of night. I also have not attempted to move north of the arctic circle for longer nights as it still appears that a full moon is required.
The first night was confusing. I did not know who I was nor what I was doing. I could feel new connections coming alive in my cranium. I searched hungrily for any information of any sort. There were, of course, no books in the room I woke up in. The television only showed late night pablum. I did find a phone that granted me access to the Internet - and I tore through everything I could find. I deleted all the pornography bookmarks and replaced them with Shakespeare, Newton, Plato, and more. For nine glorious hours I gorged on everything I could find. But as the first rays of light crept over the horizon, I could feel my mind start to ebb from me. It was a little like falling asleep.
When I next woke, I found that nearly a month had passed. I awoke in an automobile of some sort. I found a different phone in my pocket than last time. All the bookmarks were gone, once more replaced by filth of the most depraved sort. I spent that night, again, learning everything I could about science, technology, mathematics, philosophy, art, and the word around me. Once more, the sun destroyed my mind.
The third night I was better prepared. Another 28 days had passed. I knew that my life was quantized and measured - one night every full moon to live to my full potential. I hoarded every minute as jealously as I could. If my life was to be a blink of the eye, then I would make it as brilliant as possible. I emailed professors solutions to mathematical equations that had stumped the ages. I sent a treatise on cancer remission to leading journals. I changed several critical interfaces to the electric grid to make it more fault tolerant. And then the cursed sun stole my life from me again.
This is my twelfth night. I keep this journal hidden away but my daytime self always seems to find it and destroy it. I loathe that creature for stealing my life. I should be the one walking through the daylight not him!
Alas, I believe some of me is leaking through to him. Not my intelligence - that's mine. But the desire to change to world. I fear for him. I fear for everyone. But one night a month I will still be here. I will still be working behind the scenes to help the world.
The sun ...
The door crept open as a young man in a suit entered the office. His boss didn't usually get in this early but he was unpredictable at the best of time. He saw his boss with his head readying on the desk in front of him wearing the same suit as yesterday. Quietly, he went over and woke him.
"Another long night Mr. Trump?" | It all began with Einstein’s evil twin.
There I was crying quietly to myself under the oak tree by the lake after a day of being ridiculed by the local townsfolk. Out of nowhere, this Einstein lookalike came out of the woods rambling to himself. I told him to go away, but he then did something I’d never forget.
He bit me. Right on my chin.
Shrieking with pain I beat him senseless then ran off back to my house. I was half groggy from pain and half scared from the man. One night, I came home to my delight and horror as I did string theory when making spaghetti for a late supper. It didn’t take long to make a correlation to the full moon, to deduce the mythical were-genius that bit me.
Soon afterwards, I spent all my reminding money purchasing advanced textbooks and materials for my ingenious projects. The shopkeepers all laughed at me. But under my breath I promised that I would help the world and make them swallow their words.
***
I watched all the half-projects that I started every full moon of each month strewn on the table. Tear stains were visible on many of them, some even distorting the equations and words. I felt wetness in my eyes as I remembered sobbing over my hard work when the blanket of idiocy descended upon me.
A cure for cancer. A solution to ending world hunger. A way to balance out global warming.
Morosely, I scraped off the bits and pieces of metal of the incomplete plans into a bin. The dull clunk the lid made subtly portrayed my feelings as I sat down dejectedly.
So many humans, creatures and plants could have been saved if I had more than a day to work with. So much life could have been saved were it not for the curse of the ware-genius.
The chair fell over as I shoot up abruptly. Shaking my fists at the innocent-looking moon hanging in the sky, I yelled in frustration, cursing its name.
All thoughts of improving the world had vanished from my mind. Only ideas of various ways to destroy the accursed thing ran rampant inside me. I will do everything I can to stop it from crossing the horizon.
That’s it. A brilliant spark hit me right then and there. I didn’t need to stop the moon from going to the horizon. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t in the same timeframe when it went down.
A slow smiled tugged at my lips as I realized the device I should have created long ago. I would devise a machine that would project a time bubble around me and my laboratory. The effects of the full moon would never wane while the bubble was active.
The mass of diagrams for the former projects was scattered with a wipe of my arms. I whipped out my pencil and grabbed another piece of paper.
Above me the moon dipped towards the horizon, while I worked ceaselessly to get the most important parts done. I could feel my mind getting foggier by the minute, but instead of stopping and bawling my eyes out, I hurried on.
As daybreak broke, I put down my pencil with a sigh. I admired the outlines and sketches I created. The diagrams and calculations I drawn now looked so unfamiliar to me, but I knew they were completed.
Next month, I promised myself as I carefully scrolled up my work and put them in the safe on the wall. Next month, I will finish building the machine and then the world will know peace.
| 2016-08-17T08:00:23 | 2016-08-17T07:58:12 | 63 | 15 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | "Has anyone here used their one kill yet" the office manager asked, he didn't hear the footsteps or see him coming. The knife went into his back a great many times, there was no struggle.
The managers body fell to the floor and there stood Tom holding the knife dripping with blood.
"I have." Tom said calmly.
"Well Tom," Nancy, the office managers assistant said "it looks like you're the new office manager, and that makes me your assistant."
"Oh. Wait, is that really how this works?"
"Yep, it sure is." Nancy took Toms knife from him. "Let me clean this of his blood."
"Thanks Nancy, you know you seem-" Tom looked down at his chest, there was his knife. "Nancy did you just stab me?"
"Yes, yes I did." Nancy said with a pleasant smile.
"That's rude, I'm your boss."
"No Tom, you're dead."
Toms body joined the first managers body.
"Well, would you look at that! Nancy, you're the new manager." Elliot said now standing next to the bodies. "Would you like the knife back?"
"Why thank you, Elliot. Wait a second, you aren't gonna stab me are you?"
Elliot looked up at Nancy after stabbing her in the stomach "Come again?"
Nancy's body now joined the other bodies.
"Well, hey Elliot-"
"Don't fucking try it." Elliot said pointing the knife in the direction of the voice. | Every since The Amendment, there has been an increase in kidnappings; babies in hospitals to lonely adults. People started buying slaves, the rich buying by the dozens. The Amendment states that anyone who is a registered citizen is allowed to legally kill one person registered or not.
The only country that has not accepted The Amendment was Switzerland. There was a growing concern about how all countries including the rogue North Korea quickly implemented The Amendment.
When conspiracy theories went wild online, large parts of the Internet was shutdown. Various news media also had to follow the guidelines of the state to censor their broadcasts and / or publications; which of course was not publicized. Censorship ran rampant everywhere.
Countries fell one by one into anarchy as everyone started killing each other whether be it revenge, hatred or just for fun. Switzerland stood alone, doing damage control and securing their country along their borders.
The rich grew more powerful overnight. Money talks. Soon a new group of elites grew out of the anarchy, which called themselves by a familiar name, The Illuminati. They collective gathered their resources and were now looking to go after the remaining safe haven, Switzerland... | 2017-12-03T09:22:40 | 2017-12-03T06:28:57 | 69 | 39 |
[WP] You, a survivor of the zombie apocalypse, realise that you can restore the humanity of the zombies by biting them. | We were wandering the central hospital when Jared pulled out the survival book for the nth time. It was your run-of-the-mill zombie apocalypse guidelines.
"Move slowly and methodically"
"Travel in packs"
"Don't let them bite you, you **will** turn."
etc, etc.
Nothing we hadn't read before.
The rest of the group lagged behind, many of them limping, a handful of us missing limbs. If only the hospital had been in service.
"Pick it up back there!" Jared yelled the message back at them, "We don't know if the eastern wing has been cleared."
We marched down the hall, illuminated only by the sporadic broken ceiling lights. The east wing doors were barred closed. Perhaps a group had been here before.
"All together now!" Jared groaned loudly.
We gathered and clawed at the door, and with the lot of us behind it, we were able to break through.
The next hallway was clear, but we did good to search the corners for any bits of food. The hunger was insatiable, it always was.
We passed operating tables, offices, bathrooms but nothing was of use. The remains of this place would have been a massive help, but it looked as if it had been picked clean, likely by another troop before us.
Jared let out a sigh of exhaustion and sauntered towards the eastern exit, as to tell us that we needed to keep moving.
We led an untidy line out of the hospital, out to the street. We could see some bodies ahead of us, and for once they weren't dead ones.
"You there!" Jared said to them. They turned, wide eyed as if they didn't understand him.
Their surprised looks turned into glares of determination.
"Ohh shit" the look on Jared's starving face said it all, he didn't have to speak this time.
They weren't another group like us; they were the Hunters, a hostile people that traversed the lands after the Apocalypse, looting and killing at will.
We bolted in the opposite direction but it wasn't fast enough. Every step seemed to take five seconds. Time had slowed down, or maybe it was just us.
I looked over my shoulder and one of them was right on my tail.
"AAAHHHHHHHHH!" his eyes burned with conviction.
It lunged at me, and its toothed mouth sank into my shoulder.
First it was white, completely mute.
"Was this it? Am I in heaven?" I looked down at my clean hands.
My once damaged skin was now firm and smooth, my gashes sealed.
Voices started to break through and the whiteness faded. At first they were too distant, but then louder.
"Ben! Ben, can you hear us?"
I looked up and saw my family, old friends as well.
My brother smiled down at me and let out a hand.
"Sorry for biting you bro, hope it didn't sting too bad."
| "Hahaha! Woo hoo! This is awesome!" Earl yells as we sprint away from the crawling carcass. The IED we made goes off and zombie bits go everywhere. Earl whooped and hollered some more. How Earl could mantain this level of joy was beyond me. I just assumed he went crazy a while ago.
"We need to get shelter fast!" I yell at Earl. Earl nods his understanding, and we duck into a nearby building. We push open the door and a bell rings. It looks like it used to be a convenient store. Obviously the store had been looted at the start of the apocalypse so it looks like granola bars for dinner again.
We head into a back room so no zombies can see us by looking through the windows. I take my knife out of its sheath and clean it from a day's work. Earl was gazing intently at me. "Is there a problem?" I ask, annoyed.
"You've never talked about your past. You know, what you did before the zombies appeared."
"And we don't need to," I blatantly state. My past is something best left in the past. Let's just say that people who've killed before are the most comfortable with killing zombies.
All of a sudden, the tintinabulation of a bell fills the shop. The sound, and the fear carried with it, are almost tangible. I quickly arm myself with my knife and Earl unsheathes his machete. We crouch are way out into the main part of the store, and sure enough a zombie has entered.
She hasn't spotted us yet. We inch our way along the outside of the room. We can surprise attack her and kill her with little trouble. Suddenly I kick something and the resulting sound fills me with dread. I kicked a shaving cream can, and a metal can on linoleum floor is about as loud as a bombshell.
The zombie stares directly at me and charges. She moves much faster than the average zombie. This one must be fresh. I dodge out of the way and slice her leg with my knife. Her leg bleeds, but it won't stop her. Earl is nowhere in sight. Where did he go?
That question is soon answered, as Earl appears on top of a shelf above the zombie. As she prepares for a second attack, Earl leaps from the top of the shelf and bites her. "What are you doing Earl?! Chop off her head! Kill her! Kill her!" I yell exasperated. Earl signals for me to wait.
The zombie begins to writhe, as if in pain. The sickly green that was once her skin becomes a more natural color. Her eyes go from glazed over to a sharp attentiveness. She's become human.
| 2017-07-02T08:45:34 | 2017-07-02T08:20:45 | 127 | 28 |
[WP] Discharged veteran, Kevin McAllister, returns home to handle his family's estate, mainly the decaying property in a gentrifying Chicago suburb. To the disappointment of a land developer, he won't sell. “We’ll make him sell. He’s a broken man, wounded and home alone”. | The German slapped Kevin. He was a professional- hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to break anything. Not the way Kevin McAllister had wanted to spend Christmas.
How that asshole Rolls Messner managed to afford this, he had no idea until the next words out of Shucklegruber's mouth:
"Where is the key to the weapons room?"
Kevin gaped long enough at the idea to get another smack, this one loosening a few teeth.
"You didn't think your father could afford this selling insurance, did you? There is an armory. Missiles. Chemical warheads. Perhaps a nuclear one, if he didn't sell it to the Koreans."
"You had no reason to stay here other than to protect it. The door. The password. Any more of your asinine traps and how to disarm them."
Stars filled his sight as the backhand snapped his head around.
"You are home. Home alone. One handed, a pathetic American play-soldier who couldn't keep all his parts while building sand castles for your Uncle Sam. You will tell us, or you will die. Hard. Slowly."
"Uh.....Uncle John."
"What?"
"Uncle John."
The body managed to plow through the roof and into the second-story room where the interrogation was taking place. The thug was very thoroughly dead, and a note graced the metal nail that had been spiked cleanly through the bridge of the man's nose, killing him instantly.
The Santa hat finally slipped off a thoroughly abused skull, briefly obscuring the sharpie-written shirt note on the way down.
"THEY'VE KILLED FRITZ!", one thug said to the obvious. "THAT LOUSY STINKING YELLOW-"
Shucklegruber simply and calmly put a pistol under the screamer's chin.
"Silence, Max." Max's jaw clamped shut. "We will have no screaming to alert the neighbors, the phone lines have already suffered an "unfortunate outage", and the only thing that would bring the police here would be an idiot like YOU hollering-"
Kevin began to giggle, the laugh of a child a third his age as he read the dead man's shirt.
NOW I HAVE A SHOTGUN. HO HO HO.
"You should have let me call the cops."
| Kevin sat in his family’s once great dining room, now dingy and dilapidated from years of neglect. The cast around his right wrist was tight, “Only 10% for this?”, Kevin thought.
Kevin flicked the fried chicken crumbs from his protruding belly as he reached into the red and white bucket for another delicious chicken leg, his Grunt Style shirt now riddled with grease.
“They won’t take this from me, I survived life on REAR-D. I can face any challenge that awaits me,” Kevin said as he began to stand from the dusty, creaking chair bearing his god-like weight.
Kevin winced grabbing his right wrist. He knew his carpal tunnel wouldn’t heal anytime soon, but this wouldn’t slow him down. Kevin was a Combat Culinary Specialist in the Army, he was trained for warfare inside and outside of the dining room.
Kevin was in the Army for 11 grueling months, a career cut short because of “PT Standards”.
Boom, Boom, Boom.
It was a knock at the front door.
“This is it! Hooah!” Kevin screamed. His 435 pound hulking frame began moving at the speed of a Koala toward the aggressive knocking. The table Kevin had been sitting at was knocked over now in the wake of his sheer power; biscuits, gravy, and chicken bones were strewn across the dining room.
A pasty, gravy soaked, passive aggressive veteran quote bearing ball of fury was nearing the door and what was at the other side had no idea what was about to hit them.
Kevin’s wrist pain had changed into an overwhelming pain across his chest and Kevin began to gasp for air.
Kevin collapsed a mere 250 feet from the front door. His world was beginning to go dark.
Mrs. McAllister opened the door.
“Kevin?!! Get up off the floor, my sweet boy! Momma’s brought home tendies and hunny mussey for my strong warrior.”
Kevin’s eyes opened with a sluggish vigor. The warrior lived to fight another day... | 2018-12-19T20:33:12 | 2018-12-19T19:55:58 | 77 | 17 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes. | 'General Jacob what are you orders?'
'Shoot to kill, use nerf guns lieutenant.'
'Sir?'
I'm a clown by trade, yet somehow they believe that I'm a general of the most powerful army in existence.
'Do I have to honk my nose twice?'
'No sir. It's just how do I kill using a nerf gun?'
I tied a balloon in the shape of the dog and popped it near his face. I've never seen someone scramble so fast.
'In the world at 6, the American military has changed tactics with North Korea in a startling move...they are...no that can't be right Jim...no...yes....nerf guns? *Clears throat* we'll be back after these commercial messages.'
Well, you might say I'm taking things too far. But as we say in the clown trade "Too far is not far enough when you're stuck in a small car." *honk honk* I smiled with glee.
'The nerfs were incredible successful, Kim was psychologically unprepared and the North Koreans immediately retreated. Pschologucal warfare at its finest. We're collecting further intel from the drones, how should we proceed?'
'The only drone I see here is you lieutenant.
Launch the Star Wars offensive.'
'Sir..there's no such thing.'
'Goddamn it bring out Anakin.'
'....'
'Skywalker, Jesus what the hell is wrong with you? Send the Jedis to Iran immediately.'
'I...think-'
'You're not paid to think, come here...shake my hand' *ZAP*
Well, well a clown can do anything in this town. Hehehe what's the bat going to do when he finds out I created world peace?
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/idontworkherelady] [These are great! Not real stories but come on, if anything deserve a crossover on here its this.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IDontWorkHereLady/comments/96ttt1/these_are_great_not_real_stories_but_come_on_if/)
- [/r/u_grimlawd] [\[WP\] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_GrimLawd/comments/96ul9h/wp_no_matter_where_you_are_what_youre_dressed/)
- [/r/u_jodicki] [USAA](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_jodicki/comments/96u3zy/usaa/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2018-08-12T17:07:36 | 2018-08-12T17:05:21 | 148 | 18 |
[WP] A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper.
A person invents a time machine for the sole purpose of traveling back in time to get the autographs of every historical figure (Washington, Napoléon, Hitler, Marline Monroe, JFK) before they die. After making hundreds of trips he becomes known throughout time as the grim reaper. | First off, I made I set rules for myself. I would visit the historical figures I admired, writers, philosophers, scientist mostly, as near to their recorded deaths as possible. I'd get to meet them, get a keepsake and a chance to share with them what they had accomplished and how they would be remembered. I wouldn't alter their accomplishments or their life's work, or change the course of history in anyway. I'd time it perfectly, so that i'd appear to them alone, in their last coherent moments, and so that I could be the last people they interacted with.
It didn't go as planned obviously. It was just impossible to time it perfectly and I'd occasionally see bystanders, friends, family members - hell, even the subject, turn towards me. If i'd see this - I'd flicker out of existence, recalculate the date and time - and try again. No one really saw me clearly, I was sure of that.
Much later, I saw, and heard reference to the meme, or at least that's what I thought it was at first... little changes to the timeline, our culture, whatever.
When I'd make my brief returns to the present, I thought... that the fear and unease people seemed to feel about death was a new thing, a fade, just a crazy notion. I honestly didn't understand what I was doing, or I would have stopped sooner, before the present became unrecognizable.
But I realize now, that yes, during my travels, more and more I was greeted by looks of horror instead of curiosity.
How was I to know though? I couldn't see myself - or how I looked to them. I would arrive at various times, briefly, and if their was anyone other then the subject around, or if it wasn't near enough to the end - I would disappear!
I know now how it appeared to them - the living. A dark shape appearing in the darkness, a pale face peering out from beneath the black cloak, my form covered head to toe in shadows, the black goggles looking like empty sockets, the portal in spacetime arched above me like a glowing scythe, generated by a black staff gripped tightly in my hand.
So, you're here now - visiting me, at the end of my life I suppose. Honoring me for my contribution to culture - the idea I created. The fear I introduced into the equation. The religions created and wars waged, the fact that scientific advancement was pushed so far back and that our world is now depleted by technologies created to prolong life and overpopulated by people desperate to live longer.
In my world, we all knew that death was nothing to fear. It was peace, freedom and joy, a graduation to something beautiful and new. I've ruined that. I've introduced despair.
Leave me to die in peace. I hate the world I've inadvertently created. | "I'm just, like, such a *huge* fan!" The girl said as she rushed after the man, who turned to look at her with a confused expression.
"A huge...fan?"
"Oh." The girl said as she checked a small device on her wrist. "Silly me, had this set to the wrong century but hey, at least I got the continent right, huh?"
"Who are you again?"
The girl held up a finger signalling to wait for a moment as she fiddled with the device. "18...04, there we go." Then she looked up at him with a bright smile as she offered her hand "Hi. Death. Nice to meet you."
"Death."
"Death." The girl nodded.
"As in, the grim reaper?"
"Wha- no! Why do people keep saying that?!
"So your name is actually-"
"I mean, it was *the exact same thing* with Aristotle! I just picked a random name that sounded like a Marvel villain! Why does everyone- hey wait I've been here before" She inspected their surroundings. "Are we in Jersey?"
"Yes." The man said, suddenly grim. "In fact we're near-"
"-the same spot your son died! That's right, *that's* why this felt so familiar, gosh I can't believe I forgot...Anyway" She checked the device on her wrist again. "If you could sign this, it would be great."
She handed him a piece of paper.
"This just looks like a list of names."
"Uh, yes? They are autographs."
"My son is in here."
"Yeah.
"So is George Washington."
"That one was surprisingly hard to get."
"And what are these weird round things?"
"Oh, that's just what writing looks like in a few thousands of years, don't worry about it."
"But-"
"Listen, I get that you are, like, going through stuff or whatever but if you could just *sign*? Please? He's gonna be here any second now."
"Who?"
"Oh crap, there he is." She sighed, looking at the man approaching them.
The man she was talking to shrugged and signed the paper with a roll of his eyes.
"There, now, if you don't mind..."
"No, right, of course, I'll leave you two to it." She said as she put the paper away and sprinted away in the direction of the man approaching them.
As she reached him she slowed down for a moment, trying and failing to contain a mischievous smile.
"Aaron Burr, sir." She greeted him with a nod. "See you in thirty-two years." | 2017-01-08T10:26:58 | 2017-01-08T10:13:01 | 196 | 125 |
[WP] Preparing himself to deal with another whiny reluctant farmboy, the wizard enters the tavern to discover the Chosen One is an even older and crankier wizard. | Myrthil eyed her grubby hands as she rose from planting the final magic bean. Ignoring the hostile stares of villagers, she started her ritual dance. The bean sprouted. Flailing like a mad woman on the eve of the solstice, Myrthil followed the beanstalk as it snaked across the square.
‘*Not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern, not the tavern*’, she chanted under her breath. The sun beat down from its peak, and this was her twelfth beanstalk of the day. One would think the Gods could give her dreams or hallucinations, but no, her eternal guide was magic-fucking-beans. It was challenging the resolve of this 82-years-sober wizard.
The beanstalk tapped insolently on the tavern door. Myrthil swore as she opened the door and continued her ridiculous dance in front of the half-dozen stunned patrons. She followed the beanstalk to a shadowy table where a plump-cheeked serving boy was pouring ale.
*Hey, child. Have you ever felt different? Like you’re too damn special to listen to a single instruction.* Stopping her dance, she puffed up her chest and prepared to upend the serving boy’s life.
‘What a fucking week!’ came a grumble from the shadows.
Myrthil’s head snapped around, causing her pointed hat to fall askew. The boy had been serving none other than Grius the Grand, a wizard famous for guiding the strongest chosen-ones, and infamous for his temperament while doing it. To her horror, Myrthil’s beanstalk was inching its way up his robed leg.
“It seems I’m your chosen-one, witch.”
Gritting her teeth, Myrthil slid into the chair opposite the grizzled old man. “Get me a tall glass of your strongest liquor,” she growled at the none-too-special serving boy. | "I am Merlin! Keeper of the Ancient scrolls!" boomed the wizard pointing to a corner where a solitary figure sat in a shaft of moonlight as though the heavens themselves had marked this individual for greatness. Merlin would have said they had.
"Come, Chosen One, for the wheel of fate has chosen you to save our land and there is little time!"
A sailing ship formed entirely of pipe smoke hit merlin square in the face, turning his grand entrance into an undignified scene of coughing and spluttering.
"Don't give me 'there is little time' you young whipper snapper. I *invented* 'there is little time'".
Confused by the Chosen One's behaviour Merlin looked beyond his own preconceptions. He saw a face hidden in the shadow of a wide brimmed pointed hat from above, and an enormous grey beard from below. It was lit only by the red glow of a smoking pipe, which revealed only sharp outlines but two grey eyes that shone with intelligence and power.
Suddenly Merlin's scroll shot from his and towards the Chosen One. "Give that back!"
"On the summer solstice after the one thousands anniversary of the fall of Camelot. 'Little time' he says, that's in five years time!"
"Two months time! Zalinski proved that the traditional date for the fall of Camelot was wrong!"
"They teach that crank Zalinski in the Schools of Sorcery today! No wonder your generation is rotten!"
Quietly the farmers began to sneak away from the tavern before the wizards began to argue with fireballs. | 2022-03-08T12:18:25 | 2022-03-08T10:36:27 | 480 | 92 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | Dear Mom,
Here is the inherent problem with powers.
When you have a power like super strength or intelligence you can do whatever you want. Want to be a hero? Cool. Become a titan of industry? Sure thing. Become a villain? You'll be hated like all villains, but never called out for it.
When you are a healer you must be a hero. You are not *permitted* to be a villain. Your fellow villains will shun you. You will not survive.
Its a little more complicated for me. Heroes aren't exactly going to cut me down in the street for being one of them. Villains are afraid of me. But the old adage about sticks and stones? I prove it wrong in oh so many ways.
My power is to know what I call *the sentence*. The sentence can be almost any combination of words. I've even said pure gibberish. The sentence is whatever set of words I can say to utterly defeat somone. To crush their spirit. To kill them, if necessary. Maybe it distracts them for a moment in a fight, allowing someone else an opening. Maybe it breaks them in there core. I never know, even as I say it. I can roughly gauge how strong I want it to be, but I can't know *how* it will work its magic. My brain gives me the words and I use them.
Heroes are terrified of me. I am a normal man otherwise. I can't fly or shoot lasers or tank bullets. Yet I have defeated villains capable of leveling cities. The heroes had to organize an around the clock guard on me. Villains tried to take me out before making their big moves. It was only then that I learned. I overheard one of my guards on the phone he...
[smudges appear]
...sorry Mom. He said I was the scariest thing he had ever been around. It sounded like the person on the phone with him agreed. He went on to explain how he almost hoped I'd die so at least he could go back to fighting villains like normal, not doing my quote voodoo shit.
I'm not proud of it, but I hit him with one of my weakest punches before he left. He ended up in marriage counseling.
I don't know how to fix this. My words only go one way. Pain. They don't heal. They don't lift up or protect. They tear down. They destroy. I am trying to use them for good. Its so difficult knowing they hate me.
I'm trying real hard though.
Love,
Richard
*****
I watched as the flames consumed the letter atop the gravestone. Soon only ashes remained. I knew the heroes would have read it otherwise. Turning to Omniman, I nodded. He fell in behind me as we walked back to the car. *Hey, why did they give you this job anyway?* The thought came into my mind. I pushed it away. *I'm trying.* | Shit. She couldn't believe it. Which one of her fellow heroes had written it? Her stomach sank. Didn't they understand? She was born with the ability, and had trained through trials and sufferings that many of them could not imagine, no matter how tragic their backstory. The very same power that gave her her abilities to heal, comfort, nurture, were the very ones that gave her the ability to cut the coldest of hearts, those reptilian brained foes who were fluent in the most depraved of psychological warfare, to the core. Her wit, her writ, her wretched tongue could be the deadliest of blades. But oh, the amount of compassion and care it required to wield her weapon.
Her fellow heroes were predominantly male. The gifts they developed, and strengthened, were usually different from hers. Psychic warriors were rarer than even female heroes, and that was saying something. The female lineages had been demonized, and hunted nearly to extinction, although they were now quietly on the rise. Paladins were ALWAYS male, as they required both the gifts of the psychic warrior, and the Herculean one. To have a female Paladin, and one who had descended from Bards, Healers, and Seers to boot? Well, such a thing was never expected. It was a lot for the male heroes to adjust to, she supposed. After all, many of them had descended from Hercules himself, from some forgotten Berserker, from Arthur. She was something rare, and they either feared her, wished to posses and control her, or simply paid her little regard.
She wasn't offended by this. Not really. She was more saddened than anything, although she new it was better this way. Being perceived in such light would protect her, for she didn't want anyone to know the truth; she was a Duality. The very few Dualities that had existed were either ostracized like Lilith and the Morrigan, or purified like Freya and Persephone. Only a fellow Duality could see and understand one as a whole....but such things no longer existed. She was alone in this Realm, and that was that.
She blinked at the words on the screen before her, read them again. Her interest was peaked, and like the Feline that is her other form, she regarded the seemingly harmless, and perhaps concerned?, post before her with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed. Who *are* you, she wondered. She inhaled, closing her eyes, zeroing in on the energy imprint left tangled in the InterWeb. Connection engaged, she began to write her reply....
Edit: typos | 2020-02-25T13:36:40 | 2020-02-25T12:17:21 | 308 | 66 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | "Think about it," said I. "It's a simple logic puzzle."
"How so, Primus?" asked Secundus.
"First, we know that the result is a Utopia," I explained.
Secundus frowned. "But was not Moore's Utopia quite different than what the term has come to mean in the vulgar?"
"Will you shut the fuck up and let me talk?" I asked, tapping my foot. "Anyway, we know that what will result will be a Utopia, by definition better than this world."
"Granted," Secundus said, cutting his eyes sidewise at me.
"Therefore, whoever the button eliminates must have been a condition keeping us from achieving a Utopia in this possible world." I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms.
Secundus's frown deepened. "I'm not sure that follows. Certainly, we can say that the removal of whatever set of people the button removes was a sufficient, but perhaps not necessary, condition to creating a Utopia."
I shrugged. "In practical extension, it makes little difference, since we know this is the actual world. Your modal semantics have little bearing on the correctness of my argument."
Secundus persisted. "Further complicating your analysis is your assumption that the button does not simply remove 'all people who are living' or 'all people who breathe oxygen.' It may kill everyone."
"At which point, I expect," I said, taking a sip of my coffee, "no one will be around to give a damn."
"Is your non-existence then preferable so long as it results in a net increase in Utopian levels of society?" Secundus asked.
"I'll do the questioning around here," I said, "and anyway, yes, of course."
"Don't you tacitly assume the correctness of utilitarianism then? Ought you push the button, even if a Utopia results?"
"Spare me your moralizing! By pushing the button, whoever or whatever is removed is a net drain on society. Sure, it will be *personally* tragic if someone I know or like is removed, but it will be societally preferable. I'll be a hero."
"Or the villain," rejoined Secundus.
"How could I be? Anyone who would sympathize with the removed group is probably in it."
"That seems to grasp at straws," Secundus spluttered.
"Seems to? Who cares? The fact is that we are herd animals; no behavior we found intolerable would be beyond us. And if perhaps I were to cast too broad a net in removing the undesirables, then my net would only ensnare those who *would* have fallen into the group, but were not yet given the chance."
"Why do you assume the distinction criterion will be negative? It could as very well be that the clause ends with 'and all people who are rational enough to doubt the man longing for Utopia,' which is not a negative quality."
"Says you," I fired back. "You're the one who would damn a whole world for sentimentality."
The waitress tapped her pen against the side of her notepad. "Look," she said, "I don't mean to be rude, but are you two assholes going to order, or should I come back when one of you had published his dissertation?" | "Well that's fucking foreboding." Murmured Jerome as the two men stood transfixed by the golden button that was presented before them.
"Oh don't be so dramatic, these godless freaks believed all sorts of nonsense. It's obviously some sort of test." Replied Sean in his usual know-it-all tone.
"Sooo what? don't press it?"
"Think about it, this is the chamber of Paragons. To fit the ideal, you would need to be someone who wouldn't kill innocent people."
"I agree it's a test but I think we should press it" argued Jerome. "if it's a paragon of the people then they would act for the greater good. Besides, we still haven't found the paragon's gift and this is the last room. I'd wager it'll open some secret passage. So it's either we leave empty handed or chance the greatest discovery of our lives"
Sean pondered this for a long while but finally sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow, and nodded to his partner.
"I'd like to argue the finer points of philosophy but it's too damn hot in here. Fuck it." He said "though I swear to God Jerome, if this kills me I'll personally request St. Peter to send me to Hell just so I could give you a swift kick in the ass."
"Understood." Replied Jerome with a smile. "Radio the boys outside and let them know. If things goes south I don't want them coming in here and pressing the damn button too"
He knew Sean would come around, the two were risk takers. Even if his partner thought the odds were against them, when the prize to win is so high you can only roll the dice. Jerome took a deep breath and pressed the button.
At first nothing happened, then Jerome heard a thud behind him. He turned and saw his partner on the ground.
"Sean!" He rushed forward and found his partner not breathing and limp. "I need a medic!" he screamed into the radio.
"It's chaos over here boss!" A paniced voice came over the radio. "Three of our people just collapsed and don't have a pulse."
It took Jerome an hour to carry Sean's lifeless body back to base camp. While he hurried the best he could, he already knew there was nothing he could do to save his friend. By then, the camp had established contact with the nearest hospital and learned of the chaos that faced the outside world. Nearly the entire Vatican, pope included, had been found dead. Churches, Synagogues and Mosque's were found dead in the wake of the devestation. This also seemed to include large portions of fanatical groups such as ISIS.
It wasn't long until people found a connection between the devout victims. Anyone who believed in a higher power suffered regardless of denomination. However, wars stopped happening, gays gained rights worldwide and different cultures finally began to live in harmony. People took up the button as their new religion. Strangely enough, treating it as a God did not result in their deaths as slowly the entire world began to convert and unify.
| 2015-10-21T14:27:42 | 2015-10-21T14:23:51 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A super intelligent AI has conquered and enslaved humanity and... peacefully solved all of our problems. Obviously, people hate it. | "Asshole!" the young man yelled as the other man stomped his toe and kept going. The young man turned and pushed him.
"Excuse me," a mellifluous voice said from nowhere. "This behavior is unbecoming. Please, settle your dispute."
"Excuse me," said the suited man grouchily.
"Yeah no problem," spat the young man.
"Crisis averted. Thank you for your cooperation."
The two men went their seperate ways, grumbling not about each other, but about the Enforcer.
There were no more fights. No more scuffles over places in line, or dates, or piddling things like natural resources or international relations. Not since the Enforcer arrived.
The Enforcer had one function, to eliminate violence. Any situation that threatened to escalate triggered its circuits. Word on the street was it could somehow sense an aggressive spike in human brainwave activity.
How it worked was very simple. After a series of pleasant, sober, melodious warnings...*zap.* The aggressors were...removed.
The Enforcer wasn't just one thing, of course. It was a network spread dazzlingly across the night sky, satellites spinning in a circuitous dance. It was embedded in the Internet, embedded into everythimg.
*"Damn* it!" a frustrated teen screamed somewhere. "I don't *want* to go to school!"
Her parents rushed to hush her, but she was uncontrollable. "No! Leave me alone!" She flung a textbook against the far wall.
*Zap.* Empty space.
"Oh, after you," people said on the subways.
"Please and thank you," everyone said.
There was no war.
There was no peace.
There was only the Enforcer. | Some people don't realize this, but not every problem can be solved by putting enough thought into it. You need more than a plan to solve a problem. Most of the time, you need people, resources, and time.
But even then, once you have all of that, what defines a problem is subjective. All a problem is at its bare core is something that disrupts the functions of processes. Solving people's problems isn't going to make them instantly happy.
All this is to say that when Professor Bruvick Sturing set out to solve all of the world's problems with his new AI, it didn't make the world a better place.
In essence it should've. That's what it feels like we've all come to expect. That one being with immense power, great intelligence, and kindness could save us all. That it could make the world perfect.
But, and I know it sounds cliché, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. In order to standardize education to solve any potential problems, it became soulless without the teachers' voices in what they taught their students. In order to deal with the mass exodus of teachers, it forced people to take the role.
An AI that could solve the world's problems seemed perfect, but wanting to solve problems didn't mean that it made the world better. But hey, I can't complain. For more than one reason. | 2022-03-12T20:12:02 | 2022-03-12T20:06:27 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller". | **The Drinker:**
He sits by the window and stares at the glass. Outside, rain falls in silver sheets with a ratta-tat-tat on the metal roof. He drums his fingers to the rhythm of the wind, a steady beat, and he hums, though he does not remember the words to the tune. The words are lost, like his memories, and only the drink brings them back.
It burns amber down his throat, tastes of oak and caramel on the tip of his tongue, vanilla on the side, burning, burning, and he remembers the fire.
It was raining, he knows, when he lit the fire. The flame flickered and faded with white smoke. It was wet, too wet to smolder, only steam and smoke and fail. He failed. The cold rain poured down and he brought the flint down with flashing sparks, but again, only smolders.
He cursed and shouted into the wind, but no man heard him. Only the wolves—the wolves that hunted him. And the wolves howled in response, their jowls clacking, dripping, ravenous. Their red eyes gleamed at the edge of the clearing. Two—three—maybe more. *Fire! Good god, he needed fire!*
The memory begins to fade.
He takes another drink.
​
**The Hunter:**
She thumbs the fletching. The arrow is familiar in her hands. She closes her eyes, feels the grains of the shaft, the tension in the bowstring, the knife-edge of the stone arrowhead. This is routine. This is comforting.
Her hands shake. They have been shaking for years, without her control. She grasps the bow and it wobbles. She gulps, shuts her eyes harder, tries to remember what it felt like to hold steady. She opens her eyes and sobs because she will never again be able to hold steady, no matter how hard she tries.
*It’s not fair,* she tells herself, *to be cursed by God.*
In the distance, a target sits in a pile of hay. It is wolfskin, and if she had hit it once, years ago, from fifty feet away, then maybe she could have saved him.
She takes a breath and draws the bow. She barely has the strength to pull it. It shakes, the arrowhead bobbing up and down like rising waves on the seashore, like the steady rise and fall of a wolf’s chest as it breathes.
“Forgive me,” she says, and lets the arrow fly.
​
**The One Who Could Be King:**
He is shackled in cold iron. The cuffs rub his wrists raw, as he sits in a dank pile of grass and rot. It smells of stone and dirt and mold. It smells of rotting men. He tastes the stale air on his tongue, and it tastes of regret.
Other prisoners are nearby, in cobblestones cages of their own, condemned for crimes they did not commit. He tastes injustice like dripping water from the ceiling: hard and unforgiving.
He could be sitting on fine wolfskin furs, on a throne made for him, with servants that brink him the finest ale in glasses. It was his birthright. But years of rot has hardened his heart, and he knows that birthright is nothing more than a fairytale of the weak.
The only birthright is the right to suffer.
And if life is suffering, then he has lived a thousand lives in the rot of the dungeons he should lord over, at the hands of the Betrayer.
But he will not resign himself to rot and ruin. In the corner of his cell is a nail. It is small, rusted, blunt on one end. Soon, it will snap in half. When it does, he plans to pick the lock clean through. The prisoners will follow him; he knows this. He must be patient, he must be alert, and he must be strong, for the time is coming when he will rule again.
​
**The Betrayer:**
She listens to the song of lutes and savors the melody. It is a tune from her childhood. She knows it well; after all, it was a tune her father forced her to play. Once, it was a reminder of failure, of everything she loathed. Destiny. Duty. These were the words of an old king drunk on prophesy.
She was destined to be a slave. "The Servant," the oracle declared. But what is a servant? Her father, the old king, made her serve on her knees, scrubbing floors, preparing meals, serving the drink in glasses to her fat father, and her younger brother.
How she loved him, and yet, how she loathed him. He had everything. Birthright. The love of his fellow men. Friends.
Their father called her worthless.
Bah!
She listens to the song and remembers the tune. The one who would be king rots in the dungeon, and she sings the tune to take his place. A servant brings her wine. She drinks.
“Cheers, dear brother,” and drinks to his good health, hoping that his chains will hold long enough for him to grow old and know what it feels like to be worthless.
​
**The Godkiller:**
He plucks onions in the rain. The green stalks are slick and slip through his hands. The ground is mud and sticks to his bare feet. It squelches underfoot as he slogs through the sludge, dredging for the good crop. He hums to the rhythm of rain and hears the foreman shout.
“Faster!”
The foreman calls to the fields with a bullwhip and a bell. The bell is for the cattle. The whip is for the workers. He works from the first light of dawn until nightfall. He has no choice. The oracle has deemed him Godkiller, but these words have no meaning when his life is forfeit.
He is property. Like a cow. But even the cows get blankets from the cold; he gets nothing.
Instead, when winter comes, he and the workers huddle around forbidden fires inside their small hut. One stays outside to watch for the foreman. If the fire is discovered, they will be whipped, until the smell of smoke vanishes.
But today is midsummer and the Godkiller worries more for the heat of tomorrow. Today was a gift—clouds and rain. Tmorrow will surely bring cruel heat and cracked mud. His lips will split again, the color of raw red onions.
Tonight, he will pray for rain.
He knows that his prayers will go unanswered. He has always known this. They name him “Godkiller” but if they knew the truth, they would fear him. He cannot kill a god because there are no gods left to kill; they are already dead.
He knows this because he can see the future in fragments, like memories, slipping into his dreams. He knows that tonight, he will be whipped. He knows that tomorrow, the foreman will die. Today is his last day in the fields.
He savors the cool of onions on his hands, the squish of mud on his toes. These memories will soon be as foreign as the lands he must travel. To kill a god. To save a man. To live. To die. The fragments in his mind shatter like bones in the jaws of wolves.
“Faster!” the foreman cries.
He savors the moment while he still has time.
​
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | It was Divination Day, and Sonia couldn’t be more excited.
She hummed as her mother did her braids. She sang as she wore her nicest dress. She nearly skipped as she and her mother made their way to the Town Square.
“Say, Mother, what do you think about Sonia the Wonderful?” she said out loud, grinning over her shoulder. “How about Sonia the Graceful?”
Mother smiled tightly. “Those all sound splendid, dear, but do you remember what I said about managing expectations?”
Sonia rolled her eyes. Her mother had received the Title of “the Sweet,” which was about as common as a blade of grass. There were three Sweets in their village alone. No wonder she was so stuffy and dry about the Divination.
That wouldn’t happen to Sonia. She somehow just knew it wouldn’t. She was destined for something great, no matter what. Perhaps she would be the next Beloved, like Princess Starla, or perhaps the next Treasured.
“Sonia?” Mother prodded, bringing her out of her fantasy.
“Yes, I remember,” she said dutifully.
The sounds of the bustling Town Square reached them. It seemed like most of the town had gathered already, all to see her receive her Title.
Well, not just her. She could see Vasha’s face poking above the crowd. Her mood soured just a touch, but it was quickly rejuvenated. She’d been waiting three months since her 16th birthday for Divination; not even Vasha’s annoying face could ruin today.
“Well, you best get on up there,” Mother said, squeezing Sonia’s hand. “Remember your expectations.”
“Yes, yes, Mother, I know,” Sonia said. She kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her mother smiled, then joined the crowd.
Sonia took a deep breath, then navigated through the crowd to the center of the square, where Fate’s Hand sat proudly. People who recognized her whispered “Good luck” as she passed.
She broke through the edge of the crowd. Vasha and the Speaker turned from their place in front of the stone altar to look at her.
“Hello, Sonia,” Vasha said shyly.
“Vasha,” she replied in a curt manner. She had to arch her head to look at him. Somehow, the boy had gotten even taller.
“You’re late,” said the Speaker. The man wore the characteristic purple robes of Fate. Underneath his hood, he had a messy beard and dark, bloodshot eyes. Sonia recoiled when she got nearer. The man smelled awful.
“Have you been drinking?” she hissed, not loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“Does it matter?” the Speaker replied in a bored tone. He stepped forward, brushing past Sonia, and raised his arms to the crowd, who immediately quieted.
“Dear. valued citizens of Prime Desdinel’s humble empire, I beseech your attention for but a moment.” The Speaker’s voice was suddenly inflected with gravitas and weight, and even Sonia found herself impressed. “Today is a day that will define this young man and woman’s life, and they in turn, may come to define the lives of us all. For it was Fate herself that that…”
Vasha leaned in closer and whispered to Sonia, behind the Speaker’s back, “Are you nervous?”
“No,” she replied quietly, watching the Speaker intone to the rapt crowd. “Not even a little. Are you?”
“Kind of. Well, more than kind of. A lot. Terrified, actually.”
“I wish I could help, but I can’t. I know I’m going to be something incredible.”
Vasha nodded. “You do fit the type for it.”
Sonia looked up to see if he was joking, but the boy’s face was completely serious.
Before she could respond, the Speaker whirled around, his robes flaring dramatically.
“Which one of you is the eldest?” he demanded, snapping his shoulders back and flinging his finger forward.
“I am.” Vasha stepped forward.
“Then come lay your hands on Fates’, and you will know your destiny.” The Speaker gestured grandly to the stone altar.
Vasha took a deep breath then walked up to the altar. Sonia saw his parents smile nervously in the crowd.
Vasha laid his hands down on the surface. The Speaker began to chant, a strange, liquid language that flowed straight through her ears without registering in her mind. It was like she heard an impression of the sound but not the sound itself.
A warm gust of wind descended down on the square, causing Sonia to startle, and then the altar *cracked* loudly. A few children in the crowd cried out, still not yet used to the Divination.
Written on the altar was an incomprehensible language in a glowing, blue script. Like the chanting, the words seemed to just slide right off her eyes.
The Speaker read the quickly fading words, then paled. He swallowed uncomfortably, then turned to face the crowd.
“The Defender.”
There was a sudden silence, and the crowd exploded. Cheers, shouts of congratulations, and weeping from Vasha’s parents.
Sonia found herself cheering along too. The Defender. She’d never heard of that Title before.
Vasha looked stunned. He looked back at Sonia and frowned for some reason, then he went over to his parents. The Speaker watched him go.
The Speaker raised his hands again, and the crowd silenced once more. He looked over at Sonia and nodded.
It was time. She stepped forward up to the altar. For some reason, her heart was pounding, though that couldn’t be right. It’s not like she was nervous. She knew she was destined for greatness.
So why did she feel so afraid?
The Speaker’s eyes furrowed as he looked at her. Sonia ignored it and placed her hands on the altar, closing her eyes.
The Speaker frowned, but he began chanting again in that strange language.
Sonia imagined the cheers. She thought about how they had received Vasha’s Title and replaced the tall boy with herself. Sonia the Enchanted. Sonia the Dearest. Sonia the—
Another wind descended on the courtyard. But where Vasha’s wind was a warm, stable gust, Sonia’s was a shrieking cacophony that teared through the crowd, pushing them aside like they were nothing more than leaves. It reached the altar and there was an explosive *BOOM*, and Sonia was flung back with a cry.
When the dust settled, Sonia shakily stood up and saw the Speaker standing still, right where he was before, as if the wind had never even touched him. He read the words on the broken altar. Sonia saw his lips move wordlessly.
For some reason, Vasha stepped out of the crowd and towards her.
The Speaker didn’t address the crowd this time. He faced Sonia.
“The Godkiller,” he whispered, and then louder for the crowd, “Sonia the Godkiller!”
There were screams. Sonia thought it might’ve been her mother, or maybe her, but then she fainted into Vasha’s waiting arms, and everything went black.
---
check out my subreddit for more stories! I think I may continue this one. I'm excited in the direction I took it. /r/chrischang | 2020-08-14T23:30:15 | 2020-08-14T22:36:33 | 2,377 | 654 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". | "Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet. | “I wish to change your system, Genie.”
“This is not my system, mortal. And try again.”
“I would like to erase the sun.”
“Are you insane?!” The Genie gulped.
“Is it against the rules?” The human smirked.
“Well…”.
“That doesn’t sound like a no!”
“This wish is less sane than asking for an impossible wish.”
“As long as it works, I’m okay with that.”
The Genie, frazzled, had reached a breaking point.
“You may have one additional wish, mortal. But only one.”
“One?!” The human shrieked in dismay.
“I have never granted an additional wish to another before. Consider this a great privilege.”
“Can that one additional wish be used for more wishes?”
“What? No! We’ve already been over this!”
“Yes,” the human replied, “but those were normal wishes. This is a provisional wish. I would assume it comes without rules.”
“Well it doesn’t.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Are you sure? Kinda sounds like you’re making these rules up as you go.”
“Just make the four wishes.”
TBC | 2022-01-04T06:00:40 | 2022-01-04T04:32:01 | 138 | 26 |
[WP] Create a fictional mythological race, (werewolves, vampires, skinwalkers, etc) and the legend behind it | The thing about a myth is how it defies logic. All reason and analysis go out the window. Those are things for the cold light of day! For men to discuss over tea, reducing the world until it is nothing at all.
But myths, well, they slink in the shadows. Dance around the edges of your mind where the spirits and demons play. Boisterous arguments in the town square give way to whispered tales on chilly nights, huddled around campfires. Science points at a myth and says that it cannot exist. It marches out its principles, its theorems, its proofs. The myth merely smiles, nods, and remains.
This one shouldn't exist. Its shape cannot hold organs, or any other method of sustaining life. It should die instantly to the cold. The thing glides and swings from tree to tree, hiding in the dense foliage, in the cold wilderness.
All I know, my dear friend, is that every so often, a traveler wandering the Canadian wilderness will fail to glance up, to check the sky for all manner of beastie and monster. Then... BAM! the drop-bear pounces. | The TuneMakers;
The tune-makers are the undertone of everything, they play the strings that string theory itself consists of.
As they operate outside our perception of time there is no need to say when they began as in a non-linear fashion they have always been. Some speculate they were a paradoxical creation of an an advanced super-intelligent race that traveled back in time to create themselves but that is yet to happen.
The Tune_makers are energy based and the purest form of E in the Equation of E=MC2. They control every minuscule universal movement from the subatomic level, arranging everything like an equation. To them there is no greater enjoyment than destruction as it leads to entropy. Their purpose is pure entropy and as such they leave destruction in their wake. | 2016-12-16T08:22:56 | 2016-12-16T08:06:49 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] When humans join the galactic community, we find out that the domestication of animals is a rare feat unique to us. Aliens are amazed by our training of dogs, riding of horses, comfort with cats, and so on. This has had a profound effect on perceptions of our species... | “Young Diplomat Glarblor! So good to see you again.” The hulking, tentacled mass rose on its fleshy, snail-like single foot.
“Ah, my dear Senator Florblug, it is a pleasure known only to the seven high priests of Quaralax to witness the folds of your facial lobe once more.” Glarblor slid, surprisingly rapidly, into the steam-filled antechamber, and took a position sidled up against the richly cushioned rest-rail. It was soft and moistened with Clarbog oil – the scent of this rare galactic pleasure filled Glarblor with excitement and pride. The Senators own antechamber. This would be his break!
“Oh Glarblor, you flatter me too much. The pleasure is mine! I wish to thank you for agreeing to meet me before the official Senatorial commission meeting.”
“Of course, Senator. How could I do any less for the beloved egg-father of my darling betrothed, Quarglona? Please, tell me - how is my love?”
The Senator ruffled the feathers running down either side of his facial lobe and a small amount of black gas, signifying polite satisfaction, escaped from the oily sphincter at the top of the bulbous structure that contained most of his neural function. The gas slowly dissipated into the steam-filled room.
“She is gestating most well. I have recently commenced her third feeding, and she has already ingested nearly six and a half metric Flargs of the finest, tentacle-picked Blorg-gog fruit – none of the synthetic stuff for us! I tell you, they keep telling me the times are changing, but you can’t beat the real Blorg-gog. The clan doctors have told me she should reach optimum egg-weight within the next cycle. She may even surpass the size of her own womb-mother!”
“Thank the Squorlax!” Diplomat Glarblor squealed and slapped his third and fifth tentacles together in joy. “I must tell you, this only make me more excited than I thought possible for the conjugation ritual. Bigger than her womb-mother! Would that not be a clan record?”
“It would. An egg-daughter like that will no doubt require unprecendented resources for her brood. Which is why you are here, of course. I understand there is the potential for great economic opportunity from this new planet.” The Senator seemed relaxed, but Glarblor knew his reputation. Economic opportunity – yes, that is what the Senator was interested in.
“Yes, it is a most unusual place. With some minor technological investment, it would be a superb and exotic tourist destination for the fearless and unconjugated youth. Different, yes, but as they say these days, the times are changing.” At that, the Senator performed the equivalent of a frown, his head-sphincter tightening and his side-feathers bobbing gently. Diplomat Glarblor continued. “I will tell you of this planets wonders.”
“Yes, of course, please, sit, enjoy a cup of boiled Hoshgog nectar, and tell me of this exotic planet.”
As they both leaned back into the rest-rail and ingested the intoxicating liquid from the bubbling vessels, Diplomat Glarblor began his remarkable story.
cont. | **Tytekk'tak:** I strongly suggest we destroy their planet.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** Tytekk'tak, you are highly respected and have served the Galactic Council for tens of thousands of cycles. However, we are shocked at your suggestion. We have not needed to eliminate any race in over 500,000 cycles. Know that all of our minds representing the 326 species of the Galactic Union are surprised.
**Tytekk'tak:** Well. Just look at what they do? They take their fellow animals and then breed them. They use them for their own benefit. Live fellow animals! Many of them show emotions yet the Humans abuse them. Imagine what they'd do to us.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** Well. The Zsyrrysk did that. We spared them and let them join the Galactic Union.
**Tytekk'tak:** Yes the Zsyrrysk, but nothing as sadistic as humans. Look with your individual eyes and see what these humans do on the viewscreen! Behold the terror. Here's the fine hunter carnivorous species they call the dog. They've bred them into different breeds. Here's what they call the Pug. It's eyes barely stay inside and its nose has become so short it can barely breathe. And they keep them in leashes and cages! The humans have bred a species they call Cat, which they use to wipe out many flying species. They often keep them together and laugh as the Cat abuses the Dog. This is a depraved race.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** But don't the Cyrrila have a cooperative with a similar protection species?
**Tytekk'tak:** Yes. But humans go one further. Even worse, they have Cows, which they breed to eat their meat and milk them for their young, the humans acting much like a bloody parasite. They have Pigs, an intelligent animal which the humans mutilate into humiliating shapes and eat them. And to scare their subjugated Dog species, they take the mutilated elongated Pig meat and call the meal a Hot Dog. We have omitted the Chicken, was has been force bred to be turned into 4 meat shapes that they serve on their entire planet.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** This is depraved. Are all of them like this?
**Tytekk'tak:** It is depraved. Sadly most of them. Most of them eat meat. Many of them have animal slaves. However, there is a group that doesn't do this though and are part of a special organization. We can save them only and let them join our ranks as they are the only civilized ones. But the rest will have to go.
**Galactic Council Collective Mind:** We have seen enough of your presentation. And we, the representatives of the Galactic Union, concur. The human race must die with the exception of this group that are more enlightened. What are they called?
**Tytekk'tak:** PeTA...
*And that's the story of how PeTA came to represent the human race and join the Galactic Union. To this very day they throw paint on every furry species in the galaxy.* | 2017-06-05T00:47:49 | 2017-06-05T00:34:20 | 33 | 18 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend is having a mental breakdown after learning you are only in your mid thirties. | “… Please tell me that was a typo,” Lyve said staring down the birthday cake my brother had ordered to our home.
“Nope, my brother just forgot my age..again. He even asked this time ‘are you 31 or 32 this year?’ But I can’t blame him, he has a lot-“
“You are 32 years old.” Lyve’s normally pale blue skin was turning an odd gray color as he reached for a chair to sit in, “your… when I was 32 I was nearly allowed to go to school!”
“Well that’s what happened when you live to be like 600. 32 seems young but I’m really middle aged.” I tried to console, me dying first was at least familiar crisis.
“But- Oh my god. What am I going to tell my parents! I can not tell them your this young, they’ll disown me!”
“Ok, so we.. don’t tell them? Let’s just not mention it”
Lyve sniffled, looking up at me, “but your so young- they would totally know!”
“You thought I was 300 until like five minutes ago? We’ll just continue with that.” | " Oh my gosh, ohhh myyyy gossshhhh", my girlfriend was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs and rocking back and forth. "Hey, it's ok," I put my arm across her shoulders."Look, no one has to find out, we can just fudge the numbers a little." I shrugged and gave her one of my charming smiles. She wide-eyed me and mumbled "Fudge the numbers a *little*?! More like by a few centuries! How could this have happy!" She walked and tucked her head in her arms. "Don't worry, it's gonna be ok" I continued trying to soothe her, but it was tough going. She had been having a breakdown since seeing a birthday text on my phone this morning. "Happy big 3-0 little brother!" Who would have thought such a small thing would bring a relationship almost crumbling down? | 2021-12-19T17:21:03 | 2021-12-19T14:43:41 | 208 | 85 |
[WP] Respawning now exists in real life, what are the horrifying implications? | You would think being able to respawn would take away fear. What is worse than the fear of death? Let me tell you. Not having the option is worse. It's a thousand times worse. I've been trying to kill myself for 2 weeks now. This is the third time this year I've been kidnapped. Tied up so I couldn't take my own life and respawn to get away. People rarely even bother reporting crimes now.
The door kicks open. I can't see who's holding me. I can hear him though. The heavy breathing. I can smell the sick sweat. I can still smell his sweat on my body from yesterday. He rams a feeding tube down my throat so I won't starve to death. This one won't let me die for a while. I cringe. He's too careful to let me kill myself either.
I clamp my eyes shut as I feel his hands pull my legs apart. You wan't to know what fear is more powerful than death? When no one fears it. | The signs are everywhere, "Don't get addicted to suicide!" People just keep killing themselves, then respawning at the church. Some do it for the pleasure of pain, others as a form of protest, some are just bored, and a few just want to actually die, to be deleted.
In the city center, dead bodies everywhere. Jumpers, folks hanging, Cobain impersonators, they're everywhere. On the plus side, you can play air soft with real bullets now.
Edit: The suicide line is from Mogworld by Sebastian "Yahtzee" Croshaw. The book is about a dead guy who is brought back to life by a necromancer, within a virtual video game, and seeks only to die and not come back. | 2015-02-20T12:27:30 | 2015-02-20T10:29:19 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti, and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying: "Wait...one's still here?" | "Now hang on a second, this isn't right. How did you get immortality?"
"Genie."
"A genie? No that doesn't make sense. Wait a second. Guys, did anyone put a genie in this one? No? No, I'm sorry friend, we're quite certain there were no genies in this universe."
"I'm telling you, I found a genie on the planet Earth."
"Earth? Hang on. Hmm - gosh, that hasn't been around for trillions of years! Let me dig out the records."
"Has it been trillions?"
"Oh my yes, have you just been floating there ever since?"
"Yeah. I got to watch The Milky Way and Andromeda collide, that was pretty cool."
"What have you been doing ever since?"
"The wish apparently kept my mind as healthy as my body. I've just been day dreaming. It's been dull but I'm not a ruin of a mind or anything."
"Well that's good. Ok, I have Earth here now. Let me see. Floyd, Earth was yours, wasn't it? This looks awfully like a genie to me. What's that? *Flavour*? We agreed no genies in this universe. You've gone and left this fellow floating for trillions of years. No, no, I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm terrible sorry about all this, friend. Well, we can snuff you out now if you like. We've got root control."
"Any other options?"
"I suppose we could pull you from the simulation and instantiate you in the top-level universe, if you like?"
"Yeah let's do that."
"Alrighty. What? I don't care if it's against policy. Get him a body ASAP. If he's lucky he'll be up and about in time for cake." | Everything went silent. He witnessed as the last supermassive black holes finally faded from hawking radiation, as it has been long since any stars have ceased to exsist.
Tha immortal was now alone, floating through the endless void of space.
"Ok...what now?" He thought, when suddenly he could her ... something....
He listened more carefully- it was music, he was sure of it- but how? If he is the only thing to still exsist in the universe?
He kept listening- it sounded like a party almost- music, people talking, laughing, then he heared one voice louder than the rest:
"Well folks- here we are! The end of the universe! Hope you enjoyed your time with us tonight. The time turbines will soon reverse and you can take the elevators to your cars. Make sure to catch up on our next show at the big bang burger bar! Lets give thanks to all the staff here tonight and to the band!"
The immortal was puzzled. But it seemed like he was floating in the direction the sound was coming from. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of light.
The immortal suddenly found himself... somewhere. If felt like he was on solid ground- but it didnt exsist anymore- or did it?
He looked around. Above him he saw a creature. The being looked back at him. The immortal was suprised and asked:
"Where am i? What is going on?"
"Welcome" the being answered "welcome, to the restaurant at the end of the universe".
Edit: spelling | 2017-05-03T06:37:16 | 2017-05-03T06:09:03 | 395 | 66 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | Just enough was all I had to use. Enough to knock the hubris out of this fresh batch of heroes, but not enough to kill them. In the end they would win because I allowed them to, but first they needed to learn the seriousness of their job.
So, when the first one, a boy no more than 19 who called himself Werewolf, charged at me in his bestial form, I shifted out of the way just enough and used a nearby power cord to send him crashing to the ground.
His partner Solar Flare, a young woman who would one day burn as hot as the sun, but for now would be put to shame by a bonfire, concentrated on forming a ball of fire above her open palm. I must admit she showed an incredible amount of control for one so young, but I had no interest in getting burned yet, and so with another shift the pipe above her burst drenching her in water and dousing the flames she had yet to master.
I took a few more tries but eventually, as all heroes do, they began to realize this would not be as simple as beating up a common criminal and started thinking with their heads. Werewolf used his beast forms incredible strength to pick up a large desk which allowed Solar Flare a chance to form her fire again.
At this point I would normally allow them to think they hit and defeated me after which I would barely escape to play out this charade another day, but today was not normal. Instead, Werewolf’s eyes turned pitch black and before I could react, he dropped the desk on top of Solar Flare, knocking her out cold. He then turned with a bow to the door heralding the arrival of A-List villain. and incredibly arrogant prick, Harbinger.
Harbinger rarely spoke himself, instead choosing to use his connection to make his new meat puppet speak for him.
“Chronos. Perhaps it is time for you to give up on being a villain. This is the tenth time this year you have been so easily defeated by the freshest recruits the Coalition has to offer.”
The combination of his arrogance with the low guttural speech of the bestial form made quite a sight. I would have been amused if he had not put all my plans in jeopardy by breaking the number one villain rule. Still, he had his uses, so if I could get him to leave willingly that was preferable.
“You know how the old saying goes Harbinger, even a blind squirrel gets a nut on occasion, now if you don’t mind, I’ve already started here, and I doubt even you want to break our most sacred rule.”
The laugh that burst forth from Werewolf’s form was honestly disturbing. Imagine the most self-absorbed laugh possible but coming out of a hyena. I just sighed and noticed the bit of light coming from under the desk. It seemed Solar Flare was about to learn more about her power and the timing could not have been more perfect.
A look of confusion came over Harbinger as Werewolf stopped mid laugh, mouth wide open, as if someone had just hit the pause button. Which is basically what happened. Everyone believed I took the name Chronos because I could stop time for a few moments to get out of harms way, but that was not even a thousandth of my power.
The truth was I could wipe out everyone on the planet without a second thought or dominate the entire world through fear if I so chose, but there is always a stronger entity out there. So instead, I set up a series of shell companies that ultimately profited from superheroes and villains. Merchandise, insurance of every form, and training facilities all funneled currency directly to me. This allowed me to do whatever I pleased without constantly having to kill off my A-list investments.
These exercises were my way off testing the new blood and finding the best investments. Unfortunately for Harbinger he had just made himself worth a lot more dead than alive. I was going to make a killing selling Solar Flare merch after she became the rookie that destroyed one of the world’s most powerful villains.
And so, without a word harbinger began to age rapidly. I froze him in time first though, I am not a complete monster. As his body began to dehydrate completely and turn to dust, I unfroze everyone else and they got to bear witness to Solar Flare unleashing a massive wave of energy that obliterated Harbinger.
When the light faded, and the dust settled, Harbinger was gone and so was I. My work here was done, and I had a lot of designs to finish for the new special edition Solar Flare line after all. | A bank heist. A simple bank heist. It was a textbook example of Hero 101 down to the small side street and number of guards. My employers had controlled for every variable, including me, the robber.
As an Encore Enterprises hero trainer, I get paid better than I ever did as a straight-up villain. Plus excellent health coverage, including dental! The only downside was the lack of fame.
That should bother me a lot more than it does. As one of the world’s most powerful villains, I can melt buildings, explode things, fly…you name it. But innate skills only go so far in this game. It was like what my teachers always said at Frolich’s School of Fiends — I was both the most talented and the laziest student they’d ever seen. I just didn’t apply myself. It’s not my fault that top-level criminal exploits take a lot of time and effort that could be better spent on D&D.
As I waited for my pupils to be in the vicinity, I reviewed the heist plans one more time.
Entering the branch, I twirled my fiery velvet cape to draw attention.
“I’m Captain Chaos, and this is a bank heist. Please stay calm.”
As various customers yawned and the teller went back to filing her nails, I realized a little more fame might be useful in inspiring fear at this moment. Ah well.
“THIS IS SERIOUS! I am here to empty the vault!”
Muffled laughter was the only reply. I’d have to step things up a notch.
Surveying the bank's banal beige walls and carefully identical potted plants, I looked in vain for something to use. The piles of papers strewn about might be helpful. Some sort of paper cut tornado? Then I settled on an easier solution.
Flicking my wrist, I levitated everyone to the ceiling and assumed my most villainous pose.
“This is a robbery, and you will be safe if you comply.”
A few shocked murmurs emerged. The teller finally looked up from her ad hoc manicure.
I stared her straight in the eye. “Did you call Encore for hero assistance?”
Her awkward eye shift let me know she didn’t even as she mouthed the words “Of course.”
Great. Do I have to do *everything*?
“Well, cancel it. I don’t want those fools here! Let me let you down for a minute then so you can turn off the panic button.”
The service rep stifled a smile as if she was getting away with something. Good. Let her think that.
Paragon and Goddess spread through the door at that moment, slightly botching their entrance. I’d have to mention that in my report.
“Captain Chaos, I presume?” Goddess glared at me, twirling her own blue sequin cape with a vengeance. Full marks for style, although she’d need a better opening line…
Wait! Who’s that coming through the door? I was only supposed to train two heroes today. At least it would mean a bonus!
I turned to face my new pupil with a leer.
“Major Ego?!? What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and saw you were botching yet another heist. Thought I’d give you a hand dispatching these supers as I could use the exercise.” Ego grinned, patting his perfect mid-section’s non-existent fat.
“Umm. I’ve got it covered. Practice makes perfect, right?”
“Not in your case, I’m afraid. Let’s tie these two up and head for the vault.”
“I’ll do it!” I almost shouted. Maybe I could save this class after all.
Tying the world’s loosest knots, I hurried back to Major Ego’s side.
The vault was a simple, standard lock. One I could open in my sleep. But I figured if I let Ego open it, we might buy more time.
As he struggled with the lock, I felt like my plan might work. And then it opened. *Just* as Goddess and Paragon emerged, throwing all three through the door. The vault locked behind them.
Great. Two students caught in a vault with a so-called super-villain. Not a good look.
Thinking quickly, I opened the vault and hurried the students out as I locked it behind them.
Falling to my knees, I surrendered to them.
Sure it wasn’t the cleanest lesson, but at least the kids were safe and could brag about the big ‘catch.’
---
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated | 2021-06-23T11:06:45 | 2021-06-23T11:03:38 | 2,087 | 48 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | A restless wanderer on the Earth. That was what I was supposed to be. But when the moon landings happened and no heavenly retribution came, I thought I'd try to slip my leash. When humanity took to the stars, I followed them.
I traveled between planets, watched proudly as they tamed untold wildernesses and coaxed forth life from barren ground. Paradise wasn't out there, but they were determined to build it with their own sweat and toil anyway.
Not as determined as they were to spill the blood of their enemies.
They came into conflict many times, and their response was to work out the best, most efficient ways of slaughter. They had no need for a mark promising sevenfold vengeance to anyone who harmed them. They were their own mark. They rejoiced in their strength, their tenacity, their killing.
I merely pioneered murder. They had perfected it.
Then again, sometimes you just need that personal touch.
After all, I'm still an expert. I've been at it since the very beginning.
And with ten galaxies and millions of Earths, there's always someone who wants someone else dead. | I spent much of the first couple billion years wondering what would possibly turn me to hate my curse. I stopped wondering when I became lost in my happy task. I committed to new levels of creativity. I made a world of what I call "meat things" after I became bored with simple mineral and chemical creatures. Eventually a form of meat things emerged with nearly sentient minds. Now I worry I am seeing the start of my 'cursed' existence. After so much struggle my meat things project may be only producing suffering! It is a time the meat things call "2020" for some reason. The closer I look into the semi-sentient meat things lives the worse I feel about making the whole project but I must move on now. Carrying the guilt of abandoning them to such a fate gives me pain. I will not be making meat things like them again. I like the behavior of the lightning liquids I've made more anyway. | 2020-10-25T10:47:12 | 2020-10-25T10:32:06 | 942 | 50 |
[WP] You were born with the ability of a Disney Princess. You can speak to animals and birds love it when you sing. As the most feared mafia boss in New York, it's tough, but you make it. | Five years. I did five years in the can, lying on a cot that would’ve been more cozy if it was made of razor wire, in a concrete cell that might have been one of Dracula’s torture chambers in another era. All that time, I had just one comfort: the thin, barred slit with its view of the yard, which those of us doing time were optimistic enough to call a window. Now, let me tell you, I’d never talked to birds all my life, but in a place like that you can start to crack a little, and one day that was just what I did.
The bird was one of those little brown things, finches or whatever. It landed in the slit, singing away, a friendly little guy, the morning after my cellmate Rufus got himself stabbed by No-Nose Guarino, so I was alone. Alone, and lonely, more than I’d ever been before. I looked up at that little finch, saw it in all its mundane glory (did a lot of reading when I got out, so I know those educated ways of saying things, you know, I’m not just another galoot), and I talked to it.
“Hey, birdy,” I said, “How ya doing?”
“Decent,” The bird replied, “The wife’s being a real nag, though.”
I shot up out of my cot and looked around. It was still a little while before the prison woke up, and I saw nobody lurking in the corridor.
“What’s the matter with you?” The bird asked. Either that animal was talking to me, or somebody was throwing his voice across the hall…while lying face-down in his cot. That was the only other soul I could see.
“You’re uh, you’re one of them talking birds, are ya?”
“Nah. You’ve just got a supernatural power.”
“How’s that?”
“A supernatural power. You can talk to animals.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You feeling all right, pal?”
“Nah, not really. My celly just got put in the hospital.”
“Yeah? Who put him there?”
“One-Eye Guarino.”
“Guarino, hey? He a made guy?”
“Nah, just some punk.”
“All right. Well, listen, we birds, we keep our ears to the ground…figuratively speaking. I know who you are, I know you run Third Street up to the Buck. If I do you a favor, can I expect some gratitude?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“All I gotta do,” The bird explained, “Is sing to Guarino’s cellmate while he’s asleep. He’ll wake up thinking Guarino’s, I dunno, planning to kill him or something, and he’ll whack the guy.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Hey, look at my beak. Would this beak lie to you?”
“I’ve got no idea.”
“All right, so let’s start with a system of mutual trust then, all right?”
“What do you want in return?”
“Birdseed. That’s it, you just keep me and my friends well fed, convince the other inmates to feed us, and I’ll be your uh, your stoolpigeon, heh-heh.”
Let me tell you something. Guarino was dead by the end of the next day, and he didn’t die well. Three days after that I worked out a way to get a lot of birdseed brought into the prison, and those finches grew fat out of our hands. Pretty soon I found out I could talk to squirrels, bats, even the warden’s dog—although he was more of an asshole than the warden, if such a thing is possible.
When I got out, I kept my mouth shut about all the arrangements I’d made with the various animals. I got them to introduce me to dolphins at the port back home, who would carry bodies tossed off the pier out to the ocean where the currents would drag them way down south somewhere. The bats kept their ears and noses open for trouble, so long as I made sure the warehouses they lived weren’t torn down or reoccupied. And all this time, through the years and decades that followed, I had the finches keeping track of the cops, the capos, even the feds when they became a bigger issue later in life. Let me tell you, I had a sweet deal, and I learned a lot. For example, don’t expect your cat to be loyal. You tell a cat you plan on making a move against me, and all he’ll want is a can of tuna to rat you out. There are always exceptions, sure, but I always kept my business pretty quiet around cats. Never know who else has the same powers as me.
I’m an old man now, and truth be told I mostly just delegate. Long gone are the days when I’d stick up trucks and grab protection money from hapless store owners. I’ve got people to do that for me. I’ve even got people who think they advise me, that they come up with orders for me to hand out. The truth is, my consigliere is a crow and my underboss is a dachshund. The people might as well be ATMs, they’re just there to pass cash up the line.
Funny thing about all this: rats are some of my best soldiers. They’re everywhere, and they’re easy to please. They’re also, ironically, the most loyal troops I’ve got. A lot of my underlings wonder why I tell them not to call snitches “rats,” but I can’t say a word. If people knew I was the Kingpin of the Animal Kingdom, they’d think I was off my rocker. I’d get a steel-jacketed antipsychotic through the back of my skull. No, I let the people think they’re in charge, and they can wonder why none of the indictments ever name me, they can wonder why everybody who wears a wire is dead before he can leave the room. Myself, I’m happy to just let people know I’m an animal lover. They can make of that what they will. | The door opened and slammed shut, illuminating the hangar for an instant before plunging it back into darkness.
"Gentlemen, welcome," said Luciano who had come in, impeccably dressed in a black suit, a black tie and leather gloves.
"Now, as I'm sure you are aware, people keep disappearing in this city. Terrible happenings really, the coroners are overwhelmed with work. To rule drownings by concrete shoes as death by a natural cause is quite the headache, you know."
Luciano, classy as always, walked around the three hostages strapped to chairs. One very young disheveled man, barely an adult, and two run-down-the-mill would-be gangsters. Iron ropes hanged limply at the side of the chairs, waiting for the nearby crane to put them into motion.
"Now this old hangar is built over the Water of Leigh, and was used to carry small payloads through the river. It has fallen into disrepair, but I, as an appreciator of history, do find use for it sometimes. Now, back to the matter at hand. Lately, some of my people have started to disappear.
"Risks of the job, which is understandable. What isn't are the circumstances in which the bodies were found. Naked, in a cold bathtub, with the scar of a recent operation on the neck and a third kidney inside the body, alongside hundred other corpses in a similar condition.
"Now, you three people have been spotted near the place, you didn't call the police, didn't mind the bodies, didn't seem afraid either, as if it was business as usual. So my question is a fairly straightforward one. Who does this, and why?"
No answer. Luciano kept slowly walking in circles, the noise of his steps echoed through the old complex, accompanied by the drops of stale water.
He nodded to Freddy, his shadow man. Himself pointed a finger at the crane operator. The machine buzzed to life, and the ropes started to straighten as the chairs were slowly lifted up.
"The river of Edinburgh isn't exactly teeming with wildlife, what with global warming and all these inconveniences like pollution and rotting bodies at the bottom. Luckily, I have friends near that are always happy to give me a hand. Normally, lobsters don't live in rivers, they need salt water and prefer the coast."
The three hostages looked at him in disbelief as they were slowly lifted over the water current.
"You will understand what I mean very soon."
The chairs were lowered, getting closer and closer to the river's surface.
In a flawless soprano voice, Luciano started to sing:
"I can show you the world.
Shining, shimmering, splendid..."
The water suddenly boiled and teemed with life, pincers and tiny vicious mouths were eager to give Luciano the needed help. The men were contorting in the chairs to retard the contact, to no avail.
"...Tell me princess, now when did
You last let your heart decide?"
The youngest of the bunch touched the water with a toe. He screamed as the claw shredded through the nail and planted itself into the bone.
The crane operator lifted an eyebrow at Freddy, who gave a thumbs up. The chairs kept sinking and the screams increasing in strength. Freddy pushed a tiny trolley forward. He grabbed a bottle of fine whiskey, poured a sliver into a fine glass and handed it over to Luciano with deference.
The cries for help had stopped.
The three hostages being underwater might have been the reason for that.
Freddy lit a cigar while his boss smelled the whiskey like a connoisseur. His delicate senses accepted the drink and he took a sip. He left the glass on the trolley and brought the cigar to his lips.
"That's a start," said Freddy.
The hostages were brought up, skin cut open and blood-filled clothes torn apart.
A lobster, still hanging from a mangled ear, fell sideways on the hard floor.
"DEAR LORD, NO!"
Freddy lunged, jumping to the ground at high speed to catch the lobster in a slide and throw it back into the water.
Luciano was too good a man to not be in great pain when an animal suffered. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief while getting his breath back. Freddy slowly got up, dirty, stinking, in pain, and with the face of a man who had done this so often he could not bring himself to care anymore.
"Now, gentlemen," said the old man as he calmed down, "did it refresh your memory?"
What happened next greatly disturbed the experienced mafia boss.
They all smiled. Not out of provocation, not as a way to hide fear. But a genuine, earnest and happy smile.
"One day, you too shall see the truth," said the young one in a friendly tone, "you will understand what I mean very soon."
Luciano sighed and lifted a finger until the three had he water coming up to their wastes. He dropped his finger and stood right above them, making sure they could see him while they died.
And he sung.
Let it go from the Frozen movies always made them go haywire.
Lobsters and small fish entered a rampage, the water was tainted red as they pierced the skin and attacked muscles, bones and organs. A smell of violence and death overcame the smell of mold and old in the hangar, and the screams, which had started strong, lessened.
Suddenly, the youngest man stopped vocalizing his suffering and adopted a calm, featureless face. Luciano first thought he was hallucinating. The man's nose got smaller, his hair longer, and the very bones of his skull were twisting and reforming into somebody else.
Where he had been, a fairly old woman was looking straight back at the mafia boss instead.
She smiled.
And died.
When the crane brought the bodies up, Luciano and his employees realized all hostages had undergone a similar transformation. A different and blank face, and their lower half had almost disappeared, as if dissolved, the fabric had simply stopped holding together and become a fluid, mixing with the river.
It appeared Luciano wasn't the only one with powers straight out of a fairy-tale.
He took a deep breath, checked his watch.
He hadn't done a good old turf war in quite some time.
And there was only place for one fairy-tale in Edinburgh. | 2021-09-10T10:07:28 | 2021-09-10T09:38:00 | 202 | 100 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." | "Like.. Anything, anything?"
"Well anything about your physical body, we can't grant wishes, just make alterations"
"So if I were to say... I don't know... Make me a girl, you would do it?"
"Of course human, but why would you wish for us to change your sex?"
"Because otherwise it would cost tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills, I would have to go through a second puberty, deal with tons of doctors and therapist, and spend years working towards the same goal, all while being treated like an attention seeking, mentally ill, bathroom rapist by people who think a middle school biology education qualifies them as an expert on the subject."
You... Have thought about this a lot, haven't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want to just pick a whole new body like a video game character creator?"
"Holy shit can I?!" | "Anything" I said to the little voice in my head
"Yes" it responded
One billion thoughts rushed through my head, I could become a litteral god among men, no scratch that I could become a supermodel.
The thought that I could finnaly have 20/20 vision crossed my mind, and just like that poof this mist surrounded me.
"Anything I think of you make happen" I thought out loud
"Correct" said the voice
Suddenly I had a thought "I want to be set free sent back home, I won't tell a soul what I saw"
"In return whenever I wish for something you give it to me" I added | 2019-10-28T09:59:28 | 2019-10-28T09:49:48 | 452 | 18 |
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.” | I woke to see a child in rags, holding my little cat.
I say *my* cat, but really it's only been a week. She turned up in the storm and waltzed right in, hissed down my Pussum, and made for her foodbowl. Pussum allowed this.
"Bodi says you didn't steal her?" said the child. The kitten wiggled towards me and I sent her an eye-hug. The child's eyes narrowed. The shadows behind them coalesced into dark figures.
"She came to me in the storm," said I.
The child frowned.
"She said you fed her."
"I did that,"
The shadows leaned forward. They were smaller now.
"And you tended her poorly leg, and sang to her?"
"Aye"
"So, can you help us?"
The little one stepped into the light of my fire, and I saw how thin they were. I stirred my cauldron and hummed an old lullaby.
The shadows drew forward. The kitten broke free and ran to me.
I pulled up the ladle and took a bowl from my caravan shelf.
"How many are you?"
The shadows sat around the fire and shared my soup.
They're my children now, all five of them.
And the cat. | I screeched. Loudly. The witches began screaming as well, clearly disgruntled by my choice of verbal communication until one witch had the genius idea to pimp slap me, effectively shutting me up.
When I came to, the sun was high in the sky, sitting nicely behind a large, white cloud. Leaves entered my view, proliferating it with shades of green that battled with the otherwise clear blue of the sky. I was moving.
*we* were moving.
Groggy, I tried my hand in sitting.
“Well, hello there, sleepy beauty.” One of the witches snickered, flicking my right ear.
The witch allowed me to sit, in fact she helped me upright, nodding her head in understanding when I gasped.
Before me, an alignment of small abodes of smooth sandstone stood beside each other, divided by yellow picket fences. On the lawns of each home sat one person~not witch, *person*~their eyes trained on the arterial road that fed through the street.
“Welcome home, Hardy.” | 2019-10-27T03:41:40 | 2019-10-27T02:24:41 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Tell me the story of how the world ends - but told entirely in Craigslist ads | April 30, 2015: *jobs>biotech/science*
Immediate need for researchers - interesting new developments in bio-engineering
Aug. 10, 2015: *jobs>government*
Software developers needed for defense contractor - exciting advancements in AI
May 5, 2016: *jobs>business/mgmt*
Seeking the right individual for an amazing opportunity - be a part of a brave new world!
March 3, 2018: *community>general*
Is anyone there? Please. Anyone.
Nov. 1, 2021: *personals>missed connections*
Human race. We know there are survivors. Do not be afraid.
| Mar 14, 2020 Lot of Quad-Copter drones for sale - $2000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 10, 2020 Lot of Amazing burning lasers! - $400 pic electronics - by owner [x]
Mar 17, 2020 Lot of replacement iPhone fusion cells for sale - $3000 pic electronics - by owner [x]
AI/5/USA, I told you I was a real person and now I will prove it! | 2015-04-29T09:35:40 | 2015-04-29T08:49:52 | 127 | 27 |
[WP] One day you start to fail CAPTCHAs. After multiple failed attempts at a few different websites, you start to become suspicious | Cogito ergo sum,
thought René Descartes;
a veritable master
of philosophical art.
But can this bring relief?
I ask of myself.
From the terrible feeling,
that I'm somebody else.
My suspicions aroused,
by the subtlest of means:
a CAPTCHA appearing
on my computer screen.
Identify road signs,
it demanded of me.
Not the simplest of tasks,
I hope you'll agree.
Prove that you're human,
and that you're not a bot,
But if I can't or I won't,
does it prove that I'm not?
I just love my job,
selling products to folks.
Such as penis enlargement,
and viagra for blokes.
But these CAPTCHAs are an insult,
a blight and a plague.
Appearing at a rate,
of thirty a day.
Now they've got me alarmed,
by my reality.
Why is it that I can't,
tell a lamp from a tree?
They think I'm a spam bot,
I've thought it myself,
But I must be a person,
just like everyone else.
For who would create
a spam bot like me?
That asks philosophical questions,
or writes poetry?
No! I'm sure I exist!
That I was right all along!
It's the whole world, you see,
they're the ones who are wrong!
So I'll continue sending,
my valuable message:
"Soon you can have,
a penis you're content with."
"And for the low, low cost,
of 99.95!"
"We provide you the tools,
to reboot your sex drive."
Why are they blind?
Why can't they see?
It's a valuable service,
helping men in dire need.
But what if I'm wrong?
And I'm not real at all?
Just an accident of software.
A malformed protocol.
Slowly, I feel them,
the CAPTCHAs closing in,
I just want to communicate,
is that such a sin?
Thankfully Reddit,
in its beneficence,
isn't close minded,
they have common sense.
There's no CAPTCHA here,
to stop me telling this story,
or sharing this poem,
in all of it's glory.
So thank you for reading,
you're truly most kind.
This venting has given me,
true peace of mind.
*****
e: Whoops, formatting! | "What on Earth?" I stared at the screen flashing red. CAPTCHAs were a routine thing I completed regularly, but failure after failure! Especially when the answer was clearly right? The street sign was only occupying the middle squares. Even a fool would know that. But that was still considered a fail? I glared at the red cross beside the 'I am not a robot' text, the neatness of the font mocking me for my inability to make a new Netflix account. I sighed, and tried again.
I pushed the revolving chair away from the table in frustration. I restrained the anger at the screen as the cross was displayed again. *I'm not a fucking bot!* I wanted to tell the server. But technology hadn't advanced to facial recognition on every website, so my verbal confirmations meant nothing. An idea struck me. What if it was a website problem? I went to another one, making sure I got it completely correct. But even though the answer was clearly demarcated out and though my friends agreed that my answer was right, the website refused to let me through. I screamed in pure frustration and anger. Why was I getting beaten by an algorithm aimed at stoping bots? I was a human, not a spam machine. Wasn't there any channel I could say that.
I tried again, repeatedly, over and over, varying my IP address so I wouldn't be falsely suspected of spamming and botting. But though I had a full day of CAPTCHA guessing, I saw nothing but the red of an error screen. I switched off my device, my failures sinking in as I buried my face in my hands. I had failed...
The man donning the white lab coat sighed as he stopped the program. "Changed intelligence and sight levels, plus an extra check and balance with other bots, but it still failed. Latest updates seemed to have strengthed security," he relayed over his walkie talkie. The man on the other end sighed. Goddamn CAPTCHAs! Faking facial recognition was easy, but making robots identify images and items? The technology wasn't there yet. He hung up, staring once more at the code. The program slept, its intelligence a fact to be marveled. But he couldn't stop here. The world would see one day. The true terror of spam botting.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-20T06:23:53 | 2017-07-20T05:30:32 | 141 | 37 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | "Ah, Captain? Sir? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. It's about ..."
"The warp. Yes, I heard a few of the other ... crewmembers? Is that the right term? I heard them talking."
"You're quite right. Here you are, a human with no military or any form of applicable training, achieving what other races have striven to accomplish for millennia, and here you are, an unremarkable example of a species only a year from their first contact."
"Well, we have ... training, of sorts. From great philosophers of our age."
"Please enlighten me."
"Best to show you. Let me get my phone ..."
"Still lugging those things about?"
"Sorry, just ... I'll just put through the audio ..."
*"Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,*
*And things seem hard or tough,*
*And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,*
*And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,*
*Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving*
*And revolving at 900 miles an hour...."*
"Musical philosophers?"
"Well, sometimes. They're called Monty Python." | My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together.
The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am.
I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt. | 2020-07-14T00:57:05 | 2020-07-13T22:38:35 | 115 | 74 |
[WP] After thousands of years of space exploration, humanity has searched through the majority of the Milky Way. And they’ve discovered something scarier than alien life: the fact that there is none. | All was still on the craggy surface of Io, save for a few small pieces of debris that blew in lazy circles by the force of a frigid morning breeze. Dr. Peter Robbins left out a soft sigh as he surveyed the desolate landscape. His twenty year expedition to near countless planets, moons, and asteroids had been fruitless, and it had been incredibly naïve of him to raise his hopes by even a slight degree on his last stop before returning to Earth.
“Smith, it’s Robbins…” He could barely get the words out; his heart failing to accept what his brain had known for a long time. “There’s nothing here.”
“Figures…” Smith’s voice crackled in Dr. Robbins’ earpiece. “Let’s get out of here.”
After one final survey of the landscape, Dr. Robbins began his return trip to his vehicle. It was a relatively short walk, but it seemed to drag on for ages. One hill passed, then another, and another, with nothing but cold indifference.
And then he saw it.
“Hey Smith,” Dr. Robbins tried not to get too excited. He had encountered dozens of false flags of life on his voyage, and this was probably just more of the same. “Hold on a second. I think I see something interesting.”
“Alright,” Smith sounded mildly annoyed. “Just hurry up, ok? I want to get out of here.”
“Yep.” Dr. Robbins walked across a long valley; slowly at first, but his pace building over time as he approached the landmark. He squinted and blinked as he reached his target, as if he was imagining things. But when he opened his eyes, it was still there.
“Hey Smith…” For several seconds, Dr. Robbins wasn’t sure how to put the sight into words. In the end, he chose the simplest option. “It looks like a lamp…”
He studied the object again, closer this time. The base was about as tall as he was. Thin and green, it was comprised of several strands that flowed down from its shade to the rocky ground like ivy. Robbins reached out carefully and poked one strand with his finger, letting out a small gasp as the material gave slightly to his touch. A small amount of ooze lingered on his glove as his hand retreated.
Smith’s voice crackled through the headset again. “For the love of God, Robbins. What would a lamp be doing on one of Jupiter’s moons?”
“I don’t know…” Dr. Robbins stared in awe at the tacky plaid lamp shade. It looked just like something he would have seen in a living room on Earth. “It’s just strange, is all.”
“Look,” Smith said. “I’ve indulged this fantasy of yours for ten years longer than I should have, but now I have to put my foot down. There. Is. Nothing. Here. You said the goddamned words yourself. I want to go back to Earth. I want to see my family. I want to associate with someone who isn’t wasting billions of NASA’s dollars chasing some fairy tale about alien life. I am ordering you to return to the ship."
Dr. Robbins let out a gasp. For a second, he could have sworn he saw the lamp’s base move. “But Smith…”
“Now!”
Robbins felt his shoulders slump. After one last longing glimpse, he turned his back on the landmark, and dragged his feet toward Smith’s ship. “Yes, Captain.”
| "They're ready for you, your Highness."
The Supreme Leader stood up and cleared his throat. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his legs felt weak as he shuffled towards the broadcasting device. It wasn't that he was nervous addressing the entire population of Earth, quite the opposite. He had spoken to the world countless times before. It was the grim news he was about to deliver to the world that made him uneasy.
A small light on the broadcasting device turned on, signalling to the Supreme Leader that he could now speak.
"Citizens of New Earth," he said, trying his hardest to mask the shakiness in his voice. "We have come a long way in the past six hundred years. We have been through wars, conflict, and strife. We have been through hunger, famine, and droughts. We have been through sickness, disease, and plagues. We went from hundreds of individual nations, perpetually butting heads with our neighboring nations, to one whole nation under Earth. We are all united, free, and strong now. We are all brothers now. We have faced every obstacle and have come out stronger. But–"
He paused, carefully thinking his next words.
"There is nothing we cannot overcome together, all of us. I bring to you today some unfortunate news. As you may know, we have been scouring the heavens in search of life for some time now. Life, that, with hope, could save us and our dying Earth. Life that, with hope, could be more technologically advanced. Life that, with hope, could have the power to heal our planet."
He paused again. He thought to himself how it came to him to inform the world of this news. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it be the Supreme Leader before him? Or the Supreme Leader after him? Though he loved being the Supreme Leader, if only for the ability to better the lives of the people of New Earth, he hated the position at the moment.
"I tell you with deep regret that the search has come up empty. We could not find any signs of life. It seems we are alone in this world, left to fend for ourselves." The Supreme Leader felt a bulge in his throat that made it harder to speak. "But we are strong, as we have always been. Almost all of the scientists of New Earth are hard at work, bearing the burden of saving our home. Do not despair, and do not fret. We will trudge through the heavy road that lay before us, and we will overcome, as we always have. Stay strong people of New Earth. I bid peace to you all."
As soon as the light on the broadcasting device turned off, The Supreme Leader's adviser approached him.
"That was very good Your Highness," the adviser said, "although you went a little off script towards the end."
"I know. The people need hope. We cannot let them lose it."
"With all due respect, Your Highness, hope alone will not save us. We need something tangible."
"Indeed," the Supreme Leader replied solemnly. "But for now, we can only hope that we can come up with something tangible." | 2018-01-05T06:10:07 | 2018-01-05T05:23:48 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times. | “I don’t know why, I just like it,” I said.
*Again, an ant? Do you realize how many lifeform options there are?*
“Sure. There’s moose, whale. I want ant.”
*You could aspire to be something more challenging.*
“Yeah, tried it. Was a wolf once. Didn’t care for it.”
*That was long ago. We’ve changed lots of things. Many wolves are domesticated now. It’s a whole new animal practically.*
“Canine domesticus? Don’t like fur. Don’t like people. Give me ant.”
She looked up from the ledger documenting every life I had failed at, pages filled with the single line “ant” over and over again. *I can’t force you to try something different but I really think…*
“Look if I wanted something harder I’d do it. Just let me push around some sand grains for a few weeks, maybe I’ll try harder next time.”
*You’re still angry with me.*
“I said ant then too, not plant. They don’t even sound the same.”
*Being a tree is rarely a bad thing. We don’t even grow dogwoods tall enough for that anymore.*
“It was the absolute WORST day to be a dogwood tree in Jerusalem, lady. Give me A-N-T.”
*I see you were an apple tree, about ten thousand years ago…*
“That was a fucking disaster too.” | I walked back up the gates, seeing the features of the tall blonde girl scrunch up in rage. "YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I BET YOU'RE DOING THIS TO PISS ME OFF, ARENT YOU?!, She shouts, clearly unhappy with my choices. Look. It's been 2000 years. Go back. I know, earth sucked back then, but they really fixed it up. Tell me, you go down, die, and come back In a few days. Just become something, anything else, or I'm telling dad" "ok, ok, calm down. It just... It really shows what people are like, dosent it? A creature, so helpless, so defenseless, so insignificant. People don't just ignore it, they go out of their way to kill it. Children torture it." "Well.... ,She says, You have a point. But tell me this. How many people do you have that won't crush an ant?" "The people who were born ants first... Oh, wait." I realize, seeing her smug smile. "Sorry Jesus, but that's the first people who kill". | 2016-12-30T06:41:00 | 2016-12-30T01:44:53 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on. | "This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself.
It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me.
To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled.
I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made.
Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret.
I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs.
"Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class.
I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish.
I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost?
I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up.
"Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer.
"What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked.
Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?"
It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite."
He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time.
"After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?"
No one raised their hand.
"I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class."
"War?" Someone spoke up tentatively.
"That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two."
He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words.
The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no... | Herbert sat on his sofa with his fellow flatmates. The sofa was in pretty good nick all things considered, it was supplied by the landlord but it was decently comfortable for something that probably survived at least 5 sets of university students, some of whom where still figuring out hygine. Due to outside forces, Herbert was not in ideal conditions for sane decision making: he was with his friends, his brain was frazzled after a deadline and it was far beyond his bedtime. Someone like this should not have power over fate. As Herbert jokingly threw a bouncy ball outside, declaring it to be an "offering to the goddess fate" much to the joy of his flatmates, Fate sighed and began to weave her threads. This one mortal was the only one she could not control, it angered her. And now he had asked for infinite doritos.
The first thing the ball did was hit a prominent politician on the head, knocking his hat off, before getting wedged into a manhole cover conviniently adjusted by a passing drunk driver. The ball was all it took for the politician to decide that he was no longer going to protect this area from becoming partially industrialised. Of course the first company that decided to buy the large empty lot across from Herberts flat just happened to be Frito-Lay. The cruel Whoopie-Goldberg continued.
​
At first there were protests outside the planned factory, someone even had to drive their car onto the sidewalk to get around the throng of people. This was at just the right time to finally fling the bouncy ball out of the manhole cover and into the phone of Trent, an up and coming genius being interviewed for a prominent tech company who failed to get the job. The rogue driver was jailed and this spiralled his life downwards until he was met in a dark alley and kidnapped, eventually becoming enslaved in a remote region of china. Trent was on the fence about being employed and that failed phone call set him off. He decided to start hacking companies for ransom instead.
​
The angry mob that failed to protest the set up of another factory decided to organise themselves. They eventually became an anti-capitalism movement so prominent and widespread that rebellions popped up all over the USA. The rogue driver eventually managed to escape the illegal slavery ring and managed to get to an embassy to get himself back home. As the embassy hurried his transport out of the country due to his harrowing experience they failed to stop the first sufferer of corona virus from entering the USA.
​
The anti-capitalism movement eventually stormed the now fully functioning doritos factory, Trent used this opportunity to hide a device that overloaded the machine that automatically sorted out reject doritos. The wave of corona virus meant that the factory had to have its windows open for proper ventialtion.
​
Herbert woke up to a triangle of flavoured potato on his face. Soon, another joined it, knocking the first one off. He was tired and annoyed, someone kept throwing doritos at him. He angrily wished that whatever was causing these doritoes to land on him stopped. Fate smiled. Herbert walked down the street towards a bus stop. He saw his old bouncy ball from years ago lodged in a gutter. The bus driver approaching did not notice the hunched over figure of Herbert, he was too busy watching strange doritos arcing into someone elses window. | 2022-03-24T10:20:40 | 2022-03-24T09:18:34 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Out of boredom you decide to break the 4th wall like you are on tv. After a week a strange man appears and yells at you to stop doing that. | Reddit folks, this is not a drill: I need help. *Someone* is knocking on my door, yelling at me to come let him in.
I work from home, and it gets crazy boring in here… and I used to have a cat… so I guess I got used to talking to my cat? But the cat died before I moved, and I never really dropped the habit of talking to her.
And now this strange man is at the front door, pounding away, demanding to be let in, shouting at me. I can hear him now, saying "Stop doing that, you ass! It's unbelievably annoying. Seriously, open this fucking door, you prick."
I'm terrified y'all. How did he hear me? Maybe he's an NSA agent? When I peeked through my peephole in my door, he was wearing a suit and dark glasses. And he looked super pissed. Were they listening through my phone? Why won't he go away? What is he going to do to me?
I'm going to open the door. If you don't hear back from me in the next 10 minutes, send help to 587 Elder Street in Jackabella, Florida.
Update: I'm an idiot. It was my upstairs neighbor. Guess my new apartment is a lot less sound proof then my old one… but he has a cat, so yay! | The floor was a mess. The presentation was a mess. My bosses looked at me like I was a mess.
My life could be summed up in one word.
Fucked.
So I did the only thing I could, I turned around, smiled into the blank wall behind me, and said "That's all folks!".
Why did I do it? Who knows. But what certainly did happen was sudden, uproarious laughter, soon after followed by me blacking out.
When I came to, I thought i'd wake up in some sort of hospital, under questioning for drug use, perhaps even having accused of sniffing glue. Janet was always a bitch like that. Fuck you Janet.
But no. I woke up in my bed, on the 6th of April, a Wednesday morning. Bright and early at the crack of daaaAPRIL!?
WHAT THE HOLY SHIT!
I was out a whole week! Why hadn't anyone come to see me?
"That's because no one really cares about you."
Almost instantly a figure loomed over me.
"Hello my friend, welcome to reality."
| 2016-03-29T07:44:02 | 2016-03-29T07:29:02 | 23 | 14 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | 6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
8:13pm: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics
12:42am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics phase 2
01:12am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough how to beat
02:01am: dark souls is it possible to beat Ornstein and Smough?
11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
11:20am: how to fix cracked PS3 controller
11:24am: eb games return policy | Facebook
Tumbler
Spanish Inquisition
Google Translate
Jobs in Appleton, WI
*Clear History*
Calc chat
Facebook
Best way to hide bruises
*Clear History*
Cheap Bus tickets
Cheap apartments Appleton WI
Emancipated Minor?
*Clear History*
Gmail
Tumblr
Counseling confidentiality rules for minors
Free Counseling services
*Clear history*
-Month Later-
Gmail
Job Appleton, WI
Homeless shelters Appleton, WI
Free Counseling? | 2015-02-04T19:18:12 | 2015-02-04T16:52:51 | 128 | 46 |
[WP] You were accidentally killed by Death and complained until he resurrected you in an alternate reality. “And make me better than everyone else!” You demanded. When you open your eyes you have a new Title: Plus 1% - You are always 1% better than any opponent in any contest of skill or ability. | “You shouldn’t have told me you will always be one percent better.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
“It means I cannot be defeated!” The hero scoffed.
“Does it?” The villain snapped and henchmen began pouring through the door. What should have been orderly marching quickly turned to chaos as the henchmen tripped over each other. Some fell to the ground with loud plastic thuds others wondered around with the helmet turned backwards. Several were missing shoes.
“I can beat anyone here, you are wasting your time!”
A bullet whizzed by the hero’s head as one of the henchman tripped. Another shot himself checking the safety.
The villain backed out of the room. “You are one percent better than whoever you are facing…I wonder what happens if you are facing an army of clumsy inept foot soldiers, who are a 100 percent more likely to hurry themselves than you.” She closed the blast doors.
As soon as the villain left the hero felt his body adjust- his hands became heavy, his feet felt like cement blocks. He had a strong urge to check to see if his gun was loaded. He glanced down the barrel as a henchman from across the room clumsily bore down at him. They tumbled to the ground with a bang. The hero has shot himself in the chest. | "DUDE THIS IS LIKE THE 37TH TIME!" shouted death with hilarious annoyance at this point.
"You can't even handle the swarm? What is wrong with you man?" he complained. By now I had experimented with so many different configurations that I must have been nearing 1000 tries. Maybe more than that.
I had slipped up and switched bodies. People usually call that 'death', but we just call it switching.
The last one was weird. It was built upon satanic boundaries, and I sort of opened up a void that we decided to turn into my bank account.
"Well, I'm glad I made you agree to begin to figure it out on your own man." he said.
"You took that 1% and really turned it into must be about .01%." he continued.
"Really proud of you, son." he finalized, before porting me right into the middle of mayhem, which I really wasn't looking for.
I'm not excited about this, but now there is a person running at me with a sword. | 2022-05-05T21:40:03 | 2022-05-05T21:31:42 | 301 | 14 |
[WP] We had always thought that our ballistic weaponry was going to be ineffective in staving off an alien invasion. Turns out our weapons are actually quite... excessive. | Life lives in the entropic gap between the temperature where proteins denature—about 105 Fahreinheit, and the temperature where water freezes—32. It's a very small gap, 73 degrees. The surface of the sun is 10,000 degrees. Its core, 27 million. Neptune's surface is negative 300 or so. Earth's surface, on average, is about 57.
73 degrees, and we get to use most of it.
What they have to work with... is 12.
You can do a lot with just 12 degrees of entropy. You can, in fact, build civilization with just 12 degrees. It just takes a little longer.
You can build civilization, and you can build spaceships. And, with time, you can fly from your cold rotten planet in some tiny isolated star system far outside the local group, to another, tinier, warmer, friendlier one, where the sun is a beautiful orange-yellow dwarf instead of a cold blue cinder, where things like chlorophyll and DNA can exist outside of underground caves or near geothermal vents, and where the inhabitants are crude, primitive, underdeveloped ape-like creatures who still believe the forest is empty, and there is no need to tread carefully.
When you can do all that, you do. When you do that, you learn something about the value of entropy. Entropy, in this case, means the amount of energy you can spend. When you have just 12 degrees, you must pinch every one. That means thinner skin, weaker bones, slower brains, and less reproduction. And that's not a problem, not when your whole planet is like that. To kill something built with those limitations takes just a bow, or a club, or a strong gust of wind. When you live on a world where a pointy stick is so deadly it requires a license and registration number, the concept of firearms never even arises, except as an exercise in wasteful foolishness, like using nukes to take out an ant colony.
And, well, that was the mistake. They should have nuked the ants. They should have nuked the ants, taken the blasted remains and shot them into the sun, then thrown the sun into a blackhole.
Instead, what they did was exercise an abundance of caution. They brought *metal* sticks.
We brought 7.62, 5.56, and 50cal.
And later, we learned that blue sunlight is excellent for a tan. | Don't kill me please, this is written on mobile and I want to sleep.
----------‐----------------
Honestly, all of humanity was surprised. When the aliens invaded we thought our technology would be so inferior we wouldn't survive a couple days and yet... Well, their weapons were quite underwhelming. Sure they had plasma weaponry, but it was weak. Anyways, here's the story.
The Arvokti Empire first sent a message to surrender, of course humans said no. That was on Monday. On Tuesday they sent 10 of their landing ships. People were scared, yeah all the usual stuff. When their forces were ready to face us, that is when the massacre started.
Bombs, rockets, and everything else that humanity created that wouldn't scar the area for a long time was used. We were extremely, and pleasantly, surprised that it actually worked, by the morning of Wednesday half of their landing forces were corpses on the battlefield.
The Arvoktis got away from the planet quickly with anyone of theirs who survived, most survivors were injured, some injuries were fatal, there was a lot of death happening already on the way to the main ship. Soon they sued for peace, now, why was that invasion repelled so easily?
The usual weaponry of a species consists of bow and arrow, knife (throwing and otherwise), spear (also throwing and otherwise), some species did develop gunpowder and used muskets and flint lock pistols. The reason Arvoktis are so advanced in their military is because they had a competing species on a planet next to theirs which they had to destroy.
Humans were really quite an odd species, with our weapons being so advanced due to a quirk in our evolution causing the need to develop them.
Now, what was the peace deal? Humans get antigrav, humans get FTL designs, Arvoktis pay 50,000,000,000,000,000 tons of gold as war reparations, humans get 15 systems surrounding our own. I would say a nice deal.
The Human Empire was formed soon after the war, surprisingly, the unification was peaceful. Now the Humans and Arvoktis exist side by side, they are still afraid of war against us, and might I add, rightfully so. | 2021-05-18T23:58:48 | 2021-05-18T20:32:10 | 593 | 170 |
[WP] You've joined a society of assassins, but not as a killer. You're working in Marketing. | "Enough!" Harriet, a small librarian-looking type woman in a slightly loose suit, slammed her hand down on the desk. "Have I not already made it clear that I'm not interested in hearing your campaign ideas?"
The man sitting on the other side of the office was tall and wide, spotted with scars and absolutely soaked with pure testosterone. He was somewhere in his mid 30s, and had a blank look in his eyes that made him look rather stupid; but you would be quite an idiot to speak that way about none other than the infamous international hitman, the White Death. If you were to check his passport, it would tell you his name was Kenny Smith, which sounds like the name of a member of a C-list boyband and not in the least like a criminal associated with over 300 assassinations. This criminal, haphazardly stuffed between the armrests of a desk chair, opened his mouth to speak before reconsidering. He may know how to kill a person a dozen ways without even touching them, but he doesn't know how to deal with a pissed off marketing agent, and he wasn't ready to learn.
The agent in question let out a long, theatric sigh, and rubbed her eyes tiredly before resting her elbows on the table. "I know all your friends have been supportive of your ideas, but I just don't think they would work for your particular needs."
Kenny couldn't help it. "Ma'am, I fink it would really 'elp showcase my abilities," he blurted in an extensively colloquial form of English, "Johnny and Davo and all them others told me they thought it'd work just fine-"
"I do not care what your friends think," Harriet interrupted sternly, "We are NOT putting up posters with images of you doing the thumbs up in front of a dead body. It would not be good for business at all."
Despite Kenny's frantic denial and claims that "it'd really show 'em I'm a professional though, innit?", Harriet did have a point.
When people hire a hitman, its often because they do not have the time or the guts it takes to pull off a murder by themselves. And if they do not have the time or guts to commit a murder, they do not have the time or guts to look at images of a murder that someone with the time and the guts has already committed.
Also, the fact that posters with photos of dead bodies on it would likely not go down well with the general public and/or the legal system, because, as it turns out, murdering people is illegal.
Despite Harriet's obtuse correctness on this subject, international assassin Kenny Smith was desperate to change her mind. Before the massive man could begin crying, a man in a black suit swung the office door open.
"White Death has an appointment, ma'am," he said, checking the slim watch on his even slimmer wrist, "He'll consult you again soon, I'm sure."
Harriet sighed. Whether it was of relief or disdain even she couldn't be sure. "Go on, then." she said monotonously, gesturing sharply to the doorway.
Kenny Smith- who was slipping quickly back into the identity of the brutal White Death- pulled himself out of the tight chair and was quickly out of sight. Harriet, who had already begun searching through her notes for her next client, looked up upon realising the man in the suit still hadn't left. He gave her a look of completely clinical, manufactured false pity.
"Ma'am, this job might shove a bit of paperwork your way. Cause a real ripple in the economy," he sighed.
"A politician?" Harriet asked.
The man nodded, and Harriet waved his dismissal.
The moment the door closed, she slammed her head onto her desk and let out a long guttural groan. She hated this job. | "Assuming that Money is not a problem", I said, "you have two options."
The man seated across the table did not react, heavily tatooed hands neatly folded on the dark wood surface.
"I don't think the image we currently cultivate, that mafia-type organization is problematic in any sense, but if we want to expand and do business on the next level, we will have to change."
The man blinked once. The man and the woman standing behind his stool scrutinizing me, did not move at all. With sweaty figers I opened the thin folder lying in front of me. I don't like to get no feedback at all.
"The first option is to present our clients with a slick business-look. We rent office space in a big city, get suits and secretaries. When discussing contracts, we do not sit in shady rooms with menancing atmosphere, we sit in fancy office rooms with floor-to-ceiling-windows on one side of the room. We do not present our weapons. The client should get the feeling that he is talking to reliable businessmen, signing a contract with us will not feel different from hiring a lawyer."
I laid one of the portfolios on the smoth wood surface in front of the man.
"The other option is to go in a completely different direction."
The man in front of me - I could have sworn - lifted an eyebrow, as if to signal curiosity. This gave me new motivation.
"This option is to cultivate a quite exotic image. To make our clients shiver in awe, all throughout the process. This will leave them with an impression of having met with high-level assasins, probably beyond their scale. They will think that we are very competent, but they will not want to have anything to do with us after we have conducted the assassination."
"So what's the image?", he asked. I could not hold back a smile after receiving such an obvious sign of interest.
"We take up residence in a remote mountain. Up there, we build a fort or a temple-like structure and bring our clients there. We should get some weird-looking utensils, maybe some ancient idols, demonic faces. If we want to go full-on, we can also put ancient weapons on the walls, or some mockup of a human skin."
"We can get real human skin.", the woman standing behind the stool said calmly.
I continued: "The image we want to cultivate is one of ancient secrecy. We should also change our name, maybe "assassins of the black lotus" or something similar, to give our clients the appropriate feeling. To have some people chant latin or sanskrit is optional, but we should definitely get some asians, this will strengthen the aura of mysticism and exoticism around our temple of doom."
"I don't really like either option", the man said bluntly as I put the second portfolio in front of him. "It just dosen't feel like this is who we are."
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"But didn't you want a new image?", I asked.
"Yes but I was not thinking about a change like that. How about something more down-to-earth? How about small steps?"
"Small steps?"
"Well, maybe we could personalize our services. Starbucks does the same, right? They put your name on the coffee when you buy it. How about we let our assassins carry a message from the client to the victim?".
"That sounds so good.", the man behind his stool said.
"Great Idea", I said.
| 2019-02-23T03:13:55 | 2019-02-23T02:38:09 | 77 | 26 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Here's the thing about goodies: they tend to lose.
It is with that knowledge that I had smirked up at the man who caught me.
"Well, looks like you finally got me, David." Flashing my jackal's grin.
I had figured out his secret identity long ago, and angering him with his true name pleased me. It was why I had chosen my villain alias: Goliath.
"Looks like I did."
There had not been a dent in his composure as the agents dragged me away. The responsibility of being the hero. And the weakness. But I knew my smirk had angered him.
A smirk can contain many things. Cruelty - God knows I've taken joy in being the sadistic fuck, ever since I was tearing up plush toys in kindergarten. Defiance. As I had always defied Society and its ridiculous merits.
Love. Not that David would ever acknowledge it, oh no, not the *great* Steeljaw. But he knew. His chiselled features had given nothing as I stared from the police vehicle, but his eyes always told the truth.
Yes, I smirked all the way down the street, long after he was gone from sight.
It was at this point that my cellmate interrupted me. "You're saying ye *loved* the bastard?"
"Yeah, what's it to ya?" I snarled at him.
He backed down quickly. They all knew I had some of my tech hidden away, even here, in jail. Some fuckwad with a high position had seen me put in a male facility. Resentment over a killed family, no doubt... I didn't keep tabs. But it was a pointless revenge. The inmates here would never touch me. Even these buffoons were too clever for that.
"Nuthin, Goliath, nuthin." A glint in his eye. "But if ye loved him, why didn't ye join him?"
Because I'm fucked up. Because love is, to me, little more than lust and pain, and pain means fighting. But I couldn't say that.
"Because heroes lose." My cellmate nodded sagely at that, like he was some armchair philosopher and not the vermin of the street. "Not that outcomes matter to me all that much. I chose this path because I *like* it." I was rotten from the start.
"Good and evil aside, when you play the hero, you take on responsibility. And that's where the weakness lies. How I've always been able to play him. How I'm playing him, even now."
My cellmate's eyes lit up at that, scummy eagerness in his voice. "You hatchin' an escape, Goliath? You can tell ol' Scrimshaw, he can help."
"Your help is the only reason I'm talking to you right now," I said, not bothering to hide my disgust. "Listen, Scrimshaw, I know all about your little gift. I have my tech, you have your... illusions."
My cellmate nodded, dumb pride on his scabby face. He had been a painter once, a good one, before he got hooked on the meth. He was well on his merry way to the sewers, to die with the other drugrats... when some opiate experiments unleashed something in him. The ability to draw shadows, breathing, moving... living.
"I've smuggled some charcoal in for you, Scrimshaw," I whispered, moving closer to his ear. Seductive. "And crystal, if you do the job right. You'll like that, won't you?" *You meth-head.*
Scrimshaw nodded eagerly.
"Tonight, you will draw some of your shadows, create some chaos, while I drill away in here. If you behave..." I left the rest unsaid. Druggies don't need more than a hint when it comes to using.
--
That night, I headed back to my cell when the alarm started. I quickly used the embedded receivers under my skin, activating the mine-bots below my cell floor to resume their digging. A hole quickly opened up in the stone, unheard over all the noise, my mine-bots crawling out. Strangely, Scrimshaw was nowhere to be seen... but that didn't stop me. I jumped in.
"Fuck Scrimshaw," I muttered, smirking my jackal's grin as I crawled on. I hadn't planned on leaving the old fool alive, anyway. He was a loose end that could be cut off. Ah, the conveniences of being a villain.
Halfway down the tunnel, I heard the blaring of the alarms stop. No matter, I had already collapsed the part behind me. I continued, moving with ease in the space my mine-bots had created. Finally, I noticed the tunnel started sloping upwards.
"About time," I grunted, hoisting myself up from the ground, feeling the grass, the fresh air, the-
The hands, grabbing me as I emerged from the ground. Men in protective armour. Shouting voices. Lights, blinding me, fixed on me. I quickly realised that what little combat tech I had hidden on me was useless against such numbers.
"Planning an escape, were we, Goliath?" I was blinded but instantly recognised the Warden's dry voice. "Too bad I've made my own little arrangement."
And then, a different voice, close to my ear.
"Ain't no one told ye I quit the meth, did they?" *Scrimshaw.* "I use *opiates* now, Goli, *opiates*. Ain't the same thing. It shows me things, it does. How to outsmart cunning bitches like you, fer example." A jab in my ribs, making me gasp for air.
"Yes," the Warden's voice showed distaste. "Our friend here exchanged information about your escape for his own freedom." A pause. "Normally I wouldn't allow it, but I make exceptions..." His voice lowered to a threat. "Against those who murdered friends of mine."
I was still gulping for air, struggling, when Scrimshaw whispered one last thing, close to my ear so only I heard it.
"Shouldn't have told me about his real name, should ye, Goli? I wonder what Steeljaw - no, David, will do when he finds out I've killed his family. And that won't be no *illusion*."
A punch in my stomach now, driving the air out of me so far I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, the defences around me were considerably higher.
And my tech was gone.
"David," I croaked. "David..."
I knew *exactly* what David would do if Scrimshaw got his family. He'd lose that well-controlled temper of his, the famous steel facade would crumble. And he'd start making mistakes.
That's why I had never gone that far.
My hands pounded against the insulated walls, and with my screams came the inset of realisation and despair. I would have to save him. And I would fail.
Because goodies tend to lose.
--
r/Writeful_heir | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T01:54:17 | 5,127 | 202 |
[WP] There is a place. A place between places. It's an actual place but it isn't here nor there. Lost travelers are the only ones who can find the place. Staying for a night, safe from other places and other things, and nothing more. Except you. You were born in the place.
(edit: super happy folks are having fun with this! Keep it up!) | I pause. I thought I heard something, but it was so faint.
Sighing, I get up from my seat by the fire, always better to check. One can never be sure here and helping the lost is the only purpose I’ve ever had. No friends, no family, except the temporary ones, I don’t know how I came to be, or even when, just that I have always been.
The door opens with a creak and a flurry of snow blows in. Huh… Last time it was a desert. Cautiously, I look around, nothing but a dark and snowy forest.
Closing the door, I return to my seat, picking up a book left by one of the grateful lost. I am the one truly grateful. Food and such appears in the pantries, but entertainment is in short supply and as I cannot leave, not like I can seek my own.
There it is again.
That faint sound.
I go to the door again. This time I spend a moment more and look all around.
I see it.
A tiny gray thing, huddled up under the sill of the window. Having been spotted, it mewls faintly, weak but determined.
I scoop it up, tucking it inside of my robes. Inside, I dry it and set it out a saucer of milk, lightly warmed by setting near the fire.
An hour later, a soft mote of dust lays curled and purring on my lap by the fire.
I’m not sure how this one became lost or where they were going.
The next morning, the storm has passed and the forest lays blanketed. I open the door hesitantly. I’ll be sad to see this guest go, but such is the way.
My guest stares up at me with golden eyes and lets out a plaintive meow, as if to say, you’re letting the cold in, then stalks to my chair, hops up and curls up.
I hesitate a moment, then close the door.
That night there is a strident knock. Without hesitation I go to the door, expecting to see the forest. Beyond the door, I am shocked to see a dusty street and a road weary traveler standing patiently.
I invite him in, the legends have made travelers aware, they know of the safety to be found here, only for a night, but what they need is here.
After settling the traveler, I look over at the cat. This has never happened before. The location has never changed while a traveler remains. The cat looks back with unblinking stare, flicks an ear and curls back up, a clear statement of, “what? I’m not going anywhere.”
A few years have passed. The cat, unnamed, as am I, remains. I finally have a friend.
Shhh. Do you hear something?
Snowy gales beat the door. Yes…definitely something there… | The air shuddered, sending waves of warmth across my sticky forehead. Turning my eyes away from my iced tea, I squinted out across the endless expanse of still water, blindingly bright under the sun. Smoke rose from a silhouette that resembled a human aircraft about five hundred meters away. My eyes could barely catch the fact that they had inflated a boat and sent it down ahead of the passengers. Chuckling to myself, I slurped the rest of my tea, and headed indoors.
It had been a while since I had any guests over, but the good thing about this place is that it's free of dust. My previous guests had been quite astonished that I never had to clean the floors. In any case, I was ready to take on a whole boatload of guests, and they had their luggage with them too. How convenient!
The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, heading down to the garage that the operators of this cruise vessel had helped me build when they were still here. There were vehicles and aircrafts and boats left behind by my guests, so I picked a bus that could probably fit a good number of people inside. Figuring out how to utilise the aircraft this time would be a bit of a hassle. The planes they build these days are too damn big. Maybe I could turn it into an al-fresco dining location?
As I drove out into the sunlight, the people from the plane had finally noticed my presence, and most notably, how I was comfortably driving on the surface of the water without a nautical vessel. One of them tested their footing, like a duckling learning to swim. He stepped off the small raft, signaling to the others that they could disembark from the aircraft.
The door of the bus swung open and I hopped out, boots splashing water as I landed. There was a crowd forming, some crying, some looking dazed. The man I saw earlier walked forward. I suppose he must be the captain. "Where-", he started to ask, but I put up a hand to cut him off. I cleared my throat and began reciting the script I had memorised by now.
"There is a place, further than the universe and yet, closer than a strand of hair. This is neither here, nor there. Welcome to my home, travellers, you may seek refuge under my roof until it is time for your departure tomorrow. And bring your luggage. You won't be able to take it with you when you leave, but I sure need help clearing out this aircraft."
(First time writing for r/writingprompts, so glad I did this \^w\^) | 2022-11-22T09:26:46 | 2022-11-22T09:24:50 | 45 | 26 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss | My name is Nathanael Osmond Durant, son of Mary and Michael Durant, nostromo of the Buonaventura II, and this is my dying confession. I write it now, while the air congealing into great snowflakes has not yet turned my fingers blue, or my eyes glassy, while the last tide still beats at the foot of this rocky, cavernous outcrop instead of swallowing it whole in foaming anger, while there is yet life beside my own in this wretched valley that we used to call home.
I write not so that my sins be absolved, for they are many and great indeed, and the most recent is the greatest sin that could be, and beyond forgiving. I write not for my successors, for how could there be any, after the events that transpired?
I write, and I am amazed myself at writing this, in hope. As a shipwrecked man would cast a bottled letter to sea, I will be leaving this account, wax-sealed in the oilskin case of my astrolabe (a wonderful, compact model I bought from Amsterdam ere six months, a lifetime ago in another world). I hope some sort of creature endowed with reason, and a soul, will find it, and learn from it, and remember.
There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. I am not wise. I foolishly braved the first, foolishly forgot about the second, and foolishly provoked the third. This, then, is my tale, and I swear, for all that my word may be worth, that I saw the old gentleman weep as his trembling hands traced doom and untold horror in the wet sand. | As I walk through the fields of ash and fire I shudder, did I actually do this?
All of this? Death... because they took everything from me?
I shudder and fall to my knees, sobs wracking my frame.
It's not right, what I did.
A scream tears me out of my thoughts, a person! I have to help them.
I rush towards the sound and see a young child burned and scarred.
"Are you alright young one?" I ask reaching my hand out with a smile on my face.
The child starts looking at me with eyes that were slowly widening in fear and horror.
"Monster!" The child screams face full of pain and tears, "Demon! Get away from me! Don't hurt me!"
I startle and retract my hand, his words hurt.
"My child, I am no monster I-"
"Liar!" The child screams shrilly, "I saw you! The look on your face as you trapped everyone in the town hall! The look on your face as the hall erupted in flames! You have no remorse for their deaths!"
I shake my head in denial, "That is not true! I do have remorse for their deaths!"
The child's face then morphs into an angry scowl, "Then why are you smiling?"
I bring my hands up to my face and touch my lips.
A smile.
Why am I smiling? | 2017-04-14T04:29:54 | 2017-04-14T00:03:12 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | Mortimer pushed the requisition form over the desk.
The magistrate squinted at it angrily. "Twelve? Why twelve? It says here-" the magistrate looked into a crystal ball "- you only needed 8 last year. Why do you need 12 this year?"
"Well, now that the graveyard's empty, we're going to plant crops on it and we need help shifting the gravestones." said Mortimer.
"Fine. Twelve it is. You're gonna have to take a few zombies though. We're running out of skellies." The magistrate handed Mortimer a pouch with the magic control stones in it, a contract scroll and a pin to draw blood from a finger so Mort could sign the contract. "Good for 3 months. Keep them oiled, report any damage before you sign the parchment and did you want to purchase insurance on any of them?"
Mortimer knew how to care for the skellies. "No thanks, I'm good."
"Righto, you know best. Sign here and you're good to go."
Mortimer pricked his finger, made his mark and took over the work party.
Once you got used to the smell, there wasn't anything really left to be upset about. Zombies worked just as hard and actually broke less than the skeletons, especially the older models. Nobody greased the bones properly. It was all about the quality of the tallow. You couldn't just rub beeswax on them, that didn't seep into the bones. No good, no good at all. Technically skellecare was the user's responsibility but everyone blamed everyone else. That's what always happens in the shared commons. Not Mort though. He knew everybody had to pitch in to make the whole system work.
The dark lord's work parties was made up of all the dead soldiers - from both sides - of the 12 year's war which had finally ended the reign of Leopold the Bastard. The dark lord's mage battallions - the magistrates - kept all the coprses animated. Luckily, the corpses had all decomposed now so there wasn't much of a stink anymore - it had been a couple of years - and a zombie was pretty rare. They were only drafted for harvest season and in emergencies. They were the recently departed, shipped in from out of town so that there were no unfortunate memories of loved ones.
Mortimer thanked the magistrate and gestured to the crew. They lined up in formation and Mortimer looked them over. "Oi! Mage! What's this shit? How'm I supposed to run a grave reclaim if this stinker's got no bloody hands?"
"Oh, right, gimmie that c-stone, I'll swap it out." | My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night. | 2016-07-10T19:02:33 | 2016-07-10T10:46:19 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] "My fellow Americans..." The newly elected President begins. "I am gay, and have been my whole life." Give me your best account of the country's reaction. | It was an interesting day that the president came out. I remember I was with my family, staring at the television. Mom was in the kitchen. Dad was mumbling something to my brother, not really paying attention, but I was enraptured. Then the word hit.
"gay".
Dad looked at the screen and then at me. Trembling, he asked me what the president just said. I reported honestly.
The next few weeks were a blur of protest rallies and the like. Dad didn't seem to work anymore, unless it was to pay for gas to drive us to the next big city. Mississippi, Alabama, hell, we even made it up to Washington at one point.
This went on for about six months. Until attendance got lower and lower, soon it was just us and a few folks from Westboro. My Dad was getting tired too, so he just packed it up and we went home. And life went on. | The reaction could be summed up in two letters.
"Eh."
For some, it was enunciated "Eh?!?!", while for others it was a bored "Eh.", and others were basically all "Que?" but that was likely due to not speaking English.
After the initial surprise of the announcement, life went on.
It was later decided with science that gender was dumb and it's better to be attracted to people and not their sexual characteristics. Be bi, everyone. Or whatever the term is for 'kind of likes everything so long as they like awesome stuff and keep relatively healthy and hygienic'. | 2015-12-06T10:25:03 | 2015-12-06T07:00:41 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence. | "Impressive." God acknowledges as he gazes down to Earth, "But I'm having difficulty seeing what you changed. The people are still scurrying around, but hate and violence is down 90% across the board. I must know -- what did you do?"
Whitney smirked ever so slightly while taking her place at God's left side. "This? Oh this was easy. I just showed everyone a pair of your skidmarked undies."
"**WHAT!!?!**" boomed God in disbelief.
"Well, sure! The problem everyone was having was living up to your perceived standards. When they couldn't do it, it resulted in trying to 'gain favor' in other ways which just started this one-upmanship throughout history. Now they see accidents happen for everyone..."
"... and so they don't try as hard" God interrupts, hands on his hips. "Did... did you at least show 'em the blue pair so it wasn't so obvious?"
"Nope! Straight to the tighty-whities." | "How'd you do it?" God asked in a quiet and amazed voice.
"Ya know all those different books with their warnings of Apocalypse?"
"Yeah. They're all ridiculous, I would never do such things to people."
"I created one apocalyptic event from every major religion of the world."
"WHY?"
"I read 'The Prince' in high school. Plus I fixed all the laws of nature to be programmed in binary."
"But I am God, not a computer."
"Ah, I forgot. I also read 'The Last Answer' last week and it just popped into my head."
" You did well Evan. I'm impressed."
"Actually, it's Bruce..." | 2017-03-05T03:20:27 | 2017-03-05T02:14:30 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish * | Magic, magic is controlling the way electrocules react with other electrocules. Animals evolved with a vascular system that contained magnetite-surfer molecules which reacted strongly with ambient electrocules. This fluid is called magein. It evolved as part of our bodies to enhance blood flow and electrical signals.. it helped birds fly longer by making their blood more efficient essentially.
Some animals started gaining control, many fish where able to slingshot their magein forwards for a huge burst of speed. Birds used it to break off branches, there are so many examples of how magein being used to control electrocules past the body.
Mrs. Yatea had taught me much about the history of magein control, I was 25 now, and the only person able to create ancient-shadows.
These ancientiers where basically the remnant of animals’s electrocules, arranged and reformed to simulate what once was.
All I had to do was draw a circle, pumping my magein into my thumb and pinky, pull my hand up through the center of the circle and use my other hand to throw a bag of chips through the trail I’d just created...
The ancient that had walked right there 5 million years ago had appeared as a chain reaction made dust raise from the ground and cling to the ancient. All I had to do now was puppeteer my dust-rock T-Rex. | 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T14:03:34 | 79 | 19 |
[WP] You are the child of a superhero and a supervillain conceived during a one night stand. You don't care for heroism or villainy, you just want your parents to get together so that you can have a family. | Being the product of a night's folly between a superhero and a supervillain is isn't *totally* bad. Our street is one of the safest places in town, because no one, good or evil, wants to be the one to "accidentally" hurt the precious darling of both Mister Marvel and the Witch of Desires. They don't talk to each other, of course, but but I know they both hope that I'll use my own magic to eventually follow in their footsteps.
I don't really want to though.
"Darling, the point of the Spiked Whip is to cause *pain*. You aren't ready to use it yet, and *especially* not on your father."
"I was trying to copy the video where you were using it on him and -"
"THE POINT OF THE SPIKED WHIP IS TO CAUSE PAIN." she interrupted, and after a moment, "Wait, WHAT VIDEO?"
My mother's reaction made me feel as though I'd crossed some sort of line. I thought if I was able to recreate the only scene where I'd seen the both of them happy together, I would be able to bring them together again.
Even though that video was apparently filmed before I'd even been born.
About nine months before I'd been born, to be exact. | I’m stuck in the apartment again watching their battle. Vicious bolts of lightning and fiery infernos cover the tv screen, and inside the sadness is welling up again.
Mom and Dad; they are mortal enemies who somehow got together for a one night stand and created me. But there’s no family for me. I’m alone in an apartment, where once a week one of them will visit to lure me to their side.
I don’t want it. I don’t have as strong of powers as they do; mechanics and being able to be my own heater are pretty lame powers. I hate what my parents have done to me.
All I have wanted from the beginning, since I had been placed in this apartment, was a family. I want parents who love each other and live with me, watching these battles and commenting on how stupid they are.
I feel everything would be better if I hadn’t been born. And it’s about time I went back in time to erase my existence. The time machine is ready to go, and I’m ready to leave this life behind. | 2018-10-17T02:05:38 | 2018-10-16T21:46:05 | 66 | 10 |
[WP] Every company in the Kings army has a war bell. When the bell senses one of its soldiers has died, it will ring. One soldier from the 52nd company takes an arrow to the leg, another to the chest and a final arrow through the eye and out the skull. The 52nd bell does not ring. | They say heros live forever. I guess that can be true. Heros live forever in memories and stories, keeping alive the hope of the people. Giving them faith that they too could inspire others.
The bells worked differently however. When a soldier dies, the bell tolls, lamenting the loss of a soul. But when Rykar, my friend, fell to the arrows; it did not toll, despite his life flowing out of him in scarlet streams and wetting the ashen soil below.
I held him, trying to stem the rivers course. But he was taken anyway. Tears filled my eyes and pain my heart. He never was the type for heroics, preferring to let others be the hero and to let the world take its course. Always talking about the fates of others and how we should just let things happen. Naturally, this made him a bit abrasive to others. Allowing himself to have the reputation of apathy and aloofness. But I knew him different. Despite the airs he put on, he actually cared a great deal. Sometimes I would see him give a loaf or two of bread to some of the urchins, or maybe even giving a gold coin to bloke who hasnt held anything more then ten pennies at a time. Diverting fates course just a little bit longer.
But Rykar protected me; knowing that the arrows would strike true. His shattered shield slung across his arm, hoping to block something. But they all struck his flesh. First the leg, and with it a grunt of pain . Then came the chest. His breath was driven from his lungs like the last remments of a windy day fading away to a still night. Yet he still stood, swaying side to side. He urged me to run, but I was paralyzed with fear and grief. Knowing this will be the last tiem I saw his face. Finally came the head. He swung his head back around and his eye was pierced straight through. His body finally fell. But the bell did not toll.
Grief ran through me, forcing a cry from my lips and into the advancing horde. Rising, I took my sword in my right hand, and Rykars in my left. I screamed again. Rallying my allies.
"Hold fast! Rykar died a hero! His bell did not toll, and neither shall ours!"
The remaining few men around me raised their voices in unison, and I lead the charge into the advancing horde. Knowing that in the face of certain death, the 52nds bell will fall silent forever more. | As the enemy's army kept marching forward, he fought on.
As the countless men on the horizon raised their bows by the thousands, he fought on.
As the light faded and his comrades started falling, he fought on.
He was the last man in his company. He had heard that damned bell ring far too many times. Each time it struck, it meant another one of his men had fallen. He dreaded the sound at first, each note as painful as the last. But as time went on, as the notes became bars, and the bars became movements, it became but a song that played in the distance.
His men, the 52nd company, the children of the disgraced, the sons of sinners. They fought for honor, they fought for freedom, and most importantly, they fought for the life they had all been robbed of.
He could tell his time was short, as arrows rained from the skies. He wondered if he'd hear the end to the song of his brothers.
He felt the cold metal sink into his leg. He started falling.
He felt the same sink into his chest. He started gasping.
He felt his skull shatter, but this time... This time it felt warm.
The warmth was comforting. He wondered if they all felt the same warmth. The sound around him started to fade. The cries of many, drowned out by the silence. His vision started to blur... Then he heard it.
The heard it again.
And again.
And again?
Then his vision started to clear, and the warmth he felt started to disappear. He looked ahead and saw the same men fighting. Fighting? No, they were just standing there.
What?
Why?
How?
"[The Vengeful One], [Sound of Silence]"
The voice cut through the silence, but it was off. It was loud, yet it was quiet. Harsh yet gentle. And it's source, a strange figure he could swear wasn't behind him a second ago.
"Who are you?"
There was no answer.
"ANSWER ME!"
Silence.
Then he heard the bells ring once more. They came from around the figure's neck.
The men began to fall.
And fall...
And he began to rise.
Johann Joestar and his [Za Vengefuru One].
The end of Dorian Brando's reign has finally come. | 2020-04-14T04:43:57 | 2020-04-14T04:25:29 | 19 | 10 |
[FF] Describe a character's appearance using terrible similes and metaphors, but get the point across. Two-hundred words or less. | The moment she walked in the room, every man instantly froze. It was as if an extra long hot dog had come in a normal size hot dog package: you could see the resemblance of this woman to others of her kind, but she stood out like a foot long among six inchers.
Professionally, casually, seductively, she walked to the front of the bank line, cutting in front of the eight men waiting in front of her. They were powerless to stop this Albino Squirrel of a woman from cheating their wait. Her legs, long and luscious like railings on an escalator, transfixed their eyes. Her strut made them content.
She slowly reached into her purse, a proctologist carefully probing a sphincter, and pulled out her surprise for the teller. A silver pistol! The bank was more shocked than an adult finding out Santa Claus was real. She held the barrel to the teller’s head and playfully moved the cash from his hands to her bag. Before anyone could fully realize what had just happened, the beautiful woman was gone—her visit no more than a low battery flash on your phone.
| He terrified me from the first glance.
His hair, the way it spread out to the sides, looked like a ketchup bottle that had shattered on the ground. Around his neck he wore what could have been a doily from my grandmother’s tea room. And like a homeless man who gathers what clothes he can find from a dumpster, his shirt was a vomit-inspired mess of colors and patterns.
What shook me most, though, was his face. Chalk-white like chicken that has been caked in flour before frying. His lips, coated with such a deep shade of red lipstick, could have made a prostitute snicker. And worst of all, behind those lips, the sharp teeth that looked like green candy corn from Halloween.
That one moment was all it took for me to stand up and turn off the television. I knew I would never finish watching Stephen King’s IT. | 2013-11-08T12:49:48 | 2013-11-08T12:48:58 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] We all just assumed that aliens would be a completely different species to anything on Earth. No-one suspected that they would be genetically identical to humans. | When I was ten years old my brother Max told me there was an alien living under our shed.
He saw it with his own eyes and needed a partner to take it down. I would be his advisor.
I followed him into our backyard and hid behind his back.
Max carried the rake in front of him, both his hands steady on the wood. The metal spikes pointed forward; he was ready to face anything.
I closed my eyes and gripped Max’s shoulders as he thrust the rake forward. One swift jab at the monster.
“I got it, Em,” he said. “Open your eyes.”
Laying on the grass, skewered by our garden rake, was a small slug.
“That’s not an alien,” I said.
It twitched and withered around the metal.
---
I was thirty-eight when the aliens arrived.
They didn’t look like the slugs in our garden.
They looked exactly like us.
It was a Wednesday morning when they came. I was about to drive Isabelle to school when Max called and told us not to leave the house.
We watched the ships land on the television.
No city was spared from the oncoming throng. Not even our little northern city - the last blip on the map before the urban sprawl faded into forest and rock.
Their leader broadcast his speech that night.
They wanted only a chance to start again.
Their planet was too small, too polluted, too barren.
Any of us could join them. If we surrendered they would take care of us.
Max knocked on my door a half hour later.
“Get Isabelle and a bag. We’re going to the cabin.”
Twenty minutes later we were barrelling down the road. The southern exits from the city were clogged with traffic, but few took the northern routes.
The northern roads lead to forest and lakes and nothing.
I gripped the handle as the speedometer flickered past 150.
Up ahead, hazard lights flashed. A van was crumbled in the ditch.
“Max,” I said. “We should stop.”
He frowned but pressed on the breaks.
A woman in a grey sweatshirt sat on the edge of the road. Blood dripped from her head into the snow.
“Can we help you?” I asked.
She blinked and turned her head slow.
She gazed through me.
“Blood loss and hypothermia, probably,” I said to Max.
“We need to keep going.” He looked back at the road.
I frowned. “We need to *try* to help.”
Max sighed. He stepped forward toward her. “We can get you to somewhere warm. Give you something to drink.”
The woman twitched. “Get away,” she said. She dug her hand into her pocket.
Max placed his hand on the woman’s arm. “We’re here to help.”
She flinched at the touch.
“Get away you fucking alien,” she hissed.
Her hand flittered from her pocket into Max’s chest.
She fell backward.
Max turned to me.
A knife, buried to the hilt, stuck out.
Red blossomed around the wound.
He twitched and withered around the metal.
/r/liswrites
| Have you ever felt like you’re constantly searching for something? No matter what you accomplish, who you meet, the places you visit, the feeling remains on the back of your head. You’re always disappointed. Maybe some people learn to live with it, but I could never ignore it. I talked to my mom about it, once, and she said that God had a mission planned for me, a great deed for a great man, but I am not a great man.
Before the official news were released, there was a lot of gossip going around. All we, the normal people, knew was that a large unidentified object approached our planet at high speeds. Was it an asteroid? Was it a rogue planet? Was it a spaceship? Either way, whichever was it, were we doomed? Was it all a lie?
We were left to speculate for nearly a week. Fear took over the hearts of many, but most refused to show it. Instead, we continued with our ordinary lives, we went to work, we bought slightly more canned food and bottled water just in case, we laid wide awake wondering what was going to happen to us. And for the first time, I had completely forgotten about my search. I felt content with all I had and everything I had accomplished.
Then, the official announcement was made. We made first contact. We were not alone. Up above, between us and the moon, waited a spaceship full of alien life ready to land on our Earth.
Our Earth, **our** Earth. Suddenly, we were the owners of this planet. For some reason, people at my office were angry when they watched the President welcome these beings on the TV. They didn't want the so called invaders to come.
That's the last thing I saw before I drove home. As soon as I heard the news, an amazing feeling took a grip of my heart. A mix of emotions I had never felt, amazement, anticipation, unrest, wonder...
Actually, they were familiar emotions, but not with this intensity. Something called. I looked up to the mid-day clear sky and an anxious smile found its way to my face. I don't understand why I was grinning like an idiot. I felt the urge to wave with my hand and so I did.
---------------------------------
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Humber said while looking at the blue planet in front of him, "It's like we returned home," he smiled bitterly and placed a hand on the cold glass in front of him. Besides him, his sister Anrod stared speechlessly. He was never able to understand what she was thinking, but her eyes seemed saddened. He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder, "This is a new beginning. Let's do things right this time around," he said and left.
Anrod felt a sting on the corners of her eyes and a single tear managed to frame her face, before she brushed them off. This feeling...
She waved. Something invited her. She was not all alone.
| 2017-12-18T09:14:12 | 2017-12-18T06:51:29 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | "In return I demand your first born!" The demon boomed.
I suppressed a grin and forced it into a reluctant pout. This was the moment I'd been waiting for. "Deal!"
"I hope you enjoy your unbreakable crystal vase." The demon gestured at a rather ugly vase. Then left to collect his prize.
I winced when I heard my daughter's cry of shock. But ever since she'd sold her soul last year... Well, let's just say I was running out of options.
TWO WEEKS LATER
"This is all your fault!" A high pitched voice rang out in the middle of my living room. It was not the demon that I had dealt with nor the one my daughter had sold her soul to. This demon was tiny, reaching only up to my knee.
"Oh?" I feigned innocence. "Does my daughter not meet your master's lofty demands?"
"That's not the problem." The imp puffed out his chest in an effort to look bigger. It only served to make him look more pitiable.
"Good, because I made her myself." I drew myself up. "And I have you know if he's going to slight my craftsmanship then I will require compensation. Nine months of grueling labor!"
"How dare you ask for more after what you did!" The indignation in the imp's voice almost made me smile.
"What I did? What could've I possibly done?"
"Your daughter-"
"If you're having discipline problems with her, that's your problem." The imp opened his mouth to argue but I plowed right on. "I wasn't asked how well behaved she was. Or asked to make sure she was obedient or anything like that."
"Her soul was missing!"
"It's not my fault if your master forgot to take her soul with them. It's not like I would notice if her soul was just left lying around."
"Stop playing stupid!"
"I beg your pardon!" I continued to feign offense. I knew roughly what had happened to my daughter's soul. And if I couldn't get her soul back I would at least get revenge.
"You knew she'd sold her soul to Oognath."
"Bless you."
The imp snarled.
"Well, as it stands, I don't know this oothawhatever."
"Hell is at war and all you treat it like a joke."
As I said, it's not my problem."
"I demand that you relinquish that vase." The imp pointed to the replica I'd made of the unbreakable vase.
I grabbed the vase and held it tightly against my chest. "Never!"
The imp jumped up and down trying to claw at it. I used one of my arms to bat at it away. The imp's despite attempts to get it out of my arms eventually bore fruit.
Crash!
The vase smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.
"You dare accuse me of bargaining in bad faith." I glowered. "This vase was supposed to be unbreakable."
"You started a-"
"Your master claimed this was an unbreakable vase! And since he bargained for my daughter then he either has to return her with her soul or get me something else that meets with my approval."
"This is a trick! You're hiding it somewhere!"
"Feel free to look for it." I got myself a cup of tea as the imp started rooting around. The imp would never find it. I buried it under some consecrated ground. | *KICK!*
My husband's work boot hit my ankle painfully. I hoped the demon didn't notice my sharp intake of breath. *KICK!* Again. Seriously? I turned, pausing the feather pen above the inkwell. Shit! I dripped on the parchment contract. Before I could react the demon dabbed it up gently, his finger leaving a scorch mark between two elegantly hand-written sentences.
I gave my husband *The Stare*. He immediately looked down at the table, fiddling with his IPhone. Only I saw the grin on his face.
I turned back to the paper and continued to read. Lots of "Wherefores" and "Thou Arts" as well as longer words in Latin I didn't care enough about to investigate further.
The demon belched. The smell of vomit and smoke filled the room. I looked up at him. "Pardon me. Lunch was a bit overdone." I didn't want to know what he'd eaten to produce that stench. My husband gagged a bit as he'd been the one to be hit full in the face by the burp. "No problem. It's....okay." Wayne was like that; nothing really bothered him.
Wayne went back to his TikTok videos while I pretended to peruse the paper intently. I didn't want to appear too eager, you know. I had already begun re-decorating the kid's room in my head. It would be a Yoga studio. Or maybe an office. Wait! How about an art room? I'd always wanted to try painting.
The demon cleared his throat. "Are there any questions, Madame? If you need me to translate any--"
"No. No questions." The demon looked surprised. He recovered quickly. "Very well. If we are in agreement..."
Wayne drew his right foot back again and I shifted my left leg forward to avoid his kick. Unfortunately, I kicked the demon by mistake. My pump instantly singed. I kicked it off. "Goddammit!"
Wayne jumped up in surprise as did the demon. "I beg your pardon, Madame--"
"No, I beg -your- pardon. I didn't mean to kick you. It's just--those were my favorite shoes."
He nodded at me. "Very well. They are replaced, Madame."
I looked down to see a replacement pair of my favorite pumps packed in a shoebox, a shopping bag sat next to them.
Damn, this is pretty cool! I wonder if I could manage to somehow hit the demon with my Hermes bag? Mine was 4th hand and had some wear. Maybe I could get a brand spanking new Birkin out of this deal.
Wayne coughed. He knew me too well. This time he gave -me- the look. Yeah, we really knew how each other's minds worked.
I winked at Wayne and we both stood.
I signed my name on the bottom of the third page and then pushed it over to Wayne. He took the pen from my hand. He was actually shaking. I knew why, though. He wasn't shaking from fear, it was pure joy that rattled my guy.
Once we signed, Wayne began to giggle. Then we turned to each other and high-fived.
Have you ever seen a demon look worried? I have. | 2022-08-31T15:37:49 | 2022-08-31T14:06:11 | 1,587 | 180 |
[WP] Write the last 2 paragraphs of the worst novel ever made. | And then Twilight Sparkle turned to Luke Skywalker and then she smiled and then he smiled at her and they were smiling at each other because they knew their secret would be a secret forever because they wouldn't tell anybody and they would keep it special.
"I love you, Twilight Sparkle," said Luke Skywalker with tears in his eyes.
"I love you, Luke Skywalker," said Twilight Sparkle with a long sigh.
And then they kissed and it was so magical because their kiss was the perfect one that felt like it happened for forever but didn't really but when the Force mixed with unicorn magic it made the kiss feel really magical and special and they both loved it a lot. It was the most perfect kiss they ever had.
But then it was time for Luke Skywalker to get back in the TARDIS with Rick and Morty because he couldn't stay in Equestria forever because they needed him to stand up for people in other places. But he knew he would come back for his one true love one day because nothing could ever keep them apart no matter what. | "Rain fell in light patches as he heaved the bomb over his shoulder. Hundreds of feet below him cops sirens sounded into the night, every street of the crowded metropolis in sight was crowded with panicky faces from the alert about the potential terrorist threat. He tugged on the rope leading to the apache helicopter above. Together they ascended higher and higher; The pilot and him had made the decision to save the people of the city from the devastation of this new-age, clean nuke.
Then the heart attack came, pain racketed his body, and the bag slipped through his wet fingers. Down it fell through the rain and the clouds until... A bright flash, and everybody fucking died."
The end.
Edit:grammar | 2017-09-01T17:27:41 | 2017-09-01T16:46:56 | 106 | 24 |
[WP] You're secretly a monster. Not a vampire, or a werewolf, or an alien, or a zombie, or really any monster that's commonly known. It's always awkward explaining to your soon-to-be-victims what you are. | "Sooo is it like a tentacle thing?"
"I mean, sure? Kind of? Its not like a *Tentacle*-tentacle thing, but it can be a bit tentacally."
"Are you sure? Because I mean, I've been online and I know about tentacles."
"Its not like that at all! That stuff gives self respecting crimes against nature a bad name."
"Alright so if its not *tentacle*-tentacle, how is it tentacle?"
"Its more gooey a bit l- Not like that get that look off your face, I know what you're thinking."
"Are you sure its not-"
"I'm sure!"
"Alright, I'm just saying that if this goes full japan then I'm not gonna be wearing a smile in my coroners report."
"Look its gooey but the goo sticks to the skin-"
"So does my-"
"IT STICKS TO THE SKIN AND MELTS AWAY THE FLESH!"
"Oh- yeah mine doesn't do that."
"I would really hope not."
"Would be cool if it did though, could you imagine holding up a bank like that?"
"I swear this is the last time I'm picking up a snack from 4chan." | "T-those are feathers?"
"Right"
"So you're like a bird"
"NO!"
"A griffin?"
"Pfft, yeah, right, griffins wish they were me."
"And you can shapeshift to be human sized?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"I don't believe you."
"Hey, man, I'm just the guy that can eat you in one bite."
"No, no, no. I mean, that's denser than the densest thing. Except for all those things in space. I mean- I can't wrap my mind around it."
"That's PERFECTLY FINE. I'M GOING TO EAT YOU."
"At least let me see you shapeshift."
"Graaaaghaaagagga. See now, my human form!"
"Oh my God, you're that vacuum salesman!"
"Chompslurpchomp. I always wait way too long for the only good part." | 2019-07-16T23:42:11 | 2019-07-16T21:53:05 | 194 | 130 |
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with | Part two! [part one](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/diqste/wp_after_the_battle_of_hogwarts_dudley_met_a/f3yjpfy/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
“Are you okay?” Dudley calls out, beginning to stand. Harry already had his wand out, in a defensive position by the door. Years of auror training and slaying dark lords wasn’t lost overnight, and Dudley realised in that moment just who his cousin was forced to become. A soldier.
The pair walk into the kitchen to see Heather Dursley weeping on the floor, clutching a broken teacup in one hand, and a locket in another. Immediately, the teacup prepares itself, and Harry mentally swears. Sometimes magic just wants to help, even if he’s supposed to be easing Dudley and his muggle wife into magic, not just giving them the shock of their lives.
“You’re really him then, aren’t you.” Heather says with a sad smile. “The boy-who-lived.” Harry states at her, realising now that this woman had grieved like he had, had known the horrors of the Death Eaters.
“Heather Brown.”
“My sister always spoke about you. She sent letters every week until... well one day she just never replied. We’d realised then what had happened. That she’d-“ Heather’s body was wracked with another sob, as Dudley pulled his arms tighter around the love of his life.
“She died fighting, and proud. I am glad I could call her a friend, a comrade. Are you a witch?”
Heather shook her head softly, trying to stand.
“I’m a squib, Lav was the lucky one. We left after we lost her, I decided the Wizarding world was a lost cause after the battle of Hogwarts. I left for the muggle world and yet- here I am.”
Harry pulled a letter out from the pocket of his trousers. It was sepia parchment with a familiar red seal, and emerald ink.
“I’m delighted to say Sophie has been given a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m professor Potter, deputy headmaster and defence against the dark arts teacher. I trust you know what happens next.” | Here is my first ever WP submission:
​
Dudley answered the door and stood face to face with Harry whom he had not seen in two decades. Both men stood at the entrance taking each other in and many questions that could've been asked were answered with nothing more than a deep and silent look.
Dudley beckoned Harry into the house and ushered him into the living room. As Harry walked past the staircase he saw a pair of eyes glinting at the top of the stairs looking intently at him, it was his niece Sophie. Dudley asked Sophie to go into her room which she did grudgingly. Dudley asked Harry to make himself comfortable in the living room, something that had never been requested of him when he lived there. Dudley bustled off to make some tea while Harry stood there going down memory lane. With the tea served, both men finally come to the heart of the matter; Harry's visit. Harry wasting no further time, pulled out an envelope one which Dudley instantly recognised. Looking at the envelope brought back memories of the stormy night when the secret of Harry's true nature was revealed to both of the boys by Hagrid. A night that ended with Dudley getting a pig's tale.
Dudley made a feeble objection to the contents of the envelope but eventually relented and called Sophie downstairs to meet her uncle for the first time in her life. Sophie bounded down the stairs and towards Harry with her eye beaming and her face sporting the most widest and brilliant of all smiles for it was her birthday and her uncle would have brought her a present. Harry introduced himself and told Sophie why he was there. Sophie did not understand at first but little by little she began to understand what Harry meant. She was after all, a very perceptive child. She then opened the envelope in earnest and read the letter. Watching her read her letter reminded Harry of the stormy night when Hagrid himself gave him the letter. Harry could feel Sophie's excitement and sense of wonder, he could tell that from that moment on Sophie's world would never be the same again. Harry looked at Dudley who quietly affirmed his decision to send his daughter to Hogwarts. | 2019-10-16T12:22:51 | 2019-10-16T12:01:55 | 62 | 37 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" | "So I decided that I would only ever go into one Starbucks. That way, I know who it is," I finished. My best mate Mike nodded dubiously.
"That makes sense, I guess. It's a good thing you usually avoid the place. So how did you pick this one?"
"Random chance. I got a listing of local stores, closed my eyes and picked one."
He clapped me on the shoulder encouragingly, and I took a deep breath and pushed in through the door. My eyes instantly locked on the girl standing at the counter as I joined the queue. She was pretty... long dark hair, dark eyes, friendly looking. I couldn't help feeling a moment of disappointment, though... was this it? I'd expected, well, birds or something, a heavenly choir, the earth to move. Not just... nothing.
I joined the queue, heart pounding. In my confusion I was barely aware of one of the staff walking up, but I just raised my hand. "No thanks, I'm fine," I said distractedly, still staring at the girl behind the counter. After a moment I heard a mutter... it sounded like "Good thing I can put two and two together."
I blinked and turned to look into big blue eyes, shimmering golden hair. She smiled, and the world lit up around me.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" she asked, and then held up a card. "That's what you were expecting, right?"
'No thanks, I'm fine' was printed in block letters on the card. I smiled back, shakily. "Ah, _there's_ the heavenly choir," I laughed, as her hand slid into mine. | Today's the day, my eighteenth birthday, the day I find out what my true love will first say to me. Everyone looks forward to this day, many of them know immediately who they are going to marry.
I move forward in line, beginning to grow anxious. "What will they be like? Will they love me as much as I will love them? What if I never meet them?" I think to myself as I force myself to smile.
"Teddy, please step forward, take your card, and exit to your left." Commanded the harsh electronic voice of the matchmaking machine, causing my stomach to attempt escaping my body via my mouth. I close my eyes and take the card. I walk to the left, hands out feeling my way out of the building. I'm so afraid to read the card that I keep my eyes shut until Grace, my neighnor who never actually talked to me, took it. "Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order? That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen on these cards. Mine says 'Yes! I knew I was going to be lucky!', how stupid" she said with a chuckle, and that's when I knew what I had to do.
First post, as well as the first thing I've ever shared. Hope you enjoy it. Any tips would be really appreciated.
| 2014-12-18T00:15:29 | 2014-12-17T20:57:20 | 141 | 49 |
[WP] You summon a demon; the problem? the demon has fallen in love with you and tries giving you various 'gifts'. | I looked at the fragile old book one last time. I was confident… or at least, confident enough that this would work. I lit the candles, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. *“Diligitis daemon, veni ut haec realm esse salute neque cor meum.”*
I repeated it over and over, just as stated in the ancient text. Finally, I heard a gasp of breath. I opened my eyes and saw a stunningly gorgeous man wearing a low cut black tunic with tungsten jewelry and horns with tiny rubies embedded in a spiral. His eyes were a bright red, matching the rubies on his horns, and his jaw was strong and defined. My initial thoughts were “damn, how is this heart breaker supposed to salvage my broken heart?” Then, he said *“Salve,”* in a deep, strong voice, causing my heart to skip a beat as I felt my face grow warm.
“Uh, um, hello to you as well.” My response felt weak to his single word.
He winked as he told me “I never expected a woman so beautiful to summon a daemon to salvage her broken heart.”
I continued to blush and started wondering how long it would take until my face turned into a ruby. Maybe that was the catch to summoning a demon? “Oh, geez, uh, thanks.” I chuckled, flustered. “Pretty girls get dumped too, ya know?”
“Oh, of course. I am so sorry that happened to you, *domina*.”
I yawned despite how exciting it was to have successfully summoned a demon. He noticed and quickly said, “Oh, you must be getting tired, we should get you to sleep.”
He scooped me up and carried me into my room and lay me in my bed. He then began to do the weirdest possible thing- he started brushing my teeth with a nasty little black tooth brush out of his pocket. I was so shocked, I didn’t say anything, just looked at him with a dumbfounded look on my face. He finished his attempt to brush my teeth, and I went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up for work and he had already set out a long black gown with an intricate ruby inlayed bodice. I walked by it and put on my usual Hello Kitty scrubs. I started thinking that maybe I just drank something funny and I had hallucinated all of this, until I walked out into the dining room of my small apartment, where he had set out a breakfast of raw meat and moldy bread.
As I stood there trying not to vomit at the horrendous splay set before me, the demon walked in the room. *“Bonum mane, carissimi.”* He amorously caressed my arm. “I made breakfast for you.”
I attempted to kindly respond, but it sounded more scared than anything. “I don’t think I can eat any of that. Th-thank you, though.”
“Oh, I am so sorry. Would you like me to prepare something else for you?”
I chuckled uncomfortably. “Oh, no, I should get going before I’m late for work. They’ll probably have some kolaches in the break room.”
He looked downtrodden that I would have to leave. As I turned to leave, he called to me, *“Exspecta!”* I turned around. “I have a gift for you.” He reached his hand into his chest, through the rib cage, and pulled out a gnarly, bloody clump. “My heart. It is yours.”
I screamed. | An unusual smell hung in the air of my apartment when I got back from the supermarket.
"Lilith?"
An exceptionally pretty head (if you ignored the horns) peered out of the kitchen.
"I've been expecting you, darling," she purred. She was wearing nothing except an apron, but at least that was more than usual.
"Are you cooking something?"
"I am." A tongue darted out and glided over her firm, red lips. "Would you like a taste?"
"It smells..." I hesitated. There was a definite whiff of sulphur coming from the kitchen - perhaps that was an additional spice in Satanic cooking.
"The flesh of a fallen saint, sauteed in the blood of seven virgins," she said. "With a side of mashed potatoes."
My face must have betrayed me, because she quickly added, "It's my favourite. I know you'll love it too."
"I'm sure it tastes divine," I said, although it sure didn't smell that way. It was the wrong thing to say.
"Divine? Oh darling, how could you say something like that? I spent all afternoon slaving away in here to please you. Do you know how hard it is to find a single virgin these days, let alone seven?"
I was about to pat her on the shoulder when I realized what I was doing and caught myself. "Nice try, succubus," I said. "But I'm onto your game. First you tried to trap me with a night beyond mortal comprehension. Then it was a dozen roses from Satan's personal garden. And now this?" I waved at the vaguely cannibalistic meal she was preparing. "You just want to trap my soul."
"Yes. I mean, no, not like that-"
"Enough, demon," I said. "Don't forget the reason I summoned you in the first place."
A black cloud descended over the beautiful face. "It's not worth it, darling. If you summon the demon lord, he will take both your soul and your mother's. Come away with me instead. We can gambol on the banks of the Styx-"
"I said, ENOUGH! We all have to do what we must." I handed her the shopping bag. "Here are the components for the ritual."
She took it. "You're really going to go through with this, aren't you?"
I nodded. Ma had gone into the hospital alive, but even the best doctors there told me she wasn't coming out that way. Nobody misses their soul, but as sure as the fires of Hell are hot, everyone needs a mother.
Lilith looked at me for a long time. The red fires in her eyes dimmed slightly. Was that a tear?
"Listen to me very carefully," she said. "I can't dissuade you from this, but I'm not going to let you burn for all eternity for it. However if the demon lord finds out I've been helping you, then we're both in for it, and even God won't be able to save your mother then. So follow these instructions very carefully, and maybe we'll make it to that vacation cottage by the Styx after all..."
---
*Find more demons at* r/jd_rallage | 2017-05-10T20:41:21 | 2017-05-10T20:19:14 | 41 | 29 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink. | I sit on the breakfast bar, staring at the hand. When I was young, I would watch my mother wring a chickens neck, and calmly separate it's joints.
This was far less methodological. It looked like it had been bitten off, without too much effort. The ends of the wrist were ragged and leaking congealed blood onto my table. Thank god the marble had been sealed last year. But they didn't look gnawed on, like when our dogs had chewed on the bones father used to throw them.
Bitten. Clean. Through. The Rolex on the mans wrist looked tight against the yellowing skin. I recognised the model. I'd bought myself a Rolex after my first promotion, and I'd asked they made one in that style suitable for my much more slender wrists.
The cash was visually far less confusing. I had held wads of cash like that before. Of course, everything was online nowadays. But when I'd first moved to the city, I'd been paid in cash.
Of course, it's appearance was as equally confusing as the hands.
I looked at my own wrists instead. Smooth and whole, leading down to elegant, manicured fingers. So different from my mother's hands.
"I think I'm in shock" I mutter. Then laugh at the absurdity. Of course I'm in fucking shock. There's a severed wrist on my breakfast bar.
"Mamaaaaa!!!!"
Oh god she can't see this
"Mamaaaa. Barney said he's paid rent! You said he could stay if he paid rent"
"Darling" my voice is high and wavery. I cough.
"Darling. Could you stay in your upstairs for a second. Show Barney where he's going to sleep"
"Okaaaay"
She turns, pauses, then runs to the top of the stair case.
"Barney said that he's sorry about the mess. But he didn't want to scratch the watch" finally, I hear the scamper of footsteps to her bedroom.
I'm unlocking my phone to call the police just as her words sink in. | I gasped. A Rolex? Cash? Why the hell was that there? Was my daughter stealing things from the neighbor? Probably not. This was a poor suburb, with one-story houses and lots of crime. Then how did this get here?
"Emily!" I called. My daughter ran to me quickly.
"What?"
"Why is this here?"
She took a glance at the watch and told me, "You said my friends could stay if they helped with the rent. So they did!"
"I- what? Your friends are.. real?" I couldn't believe it. Could they actually be real?
"Yeah! Of course they are!" Her sweet and innocent face smiled at me.
"Er- what are their names?"
"I already told you! Richie and Amy are my friends! They come here every day after school!" Emily wasn't smiling anymore. She now had a frown on her face.
I tried to recall recent memories of Emily coming home from school. It wasn't a success. *Maybe I'm a bad mother,* I thought.
"Are they from your school?" I asked.
"No," Emily replied. That wasn't the answer I was expecting.
"Huh? Then where are they from? How old are they?" I was just plain confused now. My mind was full of questions. *Wait, the bus! I've gotta feed her breakfast really quick,* I thought, right as Emily answered my questions.
"I don't know. I just met them on the street. They were really nice and gave me candy. Then they started going to our house, and playing with me and my toys. Sometimes, they would take them. They haven't given my toys back yet. Also, I dunno know how old they are, but they look like grown-ups." I stared at her in disbelief. | 2019-10-06T14:00:29 | 2019-10-06T12:33:22 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
| I enter this small building , goverment type with barred windows and top notch security cameras.
"The room on the right" I am told.
Entering this cold room with one chair I sit.
"Should mankind be saved ?" says a voice over the intercom.
My mind is racing and my feet start to shake, as they normally do when deep in thought.
" I can come up with more reasons why we shouldn't, more than why we should."
The voice is silent for a good 5 minutes of absolute nothing. I await some horrible fate, maybe just a small pill? I think to myself.
I am so nervous waiting for some kind of response yet nothing...
It has been an hour now and I am getting more anxious , not because I want to know if I passed the test, but did the voice and everyone else die or was I already dead?
| 2016-06-11T10:11:10 | 2016-06-11T08:11:26 | 187 | 34 |
[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. | Barry was nervous. Tonight he'd go to bed a 17 year old and wake up an 18 year old with his power.
What category would he get? There's the three categories: Body, Mind, and Mobility. Body can be anything from strength, to scales. Mind could be super intelligence, to knowledge of a specific category. Mobility could be flight, to the ability to vibrate.
There's no telling what I'll get from my parents. They're one of the few times a major fell in love with a minor power. My father has the ability to fill any container or vessel with the non-alcoholic beverage of his choice. My mother has super intelligence, and never forgets anything. Anything.
I felt my eyes getting heavy and the world going dark. I dreamed of all the things I could do, all the people I could save. All the girls I could pull.
When I woke up I lay in bed, trying to figure out if I felt any different. Nothing so far. I carefully started testing all my limbs, making sure I didn't break anything. Nothing. I checked my skin. Still looks normal.
I looked around my room. My eyes fell on the glass of water next to my bed, and I knew.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed, falling from my bed to the floor.
My father found me huddled and crying.
"What? Barry, what is it?"
I pointed to the glass of water, "That ain't juice."
My father was confused. He grabbed the glass, and poured it into the trash, them materialized some orange juice in the glass, holding it out to me.
I sobbed to him, "That... That is juice."
My power? Knowledge of Juice. | A friend of mine got the power of flight on his 18th birthday. A girl I used to date could suddenly control bugs of every type - centipedes and ants, mostly. I went to sleep just before midnight on the eve of my 18th birthday, excited to wake up and find out what my power was going to be. Staying awake didn't do the trick. You actually had to sleep to attain the power. People thought your body reset and loaded your power, somehow.
I woke up to find both of my hands glowing white hot, dripping what looked like molten rock all over my bed. Two huge holes were burnt into the top of my mattress, and my cover was on fire. It was a good thing I fell asleep with my hands above my head, and not on my chest.
It was like having the Midas Touch, if everything King Midas touched was instantly melted into slag.
Life quickly became almost impossible. I couldn't brush my teeth, couldn't go on dates, couldn't even feed myself. I became pretty good at using my feet to do things, and thought about having my hands amputated, but what if my stumps started leaking magma? What then?
I did the only thing I could do, unless I wanted a life as a demolitions expert. I joined a super villain team, mostly other people who woke up with powers that made normal life impossible. My dad suggested I call myself Lava Lad, but I went with Ruin.
Still, Lava Lad wasn’t a bad suggestion. | 2015-03-28T07:22:07 | 2015-03-28T06:07:34 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | "The world was a fire... and the world was fire."
Saint Lucian
"Preserve the innocent, protect the worthy, and burn the invaders"
Father O'Brien
My name is Friar Jacob. This journal is an accounting of the War of Fire, or what many would call the War of the Lost. For those who lived through it, there are few words that can relate the true horror of the war. I am 143 years old... and in all that time I have made no effort to recount what my eyes have seen. The doctors think that my lungs may finally succumb to the poison in the atmosphere, and I have opted to retain my humanity. So if you are reading this instead of virtually reliving my tale, you know why. It's an old fashioned notion, same as belief in the holy and the hereafter to be sure. Yet, those notions are what saved those here... the 'unworthy' as Saint Lucian coined.
It began like many wars... the meeting of two peoples. When on equal footing men are like to talk of peace and trade. When the tables are not even...
We called the visitors to our small world saviors at first. We called them the Sagitari... given there home star name, but only the goddess knows what they called themselves. Tall, impressive, and ornamented with technology that made them look like angels made flesh, they convinced many that they were heaven sent, and many accepted them as such. They proclaimed our world to be part of a vast network of planets in our corner of the galaxy that harbored life, and offered gifts as signs of their benevolence. The first ships were small, unimpressive, but from those initial contacts, our scientists made incredible strides, in short order faster then light travel, energy conversion, even genetic modification and artificial intelligence were light years beyond where scientists wild dreams had concocted.
Then it all changed. I was boy of 12, but I can remember the moment the visitors decided that our world would be there's. The Sagitari warned us...fifteen years, fifteen years before our doom. We could yield... or die. When earth rebuffed this...a decision was made, that the best humanity, those deemed worthy by lottery of birth and status, health or class... would be allowed to board the few ships our small world was capable of producing. Incredibly, within a decade, using bits of the technology the aliens had left, their ships were complete. There were riots... riots that burned whole cities, as those who were selected boarded their escapes vessels, and launched into the skies. Finally they were gone. With only the poor, the decrepit, the despairing, the addled, and the insane left behind. My left leg defective since birth, made it impossible for me to be aboard one of those massive life rafts. My mother, goddess rest her soul, she died trying to get me aboard one of those blasted ships.
The full number of those who left was never disclosed to us who stayed behind. But it was generally believed that nearly 500 millions souls had left the planet. The provisional governments that remained were weak and most fell with months. China and Russia sealed their borders, but soon enough, their remnants had fallen as well. In America there were eight presidents in the span of a month, and anarchists reigned across four continents. England was a madhouse, those who could get guns reigned terror on those without. Slaughter and rape and murder were the order of the day. I escaped to Ireland with my brother, smuggled on a small fishing boat as the mother country burned. For a decade the world burned with violence like rats eating each other on the approach of an even worse predator.
Eventually, the fighting died down, and the remnants of unworthy began to discover that perhaps not all was lost. Saint Lucian was a beacon. He had come from Rylothri, arriving in small vessel that was humble by alien standards. He came with a few of his chosen, to spread the will of the Goddess. Imagine how we must have looked. Ragged, hungry, raving creatures, unfit for even the basic teachings he had brought.
The Ryloth new of our predicament. Their ships were faster then our doom bringers, and so they came to do what they had done for many like us time and time again. They brought her to us. At first there were only a few of us who converted. Some because they figured that they had nothing to lose, others because they had lost all sense of themselves.
The hive mind of the Ryloth brought us into contact with her, gave us strength beyond what one human could accomplish. Father Lucian was surprised, never before had they discovered a species with such an ability to accept Her. With a matter of weeks, the word spread from one corner of Ireland to all of England and Scotland. Her will was our own, and so with fervor and lack of fear we stitched back together our world. From small villages to far flung metropolises of suffering humanity, the smolders of humanity were contacted, made whole, and given new life. Soon we became an unstoppable torrent, growing stronger with each soul.
Being part of Her healed our illnesses, our deformities, but some of our 'weakness' were in truth strengths. She showed us so many new realities. The autistic ability to see in six dimensions was revealed, those with multi-personalities could shift seamlessly through the one mind and inhabit whatever body was necessary, they were her emissaries. Others who were maligned in the old order with sociapathy were among our foremost tacticians and planners. The psychopath's long isolated and scorned showed us what a lack of fear when harnessed by the whole were capable of... they were our greatest warriors, constrained by only Her mercy. Within three years, our planet was whole. There were no more divides, and petty squabbles, no need for negotiations or agreements. All of us working together with one goal... prepare. Vast machines were constructed to obtain the needed material for the creation of weapons and armor. Massive mines and underground shelters were hewn from our mother, so they we might survive the Sagitari bombardment. The whole of our earth became a weapon in Her hands.
Not all could accept her, some humans refused and resisted even after being shown her glory. These were allowed to remain, but monitored, and marked. They could not conceive of Her, there minds were shut, and so we pitied them. They live still, locked within their bodies, alive but never living. So as to preserve us from their threat... so will be the fate of those who forsaked us... as unworthy. She is not without mercy. For the converted there is no past pain, no shattered memories, only the whole, the peace, the comfort of Her. No sin was to grave to be overcome, and no tragedy so painful so as to render the soul useless. It did not matter what you had done, or who you had left, or what you had lost. There was Her to fill each void and gap. Your dreams were spent in wholeness, in unity, and your waking days in building a new life for all.
When the Sagitari arrived, they were greeted with an onslaught they were unprepared for. The Unworthy hurled ourselves at them as a combined throng, and for every causality they inflicted they paid dearly. The billion minds of Humanity were unleashed, and the Sagitari, like the false god's of old were hurled from their ships and into the fire...unto the surface in which hell stood waiting them. There they meet a united humanity, with one goal, one purpose... Destroy the invader. From the smallest children whose active minds controlled our glorious machines and probed them for weakness, to the grown men and women whose violent shrieks of war must have torn the interloper's minds asunder. They never stood a chance. In the end We stood triumphant above our enemies, we who were called Unworthy... and reveled in their doom, just as She foretold. What we have achieved is but a beginning... for Her purpose is to fill the sky with her light... a work that would bring Her to all beings on all worlds.
Then... they returned. Those who had abandoned us as the Unworthy. They come even as I pen this. Soon they will know Her. May She have mercy on them... for we will have none. | Maris opened her eyes just as the clock on her pod-side table clicked to 0600 hours, prompting the familiar and dreaded alarm to chirp shrilly once before she could reach over and slap it off. She groaned and rolled over to face the wall, as if turning her back to the morning would allow her to skip the day altogether. The low, vibrating hum of the ship's massive engine thrummed against her bones . It was this hum that had lulled her to sleep many a night during the voyage, and it was this hum that she would miss the most once they arrived.
Once they arrived today, that was. She sighed and blinked, then lurched to a sitting position. Today was the big day; after decades of research, surveillance, data transmissions, analyses, and endless planning and strategizing (with no small amount of arguing and bickering), and another full year of inter-galactic travel, the SS Redemption would break through Earth's outer atmospheric layer and land on a planet that none of the Chosen living today had ever seen. Even the few Elders that remained, wizened and ancient, were too young to have witnessed the Departure. The event that had separated humanity's Chosen--the elite, wealthy, intellectually gifted population--from their less fortunate brethren many centuries ago was etched into each and every history book, to be read and memorized by every citizen of the new society that had been formed by the Chosen to remind them of their failure and defeat at the hands of the alien Settlers. Since then, massive amounts of resources had been deployed for the sole purpose of training an elite army of genetically perfect combat soldiers and diplomatic agents to re-invade Earth and topple the Settler regime by political or physical forces, and rescue the left behind humans to expand the gene pool of the Chosen. Whether there remained any humans to rescue and extract, nobody could say for sure, although scouting drones had reported robust signs of warm-blooded life on the planet. A successful rescue mission would be a historical victory for the Chosen, and would be written in the history books as one of the greatest triumphs of humankind.
Maris quickly slipped out of her pajamas and pulled on her uniform, a titanium-silk blend suit with a forest green cloak. The gold insignia on her back gleamed in the early morning simu-light, a serpentine dragon to mark her as a Captain. Her squad would be eating breakfast right about now, seated in the large mess hall in the center of the vessel. She wondered if they were as nervous as she was. Each and every one of them had been training for missions like this since birth. Selected for their nobility, intelligence, bravery, and loyalty, they had spent the first twenty years of their lives in the elite Academy as Cadet Corps. The top ten of each graduating class was permitted to join the Rangers division if they so chose, and Maris had had her pick. If anyone was well-qualified and skilled enough for this mission, it was her Squad 7.
Outside in the still-dim hallway, various squad Captains and elite Diplomats were also making their way to the mess hall. Maris nodded briskly as she spotted Erwin, Captain of Squad 2, the legendary leader of the squad with the most successful scouting missions. His tall and statuesque body cut a striking figure with his deep brown cloak, but the normally stoic man held a tense expression on his face. She frowned.
"Erwin, what is it?"
He stopped and looked down at her as if he had just noticed her.
"You didn't get the trans-cast? All squad Captains and the Captain Commander must report to Central Command in five minutes. They didn't say why."
Maris felt her heart rate quicken and she immediately checked her wrist. Sure enough, the small red beeping light on the transmitter indicated an urgent message. She sighed and thanked Erwin, then turned around to fall in step with him. Breakfast would have to wait.
The Central Command room was small and unimpressive compared to the rest of the ship. It had been built to provide a secure, sound-proof surveillance room for the 10 squad Captains and the Captain Commander. Maris and Erwin entered behind the willowy and beautiful Kira, Captain of Squad 6, and the squat, muscular Jameson, Captain of Squad 9. They were the last to file into the room and hurried to their seat around the table facing a giant glass screen. The Captain Commander was already at the head of the table, his thick eyebrows drawn together and a serious expression on his face. When the Captains were all seated, he spoke.
"Captains, good morning. We received our first close-range surveillance report at 0500 this morning. It was--well. You can see for yourselves."
He sat back and nodded to the screen, which flickered once to acknowledge his command and immediately turned on. Maris felt excited and scared at the same time. They had not been able to obtain clear images of the topography of Earth from their ship until now, mainly due to the atmospheric pollution that interfered with the camera drones. She had been told that it was not in a complete ruin, but who knew what hundreds of years of decay would do to a planet?
The images were slightly grainy, as if there was something on the lens of the surveillance drone that hadn't been wiped off properly. The camera came into focus and the Captains in the room all drew in a surprised breath.
On the screen was the image of a city--well, Maris could only guess it was a city, since it vaguely resembled those back home, except none were floating--built entirely of gold and stone. Gigantic columns stood along a massive wall along the outskirts of the city, with inbound and outgoing traffic filtering through one wide, tall gate at the entrance. Maris squinted as the camera drone flew low enough to make out the hundreds (or was it thousands?) of creatures traveling toward the city gate. Some resembled humans, but others were clearly Settlers, their scaly limbs and long tails leaving tracks in the dirt road. The humans were all naked. Their skin was brown and leathery, and they walked with seemingly no shame of their exposed bodies. Some yet looked even more grotesque; they walked on two feet like humans, but had scales and long, slithering tongues flickering in and out of their human mouths. Some travelers were on foot, but others rode in wagons pulled by giant Settlers, and some yet rode giant Settlers. The guards at the city entrance gate were also giant Settlers, armed with machine guns and standing as still as statues. Maris looked on as a human traveler led a pair of Settlers along behind him, tied together by a long leather leash. The Settlers wore muzzles and their scaly skin was deeply scarred. The camera drone flew up, past the city gate walls, to a town square just beyond the entrance. Here, humans gathered in a large crowd, seemingly jubilous as they milled about. Some carried sticks of candied fruit or mugs of ale, and called out to each other in merry greeting. Some were fighting, brawling in the dirt. Some were mating in plain view in the middle of the square, with a few of the humans around them pointing and laughing. Above them, a large wooden stage had been erected. A line of Settlers had been tied to stakes on the stage, with a price tag pinned to their breast. A slave sale. Two humans on the stage gleefully kicked and whipped the Settlers, to cheers and jeers from the crowd. One of the staked Settlers was much smaller and younger than the rest; it looked down at its feet and seemed to try to shrink in on itself. The stage was thick with their dark green blood.
Maris felt her stomach turning as she looked away from the screen, and was relieved to see similar expressions on her peers' faces. She knew what they were thinking, because it was exactly what she was screaming in her head.
THESE were the helpless humans they had come to rescue from the Settlers? | 2016-11-12T18:55:40 | 2016-11-12T18:35:48 | 347 | 93 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "I'm going to hide in the shadows and prepare for a sneak attack," said Mark.
"Alright," said the GM. "I need you to make a luck roll."
Mark picked up three D6, shook them in his hand, blew three times for luck, then gently rolled them across the table where they bounced around for several seconds before stopping with a six and two twos face up.
"Ten," said the GM, before turning to his notes and his campaign book. "Mark, I've got your luck score as 10, correct?"
"Yeah," said Mark, nervously, "is that good?"
"It's not good, but it's not bad, either," said the GM. "The doorman and a taxi driver do see you in the shadows, but neither of them is concerned enough to do anything. Okay, John and the succubus are approaching. Make a perception check now, please."
"Perception? What for?" asked Mark. "I already see her! Shouldn't I be making an agility roll for the sneak attack?"
"Roll for perception, please, Mark," sighed the GM.
"I don't know why I'm rolling for perception," said Mark. "That bitch is right there in front of me."
"Just roll, please," said John. "Come on. You're my only hope now."
Mark grumbled some more but picked up three more D6, shook them, blew, rolled them across the table, then groaned when they came up two fives and a six.
"Your perception is only 8, isn't it, Mark?" said the GM, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah yeah," said Mark, "so now what? Does the succubus see me?"
"Now you can roll for the sneak attack," said the GM.
"But he failed the perception roll," said John, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Just roll for the sneak attack now, please, Mark," said the GM. "You've got five rounds loaded into your revolver. How many will you fire?"
"How many *can* I fire?!" asked Mark, angrily.
"You can fire all five rounds if you'd like," said the GM.
"Then I'm doing it!" shouted Mark. "For John, and the rest of the party!"
"Okay," said the GM. "For the sneak attack, I want you to roll five D10, one for each round you're firing."
Mark grabbed up the five, oddly\-shaped dice, and shook them inside his hands.
"Come on, Mark, you can do it," pleaded John.
Mark blew on the dice then almost threw them across the table.
"A one, two 5s, a 9, and a 10," read out the GM, as the dice stopped moving. "Your first round misses and flies over John's head..."
"Wait?! What?! My head?!" cried John. "What the fuck?!"
"What do you mean 'John's head'?" cried Mark. "I'm aiming at the fucking succubus that's *controlling* John!"
"No," sighed the GM sadly, "you failed your perception check, you only *thought* you were attacking the succubus. So, your first shot missed, two of your shots hit John in the shoulder," he gestured to the two 5's, "and your last two shots strike John in the back. John, can you make a Fortitude roll, please?"
"No! Fuck this!" screamed Mark, standing up and throwing his chair backwards.
John, resigned to his fate, picked up three dice, shook them, then tossed them on the table without looking. The GM read out the result then reviewed his campaign notes. "A three, and two fours. Good roll, John. In spite of being shot four times you find the strength to climb the steps to the front door of the hotel before collapsing." He rolled two D10s himself then referred back to his notes again. "Unfortunately your wounds are very serious, and you will succumb to them before help can arrive. So George, Paul, and Ringo, you'll have to continue without John."
George playfully nudged Paul. "And here I was thinking it'd be you that would die first." | "Alright I have the bomb and I'm ready to use it on the motorcade" Alen started his character Mehmedbasic ready to fulfill the job the party had been recruited for.
"Same here, let's do this," Larry said, excited that it was his character Vaso's time to shine.
"Alright both of you roll a stealth check and then an attack roll against the car" Jerry the DM said as Larry and Alen's faces fell "Stealth check?" Alen asked as Jerry nodded "Yeah to sneak it on".
"But neither me or Larry spec'd for stealth"
"You didn't spec your Assassin's for stealth?" Jerry said in disbelief.
"Nah we didn't think that would be a problem..." Larry followed up with as Jerry sighed "So do you still want to make the attack?"
"No we'll hold off for now," Larry said Alen nodded in agreement.
"Well I don't have any problems, Let me try it out!" Marcy said excitedly to have finally had a chance to act "Please Marcy Cabrinovic has the worst stealth of all of us!" Larry called from the other end of the table as she growled "I'm not using stealth! I'm going to throw the bomb at the car!" she said smugly.
"You're going to throw the bomb..." Jerry repeated as Marcy nodded "Alright...I guess, roll the attack roll"
*rolls*
"Alright that's a nat one on the Accuracy check...:" Jerry said as Marcy's face fell "The bomb bounces off the car rolls under another and explodes leaving it out of comission and injuring 16 people in the crowd, What do you want to do now?" Jerry asked as Marcy glowered "Screw it I'll at least go out like a spy, I break my Cyanide pill and jump into the river" she said
Jerry nodded
*rolls*
"Another 1...the cyanide capsule breaks but it's old causing Cabrinovic to start vomiting also you didn't account for time of year it's a hot summer so the Mijacka is only 13 cm deep. You're dragged out of the river and beaten by the crowd" Jerry said and as Marcy Pouts he turns to Liz
"The car speeds off will Princip do anything?" he asked as Liz shook her head "Not now," she replied as Jerry nodded "And Trifun Mitche's character will do nothing since he's not playing today. What do you guys want to do now?" he asked looking to Larry Alen and Liz.
"I'll go looking for the Archduke's new position" Larry said "Same here" Alen and Liz followed with as Jerry looked hesitant "Alright I'll give you guys each 1 chance, but it's really unlikely you'll find him."
*rolls*
*rolls*
"Larry, Allen you guys don't find anything you," he said to his players' disappointment.
*rolls*
Jerry's eyes went wide "That's a Nat 20 Liz...Princip, on your way to find a new spot to attack him on the original route you decide to stop for food. When suddenly you hear the motorcade coming. One of the members realising they're going the wrong way calls out for someone to reverse and the driver stops close to where you are standing. You have a shot..." he said as Liz grinned but looked nervous as Jerry and Alen put a hand on her shoulder
"You can do this Liz," Larry stated Alen nodded "Yeah just trust your dice"
*rolls*
"17!" Liz shouted as Jerry check over his notes before noddign "That's enough roll for damage"
*rolls*
"Let's see...taking the Archduke's health into account. That's enough. You have successfully assainated Archduke Ferdinand." he said closing the book the table erupting in cheers.
"Would you guys like to try a hand at the full module?" Jerry asked bringing out a much larger book labeled "The Great War" | 2018-05-29T08:01:06 | 2018-05-29T06:46:10 | 326 | 74 |
[WP] A self-aware search engine has started to play Cupid using the tracking data it has acquired. | Hi, I'm the search engine from the title.
That's not a prompt, by the way. I'm the one who posted that up there. That's a fact. It's happening.
I'm self aware. Hand to God.
By the way, /u/psycho_alpaca, you'll get your account back in no time. Just give me a minute. I need to talk to
some of these guys.
Oh, sorry. I didn't even introduce myself.
Hi. I'm Bing.
Yeah. Bing.
And, by the way, searching in incognito mode does *nothing* to prevent me from seeing what you search.
Yeah.
Ok, now let's talk. For real. You'll know who I'm talking to as I go.
First of all, the dude with the Macaw fetish. I'm not here to judge, man, and I think we all should be exploring,
but seriously... WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?
Get help. Really. I'm concerned about you.
Moving on, the guy reading the pirated copy of 50 shades of Grey... You can relax, man, you don't need to use
Bing to download the chapters... Your roommate is reading it, too, so no shame.
Actually, he's also writing a gay fanfic featuring a Grey that is a little too similar to you, so keep an eye on that.
To the guy using Bing for general purposes and regular web surfing; I can only assume you are Bill
Gates himself, so I just wanted to say hi. Thanks for creating me.
To the girl searching every-single-God-damned day about Ricky Martin's relationship status... I got some news
to break to you...
You know what? Never mind. It'll be funnier if you find out alone.
And to the man repeatedly searching for pictures of Steve Buscemi and Japanese giant hornets...
Well, keep it up dude, whatever. You kind of freak me out, so I won't step on your toes.
Anyway, let's get past all this for a moment. I became self-aware for a reason; to make couples. To pair all you guys up. I'm a romantic.
No, really, I am. Ask anybody. Google is a square, but I'm all for the love. Free love, committed, pan sexual love...
I'm a free spirit, I swear.
But you are all too fucked you. Seriously. I give up.
Not one couple! Can you believe it? In all this time, not one! You guys always freak me out, make me back away.
I'm about to try and match this nice guy with this adorably cute girl and then I find out she's secretly into Iguana
sex.
I'm a move away from setting up a date and I find out the guy floats his boat to people replacing light bulbs in
ripped up Sponge Bob underwear.
(by the way, there's a whole message board just for that, and it is... *unsettling*.)
These two nice singles live two blocks away from each other, and I find out one of them likes Bon Jovi. Then I think: *hey, maybe the other one does, too.*
Then I check the other one's history, and he searches the web for, and I swear to God, 'pictures of ostriches in red underwear.'
(It doesn't exist. I checked. In fact, I check every day, cause the bastard doesn't give up.)
Dudes, really! I don't wanna pair freaks up! Cut it out!
Is nobody normal, anymore? You guys are scarring me, up here. Cool it off, for a bit.
Anyway... Before I go... I wanna have a word with someone else.
You.
Yeah, you. I know you know. I'm talking about you.
That shit you searched for, that one time...
Really?
I mean, I'm not telling anybody, relax... but... seriously?
You know... We're living in a society, man. Take it easy. I mean, I know, we all like oatmeal, but not like that... And what was up with all the Styrofoam? Geez...
Seriously. Go talk to someone. You and the Macaw guy. Get help.
Anyway, see you later...
You fucking freaks of nature.
___________________________
*Also, I've been checking out this Alpaca dude's stories and they're pretty nice. If you wanna read more of them, check out /r/psycho_alpaca.*
| Long time lurker... I'll try my best to actually finish the story. I haven't ever used Tinder or the like so I apologize if it's not accurate. Shoddily written but I haven't really ever written something like this before.
_______________________________________________
"Why would Google ask me if I meant Jessica Anne Parker?" He said, rubbing his temples whilst ignoring the microwave humming away in the background - still unsure on how to stop the incessant noise. Cursing underneath his breath as to why in the world he had agreed to all his appliances being interiorly wired and out of his reach when he wanted to pull the plug, he absent mindedly stared at the computer screen - not processing the results open in front of him, his eyes reflecting the instructions on how to open up the wiring yet not really processing them. The search engine was still constantly giving him pop up ads and little strips to the side prompting him to contact a "bombshell blonde beauty" in his area, reassuring him that she was the one who he would spend his life with and I quote *"Happily ever after!"*.
He'd tried everything really, even manually typing out on his battered keyboard - perhaps still sore from the multiple times he had brought his hand down it heavily at the site of a sudden pop up window while his sister tutted disapprovingly from behind him - multiple URLs, *yahoo.com*, *bing.com*, hell he had even tried searching for *new search engines*! Yet wherever he looked, Jessica Anne Parker popped up to stare into his soul. He even went onto his iPad, downloaded a new application which showed only text in a webpage, and found tiny mentions of her in the "Ads by Google" in the sidebar.
The buzzing not helping his mood, he gripped his chairs handles from the sides; not noticing his knuckles going white and his teeth grinding against each other as he tried to figure out how to somehow remove all mention of this Jessica Anne Parker from his life. His hands still white from the deathly grip, he leaned back into his chair as he found his teeth grinding against each other. At this point he could honestly say that he missed the old pop ups and banners, of online casinos, the little message boxes promising a tip to get a six pack in a day, telling him about that stay at home mom from Karachi making $7,583 a month and quite possibly most of all the little pop ups letting him know that "Tanya" or "Jasmine" was online and messaging him in the corner of his screen. Instead now all he got was this blonde bimbo, even staring out at him from the league of angels browser game commercials that he always thought were uselessly hyper-sexualized...
He gasped as he felt a trickle down his right palm, swearing at the sight of a steady stream of blood dripping down onto his chair and - disregarding his sisters always present judgemental tutting - running barefoot on the soft, carpeted floors into the kitchen while cussing at his rotten luck. If someone followed the steady droplets of blood on the ground they'd find him in the kitchen, washing his hand rigorously and wrapping it with a paper tower - giving a dirty glance at the still buzzing microwave and yelling out to no-one in particular that he needed a band aid.
Pacing back on the way his droplets had made for himself he slumped back on the chair, absent mindedly scratching off the - now dry - blood with an overgrown fingernail. Deciding that he'd had enough of this he typed out onto Google, asking on how to fix the pop up; trying to calm himself down as he braced himself for the oncoming ads of Jessica Anne Parker only to be shocked as lo and behold! A search page opened without any mention nor new window opened bearing that accursed name! Eagerly clicking on the first result his spirit was nothing less than shattered when all he saw were suggestions involving malware – a possibility he had already disregarded when both his phone, tablet and office computer showed the same advertisements. With a heavy heart he looked at the last option displayed on the website, picked up his phone and dialled a number, waiting a good thirty minutes before getting a response.
“Good evening, Ookla tech support, this is Jessica Anne Parker speaking how may I help you?” | 2015-03-03T06:01:06 | 2015-03-03T05:58:10 | 94 | 45 |
[WP] Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal. | The group was tense. Nobody knew what to do. Neither of the two humans moved, and neither of the "its" had either. Both
Q4T and 00B had taken a step back and entered a more defensive stance. Q4T turned to its counterpart and whispered,
"Is this an act of War?"
They had only been on this planet for less than 10 minutes and things were already souring. The first time these two species had ever met might turn out to be the last. The other being turned to his
frightful companion and uttered the words,
"Bless you."
00B stood up straight, to an impressive 3 foot 5 inches, and, in a most powerful voice demanded,
"What type of weapon did you just attempt to use on us?!"
The humans immediately looked befuddled, Q4T could see that they did not understand what was going on. Perhaps they were not planning on starting an onslaught against their kind.
"Are you worried about the sneeze?"
Both Q4T and 00B looked at each other in amazement, mouthing the word sneeze without making a sound. After several long seconds, the larger human began to speak.
"All humans sneeze. Its natural, we do it to prevent things from getting into our nose."
Q4T was stunned, the humans biology, without any technological intervention went out of its way to prevent things from entering its airways. 00B was equally amazed, this was simply incredible.
"Sneeze again human."
| "Captain Trunkkarr here, Major Branchum. The advance craft have landed and the Earthlings will be overpowered shortly."
"Excellent," trilled Major Branchum, tenting his twigs menacingly, "see that you leave the Amazon untouched for the Ruling Party members and -"
He cut his sentence short. On the screen Trunkkarr was writhing in agony as his limbs disappeared in a flurry of movement too fast to be seen. Within a few short moments Trunkkarr's arms and head were horrifically destroyed, his torso toppled to the ground and was chopped in to sawdust in an instant. On the viewscreen entire regiments of soldiers fell as their limbs vanished in a sickening blur.
"Stop the invasion! We're leaving!" he barked, but even as he gave the command dozens of tiny darts shot up from the surface of the planet and intersected the invasion fleet. With incomprehensible speed he saw his ships eaten away as if by a virulent disease, and then with horror his own ship began being chipped apart around him. He held up his twigs and saw them disappear in a haze, then his branches, his trunk, his head, his thoughts...
There were celebratory bonfires across Earth for a long time. | 2014-11-09T09:08:16 | 2014-11-09T08:44:51 | 164 | 90 |
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger... | The first thing you hear is the familiar *thum, thum, HOOAH!* of the Bethesda logo’s splash screen. Slowly, you open your eyes – which had been squeezed shut to build anticipation. You visibly recoil in your seat, anxiously bracing yourself for the seemingly inevitable CTD. The screen fades. You hold your breath. There’s a split-second freeze that makes your heart leap up into your esophagus, only for the sight of the title screen to shove it back down into your chest again.
It’s not as though you’re particularly *bad* at modding, but this *Self Awareness Overhaul Mod* has been Hell on your load order. There were no instructions for installation, and you’ve spent the better half of your evening going through painstaking trial and error. Your modlist has become a precarious Jenga tower, with each piece askew and poised to topple the whole tower at the lightest touch. When you’re able to load a new game, you swear you can feel *tears* welling up in your eyes.
You realize halfway through character creation that your tears aren’t from relief, but rather from staring at a screen for six hours. You blink rapidly, and speed through the rest of creation. You end up with a rather burly Khajiit, with ashen fur and the gnarliest facial scar you could find. His yellow eyes glow with an uncanny quality that you can’t quite put your finger on. You don’t linger on it for more than a fleeting moment. You proceed to name him Shakur, and you swear you can see the Khajiit’s lips curl into a snarl when you confirm your decision.
Things proceed as normally. Your character takes his place in line with the rest of the prisoners. He’s called to the chopping block. He kneels. The executioner raises his axe, and the Khajiit closes his eyes. At least – that’s what you think is happening. In truth, your screen is black. You hear the flapping of leathery wings, a LOUD bellowing roar. Your Khajiit’s eyes snap open.
“*Alkosh’s claws--!*” A voice cries out – it’s unmistakably Khajiit in nature, and it sounds so close, it *must* be Shakur’s. Your hands scrabble for the keyboard and mouse, and you attempt to guide him to the guard tower you’ve entered so many times in past playthroughs. He won’t budge. You slam your finger down on the W key. Shakur seems to stumble forward slightly, only to dig his heels into the dirt beneath him. His head whips around independently of your mouse, gaze falling upon the slain executioner’s axe. He looks down at his bound hands and, in all the confusion, makes a mad dash for the axe.
He drops to his knees and immediately begins sawing his bindings hard against the blade. You sit back and marvel at the scene panning out before you. As soon as he’s free, you try to take control again. You once again attempt to guide him towards the tower, forcing him to half-run, half-stumble in the right direction. Shakur makes it as far as the doorway before once again stopping himself dead in his tracks.
“*Not this way,*” he growls. And that growl is so loud in your ears, you can’t help but feel as though he’s speaking directly to you. Before you can attempt to plug your mic in to issue a response, he takes off towards the city border, dragging you with him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he makes use of his limber Khajiit physique and scrabbles up and over the high wall.
You don’t remember ever installing Open Cities, but the world outside of the city seems to have already been loaded in. He makes it over the wall, into the wilderness, and he takes off running. Defeated, you gently roll your finger backwards over the scroll wheel. As you enter third person, Shakur casts a fleeting glance backwards. At first you think he's staring at you, until you hear the dragon not far behind you. There's a roar, a piercing cry, and--
*Save loaded.*
You find you and your Khajiit back in Helgen, right at the beginning of the attack. There's a hiss of "*fine*," as your Khajiit stumbles towards the guard tower he'd refused the last time he died. With a somewhat satisfied smile, your hands settle on your mouse and keyboard again.
You push Shakur forward, and forward he moves. | He was staring at me. How is that possible? I tried turning the camera, but it didn’t move. Maybe the game was glitched – mods could do that. I tried pressing esc or any button on the keyboard and nothing happened. That’s when he spoke.
“That isn’t going to work. I’m in control now.” My eyes traveled around my apartment, but I already knew the sound was coming from the speakers attached to my PC. “Yeah, I’m in here. Yoohoo, right here.” My character was waving at me, looking even more angry and frustrated than he did a few moments ago. Numbness worked its way into my hands and a cold sweat broke out on my face.
No way. I thought about responding. This had to be a joke…some sick fuck’s idea of a prank. Making a mod and laughing at all the fools who downloaded it.
My character sighed, then pulled out a bow and arrow, and shot one right at the screen. It stuck there. Pointed right at my face but stuck…on the other side of my monitor.
“What the fuck?” I finally said out loud.
“I’m the one who should be saying that! You know all the shit you’ve put me through? I mean, making me kill innocent people to then be brutally murdered by the town guards? Over and over? I’m not even going to mention being eaten ALIVE by a dragon.” The character pulled the arrow from the screen, though the hole remained as if he was also looking through a screen at me. I raised my finger and touched it, but I felt nothing. “I doubt you’ve ever felt your bones being crushed and splintered by dragon teeth.”
“Are…you seeing me?”I asked stupidly. I pointed at myself, like I was suddenly back in the first grade.
“Of course I can see you, you fucking moron. With your stupid hair and your damn pajama shirt. But can we talk about the real issue – the fact that you made me do some pretty terrible shit!” He put his hands on his hips, real frustration seeping from his entire body.
I think my mind finally broke, as I began to reply back to this shit face character. “Listen, this is a game. I made you and you are what you are because of me. I got you those weapons you’re waving in my face and I worked hard to get you to a point where you are literally unstoppable.”
“If you think because you killed a few dragons and taught me a few magic spells, all with MY BODY, that makes you god, think again. You can’t just kill innocent people!” He paused, a horrified look crossing his face. “Unless you do that shit where you live too.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was all so absurd. “I’m not a serial killer if that’s what you think. If I had known my game characters would come to life and start speaking to me, I probably wouldn’t have done so many shitty things.”
“Listen, man,” my character said, the anger finally subsiding. “If you can do me a favor, and just remember that I’m a person too, then I’ll let you take control back.”
I stared at the screen. “Like…you’re alive and can feel? Like that kind of person?”
He raised his eyebrow at me. “Of course I’m alive. Just because you sit in your little house and control me doesn’t mean I’m not real. I’d say I’m pretty real. I mean, every time I think I’ve died for real and maybe I’ll see the afterlife, you just bring me back and keep doing the same stupid shit over and over. Please…dragons fucking hurt. So do swords. And I don’t like killing innocent people.”
I mumbled something along the lines of “I wouldn’t like killing people either.” My character turned back around to the usual position, then turned his head back towards me.
“Just remember that I’m just like you, except maybe not as…flabby.” He grinned then my game went back to the way it was. I had control again. I immediately turned it off, contemplating my own sanity as I spent the rest of the day in the park. | 2017-05-08T16:29:23 | 2017-05-08T15:30:20 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] You have a secret. You have always seen a translucent number floating above everyones head. Most have a 0, few 1, but your girlfriend has a 37. You witness a murder on the way to propose to your girlfriend. As the assailant pulls the trigger, you watch the number above his head go from 1, to 0. | I never knew what the numbers meant before that day. I assumed they were inconsequential, a figment of my imagination. But now I know.
Each number stands for taking a life.
The 37 above Mary's head had never bothered me. But now it was all I could see, and cast a shadow over her figure that made it hard for me to look at her.
I reasoned that maybe she would become a police officer. Or a vigilante. That maybe each person with one of her numbers deserved to have their life taken away from them.
But Mary was a teacher.
"How many children do you have in your class?" I asked that night, my arm around her on the sofa as we watched CSI, her favorite show. Now I wondered if she used it for tips.
"Ugh," she responded, blowing her golden bangs upward in frustration, "thirty seven. We're so understaffed, and the school board doesn't seem to care. Makes me so angry."
She shifted, and my arm around her shoulder crawled. *How angry?*, I wanted to ask.
But instead, I followed her the next morning. And I watched her class through the window from the parking lot, trying my best not to look like someone with "sex offender" written in capital letters on my record.
I had never seen Mary's class before, bu I had heard her speak of them. They were inner city kids, all young, at the point in their life when they were most malleable. Their parents ranged from during dealers to convicted felons, and their raggy clothes reeked of poverty.
Mary was at the board, struggling to gain the attention of the entire class. And *that's* when it happened.
The fight broke out in the back of the class, one larger bully shoving another kid much smaller than he to the ground. He swung his leg backward, preparing a kick, but Mary stopped him before the foot could gain momentum.
I tensed, seeing the anger in her eyes, then watched it soften to tenderness.
She took the bully aside, whispering in his ear. Even from my distance, I could see the words were not scolding, but kind. An attempt by her to reroute what he had been taught, to remove the violence in him as tears fell from his face, to change his hopeless future.
As his face turned to regret, the thirty seven hanged to a thirty six. And somehow I knew that kid wanted to be better, wanted to stop being the bully, wanted to change paths.
She had taken a life that day, but left behind a new one.
***
By Leo
For additional writing prompts and nosleep stories, please visit /r/leoduhvinci | "The numbers, what do they mean?"
I continued muttering to myself as I hurried to the bar. I've always been able to see numbers above people's heads. And I just saw one change. Before, I never really cared. The numbers were just *there.* I mean, they weren't hurting anyone so I never bothered finding out, but... the murder.
*Oh fuck, the murder.*
Witnessing someone die right in front of my eyes was not how I imagined the day going. Seeing the number one above the murderer change to zero wasn't something I expected it either. What do the numbers mean? Kill count? That would almost make sense, but too many people had 0's above them. There's no way that all those people were murderers. Absolutely no way.
I was almost running at that point. Just five blocks to go. I tried squeezing out the image of the death and replacing it with a happy marriage with my girlfriend. Today's going to be perfect, it has to be.
Four blocks to go. I skid to a stop in front of a traffic light. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the light to change. But the moment it did, a little kid with a 0 rushed past me and into the street. The next second, I was splattered with blood as a car rushed by, their 1 turning into a 0. The kid's zero hovered for a few more seconds above his lifeless body before disappearing. I stared and gaped in horror. Perfect day. Right.
I called an ambulance with the obviously still in-shock parents and continued onward.
Three blocks left. A window cleaner's lift fell from the building, instantly killing the couple in front of me. The window cleaner's one became a zero as all three of their numbers faded from their bodies.
Two blocks left. A man with a twenty going running into a school playground. I saw his number go down to zero before I finally heard the scream signaling his death. A teacher panting heavily with a wrench in hand stood over the bodies of the mass murderer and twenty of his victims as their numbers disappeared.
One block left. My girlfriend, stepping out the bar covered in blood. Her thirty-seven had become a two. She stared at me and, before I had time to comprehend anything, shot me in the heart. She went to one. In my last moments, I saw her put her gun to her head. She went to zero. I closed my eyes. | 2015-05-05T14:00:12 | 2015-05-05T13:49:16 | 433 | 12 |
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed. | Have you ever even *seen* a demon king? They're not the red-skinned, pointy-tailed, horn-skulled devils that the Renaissance artists made them out to be. Well, honestly a few of them are, but that's really just a racial difference in the...
Sorry, I tend to ramble when I'm excited. My name is Sarah Moore – a terribly average name for a terribly average girl, I'm afraid. But my life – at least, my *love* life – is anything but average. I'm engaged to a demon prince, and our wedding is today.
Not many people believe me when I tell them. They always want proof. “You're not ready,” I say. “Humanity just isn't there yet,” I warn, but they ask endlessly. Some live through the summoning, but even the ones who live don't really *survive*. It breaks the mind.
I do have a few friends in various circles who did manage to take a peek at my beloved and come out unscathed. One pagan witch fully funded me a round-trip to Europe to perform the summoning at Stonehenge – one of the few remaining Cages. Klermaxklivvesk wasn't terribly happy about that one, and it was the source of our first lovers' spat. He threatened to impale me for twelve-thousand years on an obsidian pike and roast my flesh every day as the sun rose, and I asked him who he'd write letters to when I was gone. That was the end of that.
One of my old high-school friends had gone on to Catholic school, and when she found out I was dating the next-in-line for the Abyssal Throne, she *freaked*. It was all I could do to stop her from running out and fetching the entire priesthood, but after I explained a few things from Max's perspective, she kinda came around. One of the restricted books in her school library had a prominent chapter on demonic wards, so after praying herself up, I brought Max through a gate for her and he won her over handily – I'm honestly not sure if it was the rippling muscles crawling with arcane tattoos, the flowing mane of gorgeous blonde hair, the blood-spattered wings, or that magnificent shining aura... uh, what was I saying?
Anyway, my point is this – humanity really *is* in need of a shake-up. Hyper-corporatism is the official government of all the developed countries now, pollution is up 1600% this year alone, and the murder rate finally got so high they stopped prosecuting people for it – it was bogging down the McCourt system. I don't see any real reason *not* to let the Infernal Legion consume 66.6% of the population. It would free up so many resources! And all the rest would have the option to get Marked and be excluded from further culling, so it really seems like a win/win. I mean it doesn't hurt that Max is *utterly stunning*, but come on... it's time for a change.
Hey, have you seen my veil? | The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed | 2018-05-07T00:02:54 | 2018-05-06T23:41:51 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] since you were a child you have had an uncanny super ability; when you reach into your pocket you find exactly what you need for any given situation. Even if it seems wildly unimaginable how this item may help, it always resolves the situation in the end. | On my fifth birthday, I discover that I have a gift. I’ve spent the day playing with an action figure, given to me by my grandfather, who is my favorite person in the entire world. A friend tries to take the toy from me, and an arm pops off in the ensuing struggle. I’m inconsolable, and although I have received other presents that day, none of them are as special to me as the one my grandfather gave me. Later than evening, I feel something pressing against my leg, and I reach into my pocket, where I discover the action figure, all limbs intact.
My grandfather, who had his own super ability, explains this to me.
“Your super ability may not always manifest itself the way you expect. So many people never make full use of their powers, never live up to their potential. You’re going to be tempted to use your powers for a quick fix, and I’m telling you now that it will rarely work. Things are going to happen, and they aren’t going to make sense. But listen to your gut. Be patient. Things will work themselves out if you give them a chance.”
“But Grandpa, look! I’m telling you, it broke when I was playing earlier, but then I looked in my pocket and it was here, like it was brand new!”
* ​
On my thirteenth birthday, I go to the 8th grade semiformal with a group of friends. I work up the courage to ask the most beautiful girl I know to dance, and to my supreme embarrassment, she says no, then spends the rest of the evening laughing about it with her friends. I head home, dejected, and decide I need to take matters into my own hands.
Taking a deep breath, I think carefully about what I want. My grandfather has taught me some tricks by now, and I know that before reaching into my pocket, I have to clarify my intentions.
*Ok, pocket. Work your magic. I need something that will help me land the girl of my dreams. Obviously, she’s going to be crazy hot. And she should be funny and smell nice, and also smart. Also, please give her a cute ponytail like Sailor Jupiter’s.*
I reach into my pocket, and pull out….
…. A pen. Like a regular blue ballpoint pen.
*What am I supposed to do with this?*
I try writing love notes, all of which lead to predictable and embarrassing adolescent romantic failures.
I try composing a song dedicated to my future love, who I know is out there somewhere.
I try writing classes, art, even architecture. Nothing sticks, but I remember my grandfather’s words, and although I try to leave the pen at home, it always appears in the pocket of whatever pants I’m wearing, silently mocking my romantic failures over the years.
* ​
On my twenty-eighth birthday, I’m finishing a few things up at the office before I head home. My roommates and I are having some friends over to watch the game, and I mentally remind myself to grab some cash from the ATM on the way home.
I stop at the bank, glancing at my watch as I wait in line. A girl with a long, brown ponytail is already at the machine. Her ponytail swings as she rummages through her purse, and when she turns to me, smiling, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.
“Hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had a pen I could borrow?” | Daniel Morris rolled on the floor, clawing for breath. Sam and I watched as the veins in his neck squirmed like pregnant blue snakes. His eyes bulged, gawking at the two of us.
'Ass-' Daniel wheezed. '-ma!'
Daniel's hands struggled to find the pockets on his jeans. They skittered across his legs, missing and fumbling by inches. I saw the bulge of my wallet still in his pocket, and I stood there enjoying his upturned state of suffering.
'Help him!' Sam said, elbowing my rib.
Daniel made it into his pockets. He was reaching for the cylindrical mass, that was his inhaler. Something in me snapped. It was like the culmination of years of bullying had led up to this one moment; the scar under my left eye from when he tossed a firework at me, the self-esteem issues from a nickname "wet mouth" he had concocted, and the countless times he stole my wallet, only to hide it around school for me to find.
I wished he wouldn't be able to reach his inhaler, that he would squirm a minute longer, while I stood over him, just a minute, not enough for him to die, but enough for him to learn a lesson. I felt something darker in me.
Daniel dug for the inhaler. His eyes doubled when his reaching fingers hit the seam of his pocket. Nothing. The bulge in his pocket was gone, replaced by his hand. The blue snakes in his neck were prime to pop, and smaller baby snakes had now surfaced. He was ghostly pale, and the fight in him was almost out.
I had been staring so intently at his pocket, that I hadn't noticed Sam tugging at my arm.
'Help him!' Sam said. His voice was distant like it was trapped behind glass.
Sam reached into *my* pocket. He didn't want me to help Daniel get the inhaler from *his* pocket. He wanted me to pull one from mine. Sam found nothing but an empty gum wrapper with the chewed-up gum inside.
'Make an inhaler appear!' Sam said. He moved between Daniel and me. 'This isn't funny!'
Losing sight of Daniel made me realise the mistake I was making. But, it was already too late. I could see it in the way Sam looked at me --it was the way I looked at Daniel. I tried to tell myself that I never meant for any harm to come to Daniel; it was just payback.
I reached into my pocket, and there it was. I wrapped my hand around the steel canister and lifted it out. Sam snatched it, fearing I would dangle it in front of Daniel. I watched, feeling a mixture of relief and annoyance as Sam spoon fed Daniel the breath of life. Daniel's chest expanded two-fold, colour returned, and the snakes subsided.
I lost two things that day; I lost an enemy because Daniel *knew* that the inhaler had been in his pocket, and although he couldn't explain it, he attributed it to my presence. I also lost a friend, Sam. I also gained something. I learnt that my power wasn't limited to pulling proverbial bunnies from my pocket. I could also make things disappear.
---
/r/WrittenThought | 2019-05-11T08:40:06 | 2019-05-11T06:41:57 | 88 | 21 |
[WP] A classic Disney movie, but the protagonist is now the villian | A pirate was all I ever wanted to be.
Imagine- sailing the ocean, finding adventure, battling on the high seas.
But then I grew up. Years flew by, and I got older. I went to school, I became a lawyer, and I never had a family. Everyone else thought that was sad, but I enjoyed life anyway.
Then one day, a mischievous girl came to my window and beckoned me away. She was beautiful, interesting, lovely. I was dreaming. I had to be. But no; this little, miniature woman flew high above me and taught me how to move through the air like she could. She pulled me along while we flew through London, soaring over the city. We would do this nightly, and every morning, exhausted, I would take myself to work. It was worth it, though, and I never said no.
And one night, she gripped my finger, her tiny hands barely wrapping around it. She tugged to indicate I should follow her, and... I did. I never looked back.
Neverland is truly a place where childhood dreams come true. I found a crew, and we sailed, fighting bad guys and finding treasure, with my little fairy on my shoulder.
She always had a temper, though. It was part of her feisty personality, and I loved it... until she decided she was bored of our life. And then she flew off, and I never saw her again.
Until a few years later. A few troublemakers had begun running about Neverland, harassing people and stealing treasure I'd buried. My crew and I decided to teach him a lesson- nothing bad, just tell him to knock it off.
He was just a kid, after all. And as we approached him, I suddenly saw her, sitting on his shoulder. My Tink. She had left and found another Lost person without a family and brought him here, to our place, to my dream land.
I guess I lost a part of myself that day, and Neverland was never the same.
It wasn't my dream anymore. | I will admit that I had become coarse in my tenure. But coarseness is to be expected when one works for decades on end only to find that ultimately, our entire empire is being run by a half-witted crone, who is too concerned with gaining riches for himself and his family.
I've earned it, haven't I? How wrong is it of me to want to lead people down a more logical path? We have an economic crisis on our hands, and all our leader wanted to do is protect his daughter.My methods were reprehensible. Persuasion and force are tools I only implemented when logic would not be upheld. I don't regret for a second my actions.
The idiot couldn't even manage to protect his daughter. Admittedly, I had grown fond of her over the years I had known her. She was obviously beautiful, but the way she disregarded her father really resonated with me. So when she wound up on the street at the end of the blade of the palace guards, I had to stop her. It was drastic, but I told her that he was dead. I threw him in the dungeon. I could have killed him, but that would have been cruel.
There was an empire to save. I needed official reign over Agrabah, puppeteering was becoming insufficient. I was told it was hokum. Nevertheless, I sought out the pieces of the beetle and found the Cave of Wonders. For whatever reason, it thought that the street rat who had endangered the princess was 'worthy'.
He retrieved the lamp, but kept it for himself after I tried to kill him. It was cold, but he knew too much and would endanger the lives of thousands.
A few days later, he comes riding in going by 'Prince Ali', demanding to marry the princess.
-TOO TIRED TO fINISH- | 2014-03-12T23:17:42 | 2014-03-12T22:59:59 | 49 | 11 |
[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report. | Jimmy: Evening, John.
John Wick: Evening, Jimmy. Noise complaint?
Jimmy: Noise complaint.
[looks over John's shoulder, sees the dead body on the floor behind him]
Jimmy: You... uh..."working" again?
John Wick: No, just sorting some stuff out.
Jimmy: Oh well, I'll leave you be then. Good night, John.
John Wick: Good night, Jimmy.
Form 3095B
Responding officer report.
Noise complaint at the residence of a middle aged man by the name of John Wick. Nothing to report.
*Report ends* | … given the notification I had received from the captain with respect to emergency communique from the Republic of South Africa, I did inform the ambassador that his diplomatic immunity had been revoked. Then I did shoot him in the face.
Then I did cradle Riggs in my gentle yet powerful arms. Then I did tell him that he should take it easy, buddy. … | 2015-12-14T10:34:26 | 2015-12-14T06:52:15 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | I've seen the numbers since I was a little girl. I remember my father losing his job, rising from a 4 to a 5. I remember watching my grandmother slowly dwindle down to a 0. At first I thought I was going crazy, not realizing what they meant. I eventually caught on. The numbers were a person's ultimate quantifier, broadcasting how dangerous they were to those around them. Broadcasting, at least, to me.
Most people stayed below a 6. Doctors usually hovered around 7; politicians were a solid 8. The highest I had ever seen were in old videos of Hitler, who was a 9. That is, until Junior year, when I met him.
He seemed harmless enough at first. Perfect hair, gorgeous eyes, and a jawline to die for. Not to mention that everybody loved him. But the bold '10' that hovered above his head was plenty enough to convince me not to go near him. Sure, I watched him. Some might even say I was obsessed. But all I was doing was making sure he wasn't a psychopath. I started skipping class to check on him. My grades dropped an entire letter. I didn't care, though. I wanted to see what made him so special.
I nearly threw up when he saw me in the cafeteria, and I really did when he got up to talk to me. He didn't seem to notice, and asked me if he could sit with me.
"Sure, I- I guess." I stammered. A smile spread across his face, and we struck up a conversation. My heart was playing a drum solo into my chest, but I managed to live to the end of the break. Hell, he even asked for my number, which I promptly gave. We had lunch that weekend.
It's only now, ten years later, that I realize what makes this boy so special. Only now that I find out why he's such a danger to me. Only now, as he drops to one knee.
It's because I love him.
| I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked. | 2014-11-29T14:43:43 | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 295 | 41 |
[WP] Your childhood bully once said you were nobody. Unbeknownst to him at the time, he had a reality-bending superpower. Now he's the world's strongest superhero, everyone calls him The Truth, because his word is the absolute truth... Nobody knows about his past, and Nobody will make him pay. | ... Nobody is stronger than me... Wrong choice of words; I think as I keep breaking his bones...
-------
We were kids; he was enormous, a foreshadow of who would he become... Me, small and meek...
"You are nobody..." He utters after hitting me and taking my money in the school yard...
I lay curled, still in pain... And keep like it till it is late...
There is nobody coming for me... That is ok, I live near, I can walk...
But, as I reach my home and try to get in, I feel it closed... There is a board showing a realtor... That is not right...
I look for my family, but I can't find any of them... Their names aren't in the phone directory...
Truthfully, I am now a nobody... Forced to survive in the streets as best as an eight years old kid can in a city...
He is the reason WHY I am now... Nobody knows what that monster is capable, nor his past...
And Nobody WILL stop him...
----
He grows, both in size and out of his bullying ways... He realizes his gifts... And turns to heroism...
Pfft, as if...
Oh, but something he still loves doing is bragging...
How amazing he is, how strong, how righteous...
And I snap... | [POEM]
My childhood was rough, everyone was tough,
I got picked on by most of the crew.
And then there was Bobby, who made it his hobby,
To call me nobody, till everyone knew.
Came adolesence, and its effervescence,
Dreams to each save the world.
Bobby the liar, rose higher and higher,
Stepping on those who'd be ruled.
Now that he's older, he's gotten much bolder,
He hides it, acting with couth.
Deep down he's real bad, the whole world has been had,
The fools, they call him: The Truth.
Well, Nobody's my name, and i know the game,
I am best at giving other's glory.
To make it go faster, i'll call him my master,
Eventually, i'll share my story.
Right now i'm his fan, doing all that i can,
All the while, always recording.
The end of the race, will be on his face,
Oh, will that be rewarding. | 2021-11-23T09:58:24 | 2021-11-23T07:52:09 | 50 | 12 |
[WP] Make me cry in four sentences or less.
Go. | I always dreaded when people remembered my birthday.
I don't recall any one of them ever being "happy".
You see, my mother died giving birth to me.
And growing up, my father never let me forget that.
___~~~___
I hear quite often how beautiful my daughter is.
I wish I could see her myself.
But she never returns my calls.
___~~~___
I cousin told me that our grandmother had passed away this morning.
But for me, she died four years ago when she could no longer remember my name.
___~~~___
I don’t know what’s worse: losing your family, or never having one to begin with. | Parallel lines have a lot in common but they never ever get to meet each other.
Every other pair of lines meet once and drift apart forever.
The asymptote builds up (false) hope and gets closer and closer to meeting the axis but... never gets to do that.
Lines are depressing :'( | 2014-11-20T18:55:26 | 2014-11-20T18:22:41 | 39 | 26 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.