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[WP] Years ago, your mentor said, "Kid, there's a small secret when it comes to magic. You can literally make shit up and it'll usually work. Makes the guys who actually take it seriously really pissed off." Today, you're one of the least respected, and most powerful, mages in the land.
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Iso Mito, a great mage, sits cross-legged before a menacing vault. His hands move in practiced, precise formations, his finger tips glow faintly blue as his mind picks it’s way through the locked door. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead and streams down his chin into his lap.
This is hard work.
He is given the most critical job—he’s the most tenured mage on the team, after all—the job of cracking the most expertly shielded vault in all of Kantaban. And the vault’s defenses are high for a reason, for within the vault sits the most closely coveted spells in all the land.
To get past the vault’s defenses requires the brightest magical mind, one intimately familiar with runic and intentional magic, one able to call upon an encyclopedic knowledge of defense spells and their associated counter spells.
A mind like Iso Mito’s.
In the room with Iso, defending his back, is Hal Miter, another mage. Hal’s leg bounces in anticipation, betraying his impatience with the process. He watches on as Iso continues on in a workman like manner.
“How is Iso progressing, Hal?” asks Fin Baker, group leader, through the ether. Hal hears Fin’s voice as his own within his mind.
“As best I can tell, he’s cracked the first runic guard but has yet to proceed to the second order defense. At this pace we’re going to get caught,” replies Hal silently.
“Patience, young one,” says Fin. “We have planned for this. We have time. You are there to provide protection and support. The rest of us have done our part. Iso should have all the time he needs.”
“Whatever you say,” says Hal.
To say that Hal is bored is an understatement. Fin often chides Hal for his lack of patience.
“Success should be hard fought, the result of tedious study and slavish devotion to the craft,” says Fin at any given one-on-one training session.
To which Hal inevitably replies, “Fuck that. I’m not going to be slavishly devoted to anything.”
Or Fin has been known to say, “Magic works best when treated as the intersection of intention and practice.”
To which Hal replies, “Nope. I don’t give a shit how it works. What I care about are results. And, oh baby, you bet your sweet ass I get results.”
So it was no surprise to Hal that he was given the least critical role for the mission. He was given Iso babysitting duty while the rest of the team worked hard to ensure that Hal’s role would not be needed.
“What a fun job,” thinks Hal to himself.
Was it Hal’s fault that magic came naturally to him? The rest of the group viewed him as dangerous, a loose cannon. To Hal’s mind that was simply because they were jealous of his gifts. Hal knew in his heart that he could open the vault more quickly and more effectively than Iso ever could.
Alas, he was not afforded the opportunity.
Hal hears footsteps in the corridor. That’s odd. No one had alerted him they were coming.
“Fin, I hear footsteps just outside our antechamber. You send reinforcements?” says Hal.
“Shit,” replies Fin. “It’s not one of us. Hal, you listen to me and you listen good, do not engage unless they do. We’re too close to blow this whole thing because you’re trigger-happy. You stay still and only engage if Iso’s life is in danger. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Fin,” says Hal petulantly.
“Hal, I mean it. Do. Not. Engage,” says Fin knowing fully well that his meticulously planned mission was about to go tits-up.
Hal turns to Iso, still seated before the vault door, fingers still pulsing a faint blue. Hal taps him on the shoulder to see if he’ll respond.
Nothing.
Hal knows better than to bother Iso while casting, but some part of him wants to warn Iso of what’s about to happen. He taps again.
Nothing.
The footsteps grow louder.
“Fuck it!” Curses Hal under his breath. “Bring it on, big boy.” Hal readies himself, his back to Iso. He spreads his legs wide and raises both hands in anticipation.
The footsteps have now paused just outside the door. The antechamber door creaks as it opens. Hal sees a flash of the crimson robes worn by the Kantaban guard. He knows he has no choice but to strike now.
As the door swings open Hal begins casting, unthinking and natural. He says words that mean nothing in his tongue but that carry with them the force of a magical codex.
“Kowabunga hang ha!” He cries aloud as a wave forms before him and swallows the Kantaban guard at the doorway. The force of the wave sends the guard tumbling down the corridor.
Hal just makes out another 5 guards wading through the now knee deep water. He’s bought some time, but not enough to allow Iso to crack the vault. He knows he has to act fast.
Hal scans the doorway and screams the first words that come to his mind. “Entranco no passo!” A black mass rises from the bottom of the doorway and slams against the top of the door jamb.
“That’ll hold them for maybe five minutes,” Hal says aloud.
“Hal, what the hell is happening down there?” says Fin.
“Kantaban Guards. A lot of them,” replies Hal. “I’ve sealed the door, but it won’t hold long. I need to help Iso get through the vault asap.”
“Do not interfere! For the love of all that is holy you do not interfere with Iso. The consequences could be catastrophic,” orders Fin.
“If I don’t do something both Iso and I are royally fucked, Fin,” replies Hal, “and I think you and I both know I don’t mean that metaphorically.”
“Hal, please, don’t do anything rash,” says Fin.
“Rash is my middle name,” says Hal as he turns to the vault.
______
Part two in the next comment. r/InMyLife42Archive
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"You ate too much chili last night. The cook used the hottest peppers imaginable, and things are on fire *down there."*
That's always what I lead with. It scares off most every visitor I have when their colon suddenly lights up. Once in a while, someone's able to resist, throw a monkey wrench of their own back at me. It often ends poorly for them. It ended poorly for me too, when I came before the very stoop I stand on now, and said those same words.
All of my friends liked to play with magic when we were young. We were a rambunctious group, constantly challenging random people to magic duels, whether they could cast or not. We tore up the country side on more than a few occasions, always chased off the land by one magician or another. One day, I remember one of my friends scored an apprenticeship with a famous magician by playing a well-timed prank involving a carnival game. The magician found the darts he was throwing would boomerang back around and land in the meat of one of his butt cheeks. Most people would be off-put by that, but magicians are a bunch of tricksters by nature. My friend went off in their caravan to learn from the master and we never saw him again.
After that, any time we found a magician we'd assail them funny magic, assault them with undue ferocity, or try our most creative tricks to get someone to take notice and teach us what they knew. There was one magician none of the others would mess with though. Everybody back then knew about the lady on the hill with the power to make your magic fizzle out with nothing but a word. We tried her exactly once. Well, all my friends tried once. I found myself drawn back, time after time, and I saw her magic often enough that I thought I might try the same trick. When I spoke those words aloud, cursing her with last night's evil chili, and the tears came down her face from the pain, or the laughter, and she could hardly breathe a word I knew I had her beat. That was, until she caught her breath, and a combination of orange juice and toothpaste started pouring from my nose.
Afterwards, she made me her apprentice, and taught me the extent of a power like the one we shared. It was a small secret that everybody else refused to believe. That anything you wanted could come true as long as you had the guile to just make it up. Maybe it was good thing nobody really believed it. When the other powerful magicians dotted around the country found 'laws' and 'patterns' and 'restrictions' in the magic they had at hand, it kept them safe. When people believed things like 'my magic can't penetrate the skin' or 'I only have control over fire' it was usually better off for them. Simpler. Not like how things are for me, or how things were for my master. They don't understand our magic, and so they're afraid of it. Like my friends, other magicians stayed away. Hateful from afar.
But she was good to me, and I her, so when the time came, I inherited her little house on the hill. I haven't been around other people for years, much less other magicians. This kind of power is disastrous in the wrong hands, or even in the right hands, so we made a pact to stay on the farmland the house sat upon, far from anyone we might do harm. She made the same pact with her master, and her master before her. Magic words spoken aloud so they could never be broken. Nobody ever said anything about turning away people who show up at the doorstep though.
Now I'm the one people tell stories about, the old guy on the hill that people come to test their magic against. Some copy a powerful magician's best spells, or try something uniquely their own. Others, braver, but sadly lacking in imagination, try my tack. It doesn't matter, because most of it doesn't even phase me. I just tell them their magic doesn't work here, and suddenly its true. Then the ol 'too much chili' sends them packing, or they remain, and the next words out of my mouth send them to the hospital. Assuming they draw first of course.
I've just cursed my latest visitor with the chili. Standing just beyond the stairs of my porch is a boy who looks an awful lot like I did once. I'm waiting patiently to see what he's going to do.
"Maaaan," he says, drawing the word out. "That's not even fair."
He's bent over, holding his stomach and grimacing through the pain. I'm surprised he can still talk.
"Yeah well, life's not fair." I may have gotten a little crabby in my old age, I admit. I never thought that cliché would cross my lips, but it's true, and it's one of those things I don't have to say out loud for it to be so.
"Oh yeah?" the kid says, face all screwed up against the spicy chili. "Well you're ma was so fat that you were born with encephalitis."
"Jesus Christ, kid!" I say through thick lips.
I feel of my head and it's completely misshapen, and my thoughts are like molasses all the sudden. This is bad. Brain damage is a bitch to deal with, and I doubt this kid knows exactly how much of a bitch it is. In fact I know he doesn't because he's laughing his ass off at the new shape of my skull. I'm ticked off now, and also a little amused. I won't let him know that though.
"Too far! You'll get somebody killed like that. And my mother was not fat, rest her soul."
The kid is laughing too hard to retort, thank goodness. My mom actually had been fat for a moment there. I remembered her being so. She was restored to her regular form in my mind, but I still can't think straight.
"It's a damn good thing I have a backup body that I can swap into like this," I say, and snap my fingers. I feel of my head again and let out a breath. Good as new. I knew it would work of course. I have to, otherwise it won't. The held breath just happens on its own now.
"Hey!" The kid says. "Cheater!"
"How is that cheating?"
He thinks about it for a second and then sticks his tongue out at me. I shake my head and hit him with my best 'grumpy old man' look.
"It's a good thing I *actually* didn't eat any of the chili last night."
The relief on his face is palpable. I can tell he hardly believes that it worked, and for a second he's just standing there beaming at his own power, glad to have his intestines back to normal again. I let him beam. For a moment anyway.
"We done?" I ask after a minute. I'd be happy to let him leave without going any further. Mostly to spare myself whatever pestilence he'll come up with, but also because if he keeps going then I might just have to let him stay. Can't have people going around giving other people fat mothers and encephalitis.
"Not yet!"
He's obviously looking for something good to hit me with, so I prepare for the worst and whisper a few protective wards. There's no guarantee they'll work, but I doubt he'll have the forethought to counter them.
He gets a look in his eye, a look I know well enough. He thinks he's won. That he has an undefeatable sentence. I wonder if it'll be something else about my mother, or if I'll suddenly have some kind of disease. Maybe even something advanced, a trap that's impossible to escape, or an opponent that's impossible to defeat. Any of these things can be circumvented. In fact, there's only about one thing he could say, and for a second I'm confident he won't come up with it.
"You lose!" he shouts, and falls on his ass laughing again. I can't help but smile. Maybe I could go on arguing, but I don't believe it'll work.
"Not bad, kid," I finally say. "Not bad."
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None
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BHawleyWrites
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2023-03-27 00:31:56
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2023-03-26 23:56:57
| 1,084 | 228 |
jdt943l
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jdt4p7w
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1231e5f
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1231e5f
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[WP] You are a hero that can manipulate darkness and shadow, able to make it solid and shape it into many forms. As you are cornered by Villains, trapped within a room made to trap you, with no shadow around, you tell them something that makes them stare at you in horror. "Human insides are dark"
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"You know your innards are wrapped completely in shadows, right?" I look at the 4-man team trying to back me into a corner of the best-lit room I have ever seen. The men are not even casting shadows on themselves, much less each other. Every flat surface is glowing slightly. The lighting was impeccable, I have to give them that. As someone who manipulates shadows, they think they have me beaten.
"Psh, whatever you say, man," the gentleman (using the term loosely, of course) in the lead replies. In my head, I call him Bob. I don't know the names of any of these men, and I don't know what they want from me.
"Please don't push me, I don't want to kill you," I beg them.
They all laugh. Big belly laughs that just go on and on. The four of them stand in front of me, preparing to... I am not sure what they are going to do, honestly. But I am sure it won't be any good for me.
I brace myself, this is something I haven't done in many years, and had prayed I would never have to resort to again.
"Ok," I say, focusing on the man in the back of the group, the one that doesn't look quite happy with everything that is going on. Maybe he is new to the gang, maybe that will be more powerful to them. Maybe he will quit when this is all said and done.
Without moving or looking away, I freeze the shadows in his lungs. He instantly stops and grabs his chest, trying to make his lungs move, but they are filled with the inky black substance of shadows made solid. Having grasped it tightly with my mind's grip, I begin to move those shadows up his throat and into his mouth. He begins to gag and falls to the floor, writhing. Slowly I extend the shadows from his mouth in the form of thin tentacles.
Bob's head snaps around as his companion hits the floor. His eyes go wide as the shadows seep from the man's mouth. Slowly, he and the other two back away. That also means, away from me.
The man on the floor is fighting less now, the shadows are stretched to the door to break the lock. I walk to the door, the other men giving me distance. Distance would not normally save them, but I just want out. I don't *want* to kill them. I will figure out who these people are later. I know what they look like, they can't hide from me. I will see them in every shadow they come across.
I turn the doorknob, the latch releases, and I open the door. As I step through, I turn back to the men. They stare back in horror. Nothing they have ever done had prepared them for this situation. I feel bad for them.
I allow the shadows I have in my mind's grip to relax and turn back into nothingness. The man on the floor begins to gasp. I can see one of the other men wants to run to his side, but just watches me instead. So I back out of the door, into the sunshine, turn, and walk away.
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Escalation is a dangerous game.
Animals fight. You know that, right? But they're not fighting to *kill*. They sheathe their claws, aim for those parts of their opponents anatomy that are well-equipped to weather the blow, and work to establish dominance, and settle the fight with neither party dead or even maimed.
Humans fight. You *certainly* know about that. And it is, broadly, the same sort of thing. We fight in many ways, on many stages, for many reasons. Very few of these are really meant to *kill*\- if we go all out, our opponents might do the same. Many things that are worth *fighting* for are not worth *dying* for- or killing for, for that matter. There are exceptions, but you hope to live your life without encountering them, and almost no one survives long if they encounter them *often*.
So you hold back. This doesn't mean you don't fight *hard*\- it means that you fight in restrained ways, go for blows that will establish dominance over a living, non-maimed opponent, rather than a pile of gore and a puddle of blood. There's always a solid chance that you end up losing any given fight, and it's firmly in your interest not to end up looking like extra-chunky salsa yourself.
Reasonably sane people don't escalate without a good reason.
So I fought with shields made of solid darkness, and struck blows with great baseball bats filled with the power of shadow, or with spheres of the stuff flying around at my mental command. You can hit certain heroes *really* hard and not do more than inconvenience them, if the blow is blunt.
There's nothing stopping me from forming shadows into sharp objects other than the fear that my opponent may use their own abilities in unexpected ways. You never quite know what, *exactly*, someone is holding back- another good reason to be *very* hesitant to escalate.
But when you're staring down defeat, and learn that you're facing, not imprisonment, not loss of money or status or prestige, but *death*...
Claws out. Kill or be killed.
But it's *still* a bad idea to escalate more than you need to. If there is any way you can fall short of going all out and still get away safely, you should try that. Threats, for example. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't, but the less fights you're involved in turn people into marinara sauce with extra meat mixed in, the better.
I was trapped. They could see that I was trapped. There weren't any visible shadows, none at all.
But shadows are a *lack* of light. You don't need to see it to control it, or else you couldn't control it at all.
"Hold!"
The fighting held, however briefly. They knew I was trapped. No harm in letting your prey beg for mercy, when you've won so thoroughly.
"You've trapped me in here, with no way out but through you, no way to save my life but by cutting all of you down. You've deprived me of any visible shadows, and think that that means I'm powerless."
"It does not."
"I recognize your strength, and I recognize your skill. You have fought well, and bested me in combat. I am now fighting to preserve my life. And this room still has quite a few shadows inside your bodies."
"So you can let me go, call it a good fight and a good win, or you can die as clouds of tiny blades escape from your insides. The choice is yours."
The trouble with threats, of course, is that people *bluff*, sometimes. Means that it's hard to know if your threat will be believed. Sometimes you need just a little more escalation, in order to be convincing.
"If you think that we're going to just let you go because you made up some bullshit about power you don't have-"
The leader of my enemies was cut off as a shadow blade formed in his wrist and then rotated, slicing his hand off before dissipating in the light.
"Final warning. Quit while you're ahead, or be sliced open from the inside."
It wasn't much of a choice, once they knew I wasn't bluffing.
I was, at least, not fool enough to call it a victory. I had been beaten in battle, tricked and trapped and forced to rely on my very last resort. And I *had* exaggerated its power- I could have killed any one of my opponents fairly quickly, but I only had enough strength for one at a time- my odds of getting out alive were kinda shaky, if we'd fought it out.
I had lost a fight, and been forced to preserve my life by escalating. And word would get out- before long, no one would be willing to fight me unless they were also willing to *kill* me. And the terrifying nature of my power meant that they would be likely to employ ambush and sniper tactics, rather than fight me out in the open.
I hadn't won, but I *had* survived. Sometimes that's all you can do.
Sometimes that's all you can do.
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DiscoKittie
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Xavier_Elrose
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2023-01-13 15:35:56
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2023-01-13 15:30:28
| 502 | 328 |
j46qad4
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j46pgg2
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10aq93g
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10aq93g
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[WP] The rest of your party is always making sure that you, the healer, stay in the back. Not because they don't want you to get hurt, but because they all still remember the last time you took the front line and nobody wants a repeat of that.
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“Guys, I promise you, it will all be better this time.”
For the tenth time, your party ignores you.
For the tenth time, you consider just running forth and showing them that you can take care of yourself just fine without losing control.
For the tenth time, Gloria points as the very heavy club in her hands.
“I swear, I don’t know what came over me last time!”
You were just having a bad week. Bad week full of little stresses that boiled over and had you bashing in the bandit leader’s skull in.
You healed him, so it should have been fine!
…
Okay, so maybe you healed him just to hurt him again. And again. And again. And again and again and again and again-
“But I am better now, guys!”
They don’t say anything.
“I promise you, if you just let me in the front-“
“Melody,” Gloria’s tired voice interrupts you.
“Yes?”
“You do know that we are here to negotiate, right?”
“Of course.”
“And you do know that violence is our absolutely last resource?“
“Last resort. Sure. Yes.”
“And you are holding a knife right now because…?”
“…”
“I am waiting.”
“It’s skull-scratcher.”
“We don’t need you to scratch anyone’s skulls.”
“But what if my amazing skull-scratching skills are the key to peaceful resolution?”
“No!” The entire party yelled and continued on.
Leaving to sulk and wonder…
How fast could you scratch their skulls?
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In a world of constant battles for life a society has been built around the notion of violence and has created a hierarchy based on this notion. I’m this world you can choose what powers to be granted at the age of 16 and then you are assigned to a party where you and the other members will complete in the colosseum for survival, fame, and fortune.
The day of my 16th birthday I had chosen to be a healer but something rather unusual happened when I was blessed, the light that came from the terminal that grants powers had glowed a mix of all the ranks one can choose from.
10 years later I’m always placed in the back of my party and without providing much of any help I am always protected, every single time. My party fears me and makes sure to only give me low tier equipment and pretty much no armor since I don’t have to fight very often.
This fear was sparked on the day of our first battle in the colosseum, a roaring crowd of rich folk, many first time parties, and an air of rage and violence throughout the dusty air. As our battle began it seemed to be just like any other first time battle I’d seen before, just inexperienced teenagers swinging around weapons hoping to hit someone, however there was one member of a party that was known for waiting out the first wave and picking off the scraps, this member was unidentified and his gaze pierced my soul and sent a chill down my spine as he followed and analyzed my every move not looking away for even a second. As the dust of the first wave settled, the mysterious member still gazed with a diamond sharp look in his eyes as he walked towards me, ignoring every member of my party that was clearly stronger and more likely to give a good fight. As this man approached me he opens the cloak he bears that covers him from neck to foot to reveal he has no weapon or armor, just regular clothing.
My party had seen this opportunity and closed in in an attempt to win the first battle of our career but with seemingly nothing between them they simply couldn’t get a hit off. It had seemed like he had some sort of unique power that allowed him to be untouchable but this couldn’t be the case since such a power doesn’t exist, or even a thought of it.
Regardless, his march towards me continued and I was shaken to my core, my skin perspiring, my heart beating, my muscles quivering, I couldn’t move, overcome by fear as he placed his hand upon my shoulder and spoke “kill all who stand before you”
As his voice utters the final word my body lifts an incredible weight off of me, I rise into the air floating high off of the ground and as I rise my memory deteriorates and I black out only to wake to a colosseum of corpses, not one man woman or child spared but the cloaked man who stood before me as my head rise from the dirt.
This incident cost me my status as a healer and a total revocation of my power as to not let something of this caliber happen again. Assigned to a new party, one of great strength and fame, one of the top 5 in fact, I was placed under a watchful eye and was no longer granted the permission to wield or fight with anything but tier one weapons. This incident haunts me to this day and ever still my memory blurs and I can remember not a single thing from the time the man whispered to me to the time I woke.
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True_Falsity
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Alargechild
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2023-02-05 14:46:16
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2023-02-05 06:52:44
| 35 | 17 |
j7b9iw2
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j7a6qvz
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10twqme
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10twqme
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[WP] Everyone knows a supernatural high schooler needs a silly normal sidekick to go on adventures with them. But as the only “normal” kid in a school full of superheroes, wizards, vampires, etc. you’ve finally had enough being everyone’s comic relief.
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They had me around because of some joke or whatever, but when my parents signed on "getting into any post secondary, getting any degree free of charge" was a pretty good deal.
The true price as opposed to crippling student debt was that my life for some reason or another was in peril every month at least.
It was the end of the day in spring, I was going to go to the mall to spend some money on myself for once. Then the ominous music started to play as this weeks supervillain came to the foyer and started doing their thing, and of course everyone cowered (because suddenly they forgot they all had superpowers). This shit got old the first time it happened, and I was having no amusement getting kidnapped by *minister sinister* or making some dumb remark as "captain awesome" saved the day.
"These pompous assholes" I muttered as I reached for the fire hatchet. (Our school could have axes laying around because some sneezes were more dangerous).
I think this is the time to mention that I have the high score in axe throwing at the "city square fun fair"
I held the fire axe blade facing behind me and gave my best throw. And with a bullseye streak of 190 to vouch for me, I hit that idiot in the head. Not that his brain worked before.
I'm pretty sure everyone was quiet or confused how I just killed a guy, though he would have plummeted to his doom in 6 comic book issues from now.
The bus to the mall was coming and I wanted to get there before the lines got too long.
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The next contestant is …. Ben!!!!
A hooded figure steps out from the locker room into the gymnasium and walks to the raised ring in the center. He can’t help but roll his eyes. Principal Superhero High has a tournament every year. Nothing is heard above the deafening sound of the crowd from the bleachers.
He stepped into the ring. “What are you doing Ben!” shouts someone from the crowd. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
On the other side is Nick, a crocodile hybrid well over twice his size. He takes off the customary robes they wear to enter the ring.
Nick stretches lightly rolling his shoulders without a care in the world. “Hey Ben!” he shouts from the other side. “I’ll go easy on you, don't worry.”
Ben ignores him and takes off his robe. Revealing well defined thick muscle. The crowd was taken aback. Even Nick’s eyes widened. Everyone knew Ben as a laid back person, the complete opposite of someone capable of being serious and disciplined. Even Nick’s eyes widened in surprise.
They both got into position. The announcer looked at both sides. He raised the microphone to his lips. In 3….2…… boomed his voice. Nick’s eyes contracted.
1… START!
Nick walks up cockily, his guard isn’t even down. “Even with your physique you’re still just a normal guy without any superpowers. I’ll make this quick.” He clenches his hand into a fist and aims for Ben’s shoulder. But it doesn’t connect. Ben is just out of reach. He tries again leaning forward this time though. Ben grabs his fist and pulls him forward causing Nick to slip and stagger forward.
Snickers are heard from the crowd.
“Hey.” Says Nick turning around violently, his face red through his thick dark green scales.” I said that I would go easy on you, why are you doing this.”
“Sorry,” Says Ben “I don’t intend on being the laughing stock of this school anymore”
Nick clenched his jaw.
He’s angry. Good.
This time instead of punching Nick rushes forward biting but again he misses by a hairbreadth. Instead of biting air. He tries again but this time. Ben grabs both sides of Nick’s motu and forces it shut and locks his fingers together holding it shut. “Did you now “say Ben calmly as Nick struggles. “Crocodiles have incredibly strong biting muscles but the muscles used to open their jaws are so weak even a normal guy like me can keep it shut.
Ben lets go freeing Nick. Nick is furious, his eyes now slits
He charges forward, his head low. Roaring consumed by rage.
Ben is ready.
He ducks even lower past Nick’s gaping jaws, grabbing a hold of his arms and with a grunt pushed upwards as hard as he could with his entire body. Nick’s massive body swung into the air. For a second Nick’s feet dangled in the air, his body completely off the ground before smashing into the ring with a thud. His body awkwardly balanced on his neck before collapsing to the side in a heap of arms, legs and tail. The crows were silent. You could hear a pin drop. Nobody breathed.
“I’m done… being….. a …..sidekick.” Said Ben taking deep gasps of air. before exiting the stage.
The announcer snaps back to his senses. D-d…-done! He says his jaw quivering in surprise.
He grabbed his robe and put it on. The crowd was left in shock.The only sound heard was the pitter patter of Ben’s Feet on the floor as he made his way back to the locker [room.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Shrike_Stories/)
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Shrike_Law
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2023-01-15 23:16:45
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2023-01-15 22:15:26
| 66 | 38 |
j4igizy
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j4i763f
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10cl4ph
|
10cl4ph
|
[WP] Human society has collapsed since the vanishings began. Anyone left alone, unseen or untouched by another person, stops existing. Those who remain now survive as herds, sleeping in huddled masses and always touching in some way while awake.
|
Ma never lets go of my hand. She always tells me to stick close. I used to have an older brother but one day he got disappeared Ma tells me. That’s why I have to hold her hand and never let go. So I don’t disappeared too.
We wander from place to place to find food and roofs. When we don’t have enough food Ma gives me hers. She pretends she’s full but I know she’s lying.
It didn’t used to be this way ma tells me. Food used to be everywhere and when it was gone it would come back like magic. That doesn’t make sense to me. Where did all that food come from? I think she is lying about that too. Ma lies a lot.
When we wander Ma holds me extra close. If she isn’t holding me then its someone else with the pack. The pack used to be bigger but some of them got disappeared. When we sleep its all together. In the winter I like it cause its warm, but in the summer it's too hot so I don’t like it very much.
Lately we’ve been wandering to a place called a city. It used to be where a lot of people lived. Ma tells me that even though a lot of people lived there, so many lived alone they got disappeared. I don’t understand how people would live alone.
Sometimes Ma lets me play with other kids but we have to be watched. Mrs. Gilly usually watches us, but I don’t like her because she yells a lot. We can’t do anything with Mrs Gilly watching. Today Mr. Dean is watching us, he used to be a teacher.
I like my friends Olive, Alex, and Sandy. Olive and Alex are my best friends. Olive is really smart and she knows everything about how the world used to be. I think its cause she asks so many questions. I don’t like Sandy as much because she’s mean to me sometimes. (I think she is jealous Olive likes me more) But today she is nice. She gave me a shiny button on a string so I can wear it like a necklace.
When Mr. Dean was answering Olive’s questions Sandy asked me to play a secret game with her. It was a game from before called high-dand-seek. Apparently it was super fun to play.
Sandy takes my hand and we go a little bit from the group. But its okay we are still close enough to see Mr. Dean. She tells me to cover my eyes and face the tree and count to ten. I worry cause Ma says to always watch everyone.
Sandy says my Ma is an exaggerator. Everyone knows it. I don’t like that Sandy called my Ma a liar even though I know its true. Sandy tells me to stop being a baby but if I am gonna be like my ma, she will hold onto me so its safe. I say ok
I turn around with Sandy’s hand on my shoulder to count to ten.
One
Two
|
They're silent. Dead silent. They stare at me with wide eyes, an act that keeps me grounded. Keeps me here.
As I glance up at their faces, the myriad of faces around me, and am reminded that none of them can soothe my ache. They're familiar, certainly, I've traveled with them for weeks. But in comparison to what I've lost... They mean nothing to me.
They watch as I tighten the straps of my pack. It was my mother's - lightweight, not too big. Easy to maneuver with. It wouldn't carry much for me, wouldn't last me very long. But then, I didn't have very far to go.
The expressions around me are such a wide mix. Some of them showing fear, some terror. A few, even anger - anger that I would abandon them. But I owe them nothing. They clutch to each other, hand in hand, arms tangled around one another, desperate to stay in physical contact. Most of them sitting on the dusty tile floor in this abandoned structure.
Among them, only I stand isolated.
I clip the knife onto my belt, and as I eye my work, my watch catches my eye. A gift from my wife, only a few short years ago. It still ticks away, a soft background in a world growing quieter by the day. The hands haven't moved since the Vanishings began, but still, it ticks, ticks, ticks away. If I focus on the sound, I swear, I can still hear her voice in it.
As I go through my equipment, checking one piece after another, the whispers of the other survivors in the room get louder. They've seen others leave before. But not like I intend to. They've seen their herd members lose themselves, a momentary slip - someone drops something, lets go of another's hand to pick it up, and without warning someone disappears. They've seen the incautious pay the ultimate price - a blanket hogged too greedily, pulled up too high, and suddenly it falls flat. They've seen a handful, desperate and broken, running off into the darkness sobbing in fear, or simply meandering away, having given up.
They've not seen someone leave like I will.
I wrap the cloths around my left wrist - a bandana, and a strip of cloth. The first belonging to my brother. My idol, and my hero. He'd worn it all the time when we were young, before he'd had kids of his own. The other belonging to my sister - a piece of her shirt. She'd used it to tie our hands together only a few hours ago. It hadn't been tight enough.
We'd worked so hard, fought so hard. None of it had been enough.
I missed them. I missed them more than I could bear. I did not intend to shamble off into the dark, sobbing in surrender.
I tucked the necklace with my grandparents' rings under my shirt, I felt my pocket for the lucky coin my best friend used to carry. So, so many for me to remember. So many empty silhouettes now.
I reached down, and from the floor, I picked up the machete my father had carried when this all started. The one I'd seen him use to protect his family. He had been larger than life. An ordinary man with the soul of a mountain. In all my life, I'd never seen him cry before, but after the world came crashing down there had been no hiding it, not when we needed to keep within eyesight, within reach. Even in his weakest moment, he had been invincible and immortal in my mind, my guiding light.
I looked at the other survivors here. Several dozen, but no more - all that was left in an echoing city. They shivered in this dim room, lit by a few camp fires. I could see in their eyes, they resented me - I was another set of eyes that could watch them. Another pair of hands that could hold them here in this reality. I was another link in their safety net, another loop in the chain that secured them. I could keep them safe, they might argue, and only a monster would abandon them. I wished them all the best, but everything I loved was gone from here.
I don't know what these Vanishings are. But I know that everything I've ever loved is on the other side of them.
Once last glance about the room. My boots were tied. My backpack was strapped securely. I had every memento, every keepsake, every memory that still existed to me in this world.
I nodded at the huddled mass of survivors, and I turned away. I could feel their eyes on me. Like a weight, keeping me anchored. Keeping me corporeal. Keeping me real.
I could feel as it faded, and I marched further into the dark, heart full of anguish. Full of fury. Full of love. Full of determination.
Finally, the doorway, out into the dark outdoors. I didn't even hesitate.
I stepped through into the darkness, out of sight of the -
|
CutieBoBootie
|
xRocketman52x
|
2023-03-07 21:14:02
|
2023-03-07 19:11:30
| 27 | 20 |
jbbi606
|
jbayrln
|
11kuq71
|
11kuq71
|
[WP] 'Dragon' isn't the name of a particular creature, but a title granted to any being that attains a certain level of legendary power. Anything can become a Dragon, from a wyvern to a human, to a stag, or even a cat. Write a story about an unlikely Dragon.
|
Life isn't easy on board an Elven Dreadnaught.
Least of all for a mouse.
Rations are tight. Not much by way of crumbs and morsels, but I get by. I did, anyways, until we were boarded. I don't pretend to know where we were among the stars. All I know is I heard shouting.
"Ambush!" they shouted. "Breach swarm! Brace!"
The rush of air sent even the elves flying as the spike of a boarding vessel penetrated the hull. It was all I could do to hold on as the hull fused to the boarding craft and the pressure equalized. I was still catching my breath when those creatures poured out and started cutting down the elves.
I was so sad for them.
I had lived among many races in my short time, but the elves were by far my favorite. There was a calm wisdom inherent in their kind. This came with a respect and admiration of nature and all of its creatures. Several of them had seen me, on many occasions. Some spoke to me, even, though not usually for long. I wasn't much of a conversationalist at that time.
"Feyrun, no!" Shania shouted. Feyrun had been run through with a blade from the one of those fell creatures that emerged from the boarding craft. She began her incantation from behind the line of soldiers attempting to halt the advance of those monsters. I had seen her do it before. He wasn't too far gone, she could bring him back. The ship lurched and I went flying through the air.
Right between Shania and Feyrun.
She loosed her spell, and I felt my very soul quiver as it collided with me. That is the first moment I remember being truly awake. Some spells have very specific purposes. When they are used improperly, or on an inappropriate target, things get a little more unpredictable. I felt the awakening within me. I felt the vast chasm of raw power yawning open like a great maw. Like a star being born in the reaches of my mind.
And I was terrified.
I do now know for certain how what transpired next came to be. Scales emerged from my fir and hardened into flexible yet strong armor, all over my body. A sliver of silver moonlight formed in each of my hands and I grasped them as swords. Sharp, they were, and longer than myself twofold. Long enough, as I came to realize, to pierce the brain of a Breach Creature.
The next few moments were a blur of blood, of gore and of vengeance. When at last I stood on the heap of Breach Creature corpses, there was a moment of silence. The elves had lost too many to cheer to victory. Shania wept next to the lifeless body of Feyrun. As did many others. When the Priestess arrived, she held out her hand to me, and I walked into it. I had spoken to her only once before, but things were different now.
"More would be lost without you," she said, holding me up close to her face.
"Thank you, Little Dragon."
|
"Contrary to popular believe, dragons aren't green or red scaly creatures that terrorizes townsfolk, but a title given to beings of legendary power"
You read the sentence a few more times, unable to believe that all those stories about dragons wreaking havoc could have been anything but, those gruel winged beasts.
You close your school book and raise your arm. "Yes?" the teacher asks? You're a bit nervous, as it's your first day in the magic academy, but after clearing your throat you find enough courage to speak. "Is it true, that anyone can become a dragon?". The class gets quieter, some classmates start to giggle, but most seem to have as little clue as you have.
"Well you see, Derek, in ancient times the term 'Dragon' was used by powerful wyverns to set themself apart from others of their species. During the decades, this was adopted by most other life forms to describe powerful beings. No matter their race or species."
"But how do you become this powerful?" you blurt out. The teacher looks at you as if you couldn't have asked a more useless question. "Well, you're born with it" he said "at least most of the times. Other times there are gods involved. And sometimes a ritual or two can give you enough power, if you were to get enough sacrifices. But everything except the first is highly unlikely. You would have to be insane, to even try one of the rituals, as most of them have an insanely high likelihood, to straight up kill you or pulverize your mind, leaving behind nothing but a hollow body. And the gods have been silent for years. You'd be better off wishing upon a star. This way you at least don't get killed for annoying the gods. So all in all, if you don't have it, you aren't gonna get it."
The magical bell rang, signaling the end of class, but this time, it didn't stop after a few seconds. Suddenly, sirens start howling and fear is starting to spread. The teacher yells "Silence. Do not panic. We will make our way outside and then someone will guide you to safety. Even tho the dragon alarm wasn't used in ages, the staff is regularly trained on how to evacuate and make sure all students are safe. Now build a line and we will go down."
While building the line you can already hear screams from the outside. The explosions aren't just loud, they make the whole building vibrate. Whatever is going on, it must be pretty close.
Scared stiff you grab the nearest wall in the hopes that you don't collapse. Your knees have never felt that weak. "A real dragon? Here at school?" you think to yourself, while making your way towards the stairs. Another explosion. Some of the students tremble, but manage to catch themselves. You begin to descend as quick as possible with out falling over your classmates.
At the bottom of the stairs, one of the younger teachers is already waiting. He talks to your teacher as soon as everybody arrived at the ground floor. "Professor, I'll take over from here, you're needed in the fight. Please stay safe". The professor nods and rushes out. The moment the door opens, screams of terror and the sound of flames and explosions rushes in. The young teacher cast's a light protection around the students and says: "Once we are out there, we go towards the forest. The barrier should keep stray attacks out. Whatever you do: DO NOT STOP MOVING. Now let's get going. Go Go Go."
The teacher opens the door and one after another starts going outside. When it's your turn, you feel the heat coming from the outside. It smells of burnt flesh. You are too scared to look around, so you just start moving the same direction as everybody else. After a few steps you hear a scream that was so horrible, you couldn't even imagine what horror the person screaming must have gone through. You start building up some courage. You think "I need to see it. I need to see what's wreaking havoc here at school."
You turn around and see the most grotesque picture that anyone has ever seen. Many mages are standing in a circle, trying their best to contain what's inside. Many places in the circle are already empty. Taken by the beast. Those who are still standing, are partially burnt black or missing limbs. In the middle is the beast. At first, you don't even see it. You remember think to yourself "How small can a dragon actually get?" when you finally catch a glimpse.
You can see the hatred in it's eyes, while it's hurling magic spells around, that even some of the higher ups haven't heard about. It's fire breath annihilates everything that isn't fast enough to conjure up a shield or jump out of it's way.
You would have never thought to see something like this, but in the middle of the circle there it was. A fire breathing, magic slinging, people killing chihuahua.
|
jpb103
|
BiedermannS
|
2023-08-18 13:32:40
|
2023-08-18 13:12:30
| 235 | 56 |
jwpvvvw
|
jwpt2f6
|
15ui4iy
|
15ui4iy
|
[WP] In a world of dragons, sorcery, war, and monsters, there are many risks and even risk takers. Everyone though, elf, monster, or man knows to avoid those few ancient ruins that contain symbols of suffering and a word of the ancients, RADIATION.
|
They were trying to warn us.
Our ancestors were great. Our scholars say they had not yet learned of the ley lines pulsating with powerful mana through the land outside of folk tales. But our ancestors were able to mimic even our strongest of magical abilities through means unknown. These abilities must have come at a steep cost, however.
They were trying to warn us.
We discovered the hard way what these costs must have been. My team and I found an old tomb, a mountainous cavern in which the writings of the ancients guarded the door. We attempted to study the meanings but could not quite deduce their message. We should have taken longer in trying to figure it out. We were arrogant in our pursuit of knowledge.
They were trying to warn us.
These poisonous caverns killed all the members of my team except for myself. Even I can feel myself fading, and writing this warning in my field notes journal has taken several hours for a short passage. I leave this here, near my corpse, as a message to anyone who becomes curious of the hieroglyphic's meaning. Ahead there is nothing but accursed misery and death. The rune of warding shown around the entrance to the cavern is a remnant of those who came before, who understood more the toxins that were in this place.
They were trying to warn us. And now I am trying to warn you.
|
First time writing a prompt and english is not my first language.
“I want that dragon dead!”
“Sire we can’t attack the dragon at it’s hoard. The plaguedragon lives in the forbidden forest, we can’t reach her.”
“Pah, that beast has been pestering my kingdom since time immemorial. Find a way to slay her, I’m sick of her, every couple of years it ransacks our grain storage and shortly thereafter her brood descends that sicking Mushroom forest.”
“That might be true sire but how are we meant to approach? The last time your father Curie III send in an expedition they shortly returned and died an agonizing death over the next couple of weeks. And their armor could not be reused whoever wore it after died as well, albeit slower. The brood is also quickly deposed of by our glowing guardians – shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“Shall their fur be ever glowing … fine, then send for the Wizard immediately, he shall think of something.”
“Of course Sire, I’ll inform the mighty Oppenheimer immediately.”
\-
“It is I, Oppenheimer, you have summoned me Sire?”
“Yes yes, you are to find a solution to the menace Typhon.”
“The creature living in the mushroom forest Sire? What of it?”
“My knights reminded me that her lair is unapproachable. Because of the folly of the Ancients.”
“Aaah yes most unfortunate, well we could try several approaches Sire? All of them quite costly one way or another.”
“What do you propose Wizard?”
“Three ideas come to mind. First ask your elderly knights if they would be willing to slay the beast. They will surely die, but they might be willing since their names would go down in history, also give their families an incentive. Second the ancient texts mention a metal, which protects from the folly of the Ancients. The blacksmith could fashion armor out of it, if we are able to find it my Liege. Third, we wait for Typhon to approach the next time and fight it while it raids a grain storage or poison the grain in the hopes that this will kill it.”
“I like your ideas Wizard, even though I’m skeptical that she can be killed by poison if she lives in such a hazardous area. We shall do all three proposals together. Find out if there is a mine of this wondrous metal in my Kingdom, if not acquire enough from the neighboring kingdoms. Fashion suits of armor out of it with the blacksmiths and give it to anyone who is willing to fight the beast, I want at least 20 men. If possible find a poison which is able to injure the creature if not alright kill it.”
“Sire such things take time, I’m not sure if we will be ready by the next attack.”
“Well she hasn’t destroyed the kingdom yet find a solution as fast a possible.”
“If I may, if the guardians - shall their fur be ever glowing...“
“Shall their fur be ever glowing.”
“wouldn’t kill the entire brood I could study the young and find a suitable poison, maybe find a weakness…“
“Oppenheimer you know as well as I, that no one can control the guardians. They go wherever they please. Also I find the idea of the living brood rather uncomfortable. If you want a specimen you’ll have to find a dead one which they guardians left.”
“Of course Sire, anything else?”
“No get to work, I want that Dragon dead.”
|
Chuk741776
|
campusschampus
|
2023-05-03 16:30:59
|
2023-05-03 16:29:26
| 821 | 48 |
jiprk7h
|
jiprbo8
|
136lj9v
|
136lj9v
|
[WP] In this world healers, while respected, are often looked down upon due to their limited offensive capabilities. One day your party is completely wiped out, and the world finds out just how dangerous knowledge of human anatomy can be.
|
The young monk knelt in front of his attackers, not because he had surrendered, but because he was too injured to fully stand.
The mage was crumpled next to him, her robes gradually turning crimson from the inside out. The mighty barbarian was inching towards her, knees dragging, breath failing due to all the broken ribs. The paladin was out cold. If he ever came to again, his career was likely over, even if he was lucky enough to even able to speak words ever again.
The monk was only glad his mother wasn't alive to see him in this sorry state. She never wanted him to be a hero. Heroes die early. At the end of the day, her own sacrifice had proven her right. And yet, instead of heeding common sense, instead of listening to her and learning from her mistakes, he had followed in her footsteps, *with gusto*. Humans were stupid like that.
That's probably why they were a dying race.
The Dark Khan's Force Commander stood before them, sneering just enough to expose his left fang. He was not impressed.
"I was hoping for more." The Commander kicked the monk in the side of the head, knocking him into the mud. It wasn't even that painful. The Commander hadn't wasted his breath.
As he tried to stand back up, he got one last look at his down party. Right now he didn't have the mana to heal a paper cut, let alone raise them back up.
*I didn't think it was going to end this way.*
...
His mother hadn't actually taught him the secret, but he was such a bookworm in his youth that he had managed to piece it together anyways. It wasn't hard really. Adrenaline, relaxation, and a severe disregard for one's life were all it took. A very small spark of mana had to be applied to a specific portion of the brain. The runes needed to be tattooed into the flesh in advance, but they were surprisingly simple and easy to hide. That's what it came down really: subtlety. The slightest changes in the right spots could turn the human body into an engine of destruction, but only for a little while. Then, once the spell wore off, the debt would be paid.
That is why, when the Dark Khan came for their family, he was the only survivor, not her.
...
"Sorry, mom." He whispered to himself.
The Commander chuckled. "Interesting last words. Don't fret child." He drew his sword. "You'll be reunited with her soon."
The monk didn't acknowledge him. He just kept staring at his friends, the closest thing to family he had left.
Maybe it wasn't quite how she felt that day. But, hopefully it was close enough.
Hot steam began to rise from his back, arms, and hair. The commander raised an eyebrow and took a step back as the mud around the young monk began to boil.
"What magic is this?"
The boy took solace. He always imagined that his mother's final moments were excruciatingly painful but... this actually felt kind of good.
Realizing that any further hesitation would endanger his party, the Force Commander lunged forward with his sword, aiming for a quick decapitation.
CRACK!!
But he was too late. In just one second, the brazen boy was standing erect, posed several steps *behind* the Force Commander, his arm outstretched and fingers straight.
The Force Commander hadn't even finished kneeling, nor had his head hit the ground yet, before the doomed monk fell upon the Khans. He'd be the last thing most of them saw, though many of them would just see afterimages.
As for the monk's adopted family, they would live.
And to him, that was all that mattered.
|
"Step aside, or you'll be next."
"Cast *Increase Blood Volume*."
Caduceus was done playing. He raised his staff as a warning. "If you get in my way again, I will kill you."
"With what? Your stick?" the bandit asked, squinting.
"You feel that headache? That's your [blood pressure rising rapidly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypertensive_crisis). Dizziness comes next, then vision blurring."
There was a low groan from Caduceus's ally, Helios. It was ragged, the sound of a cleric saying his last prayers to his God. Good, that he had regained consciousness, but there wasn't much time before he would succumb to his injuries too.
The bandit clutched his chest in shock. "What did you d-"
"Cast *Bloodletting*."
The effect was instant. Caduceus's diagnostic cantrips flared to life, highlighting the bandit's heart as his [aorta ruptured](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aortic_dissection). The bond between him and his God wavered, reminding him of his duty.
Do no harm.
Well, fuck that duty.
The bandit yelled in pain, bent over, and Caduceus pushed him over with his staff. Death within 120 seconds, announced his cantrip.
"Who's next."
A blast of energy landed menacingly between Caduceus and Helios, but this was close enough for the healer to work. Severe breathing difficulties, low blood oxygen levels, along with multiple broken ribs. He cast a more advanced diagnostic spell on the cleric. Significant volume of air and blood in the chest cavity. Definitely a [tension pneumothorax](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pneumothorax#Tension_pneumothorax). Death within 120 seconds if untreated, and it wouldn't be a painless death.
A more acute approach was necessary against their ranged attackers then. Once the first bandit passes away, Caduceus's God would be sure to withdraw His grace. The blaster was charging up his next shot, so that would be the primary target. Caduceus withdrew a scalpel from within his robe. He wasn't sure if the spell had the necessary range, but there's no time like the present to find out. He closed his eyes, focusing on the diagnostic cantrips. From afar, he could sense the blaster's heavy breathing.
"Cast *Incision*."
As Caduceus sliced the air in front of him, the blade reached out, passing through the blaster's neck, and into [his trachea](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricothyrotomy). With another swipe, the healer tore the blaster's neck open. The bandits around him recoiled in shock as blood spurted out of his neck. But Caduceus didn't need to see them to harm them. Their respiratory systems lit up like bonfires in the night sky. Tachypneic breathing, possible hyperventilation. Diagnosis: mortal terror, and the good healer shall be dispensing emergency surgical interventions from afar.
-------
As the last neck exploded into a shower of blood, everything faded to black. He opened his eyes in shock, cursing his God's name. Why now? There's still a life to be saved! He rushed to Helios's side. Although his God had withdrawn his magical gifts, Caduceus still had a lifetime of medical knowledge within him. He tore Helios's robe open with a pair of shears. His chest was heaving ineffectually, and there was a distinct imbalance as he tried to breathe.
The cantrips had highlighted the pneumothorax in an alarming shade, and he knew from experience that Helios was on the verge of death. From a pocket inside his coat, Caduceus withdrew a vial of alcohol and a [disturbingly large needle in a tube](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catheter).
"Relax, Helios. Your God clearly hasn't abandoned you. Focus on my voice."
He washed his hands, the needle, and the side of Helios's chest with the alcohol, then took a swig for good measure.
"The left lung has collapsed. Each inhalation brings more air into the chest, which cannot escape without help. Keep breathing though."
Caduceus counted ribs. "Treatment requires a chest tube to be inserted. The Temple traditionally recommends inserting it between the second and third rib, but experience suggests [performing it at the fifth rib](https://litfl.com/tension-pneumothorax-time-to-change-the-old-mantra/), where the chest wall is thinner. A needle is inserted to allow the excess air to escape."
Helios's eyes snapped open as Caduceus pushed the needle in, and air hissed out of the tube. The cleric's breathing eased, and he grimaced as the healer eased the tube against his chest wall.
"Air now escapes through [a one-way valve](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flutter_valve)." Caduceus continued, as he taped the end of the tube against his chest. "You feeling better?"
Helios swore loudly. Good, his state of consciousness wasn't impaired. It would be bad if he said something stupid like, "Maybe I should break my sacred Oath too".
"Once you're ready, I'm going to need you to get up and to start casting. You're still down a lung and I don't need my God's aid to know that you're still struggling to breath."
"But?"
"But I'm going to need your help getting us back to the nearest Temple. You'll need proper medical attention to reinflate your lung and to fix your ribs."
Helios stood up shakily, holding his polearm for dear life. [Caduceus slinged the cleric's left arm over his shoulder, and gripped his wrist and clothing firmly](https://www.google.com/search?q=human+crutch).
"You ready?"
He opened his palm. *Give me a moment.*
"Alright, take your time. We've got all the time in the world."
|
originmsd
|
verticallocomotive
|
2023-01-13 01:47:42
|
2023-01-13 01:25:25
| 411 | 278 |
j44av35
|
j447szr
|
10a7zca
|
10a7zca
|
[WP] In this world healers, while respected, are often looked down upon due to their limited offensive capabilities. One day your party is completely wiped out, and the world finds out just how dangerous knowledge of human anatomy can be.
|
"See, the art of healing mainly focuses on choice and balance."
All I recieved was a gurgle in reply.
"Yeah we use aspects of growth magic and a whole lot of divination, but it's all about keeping things as close to optimum as possible. The ancients called it 'Homeostasis'."
No gurgles this time. Just a silent plea from eyes filled with horror.
"And, when it comes down to it, there's always an implicit assumption that the thing we help heal, to grow, is the patient, the human body. Which requires a lot of training so that we don't _accidentally_ heal or grow the organisms that feed on human flesh."
Silence finally as the ex-bandit finishes rotting alive.
"Ever hear of bacteria?"
|
j"Triboli, Triboli", the voice practically screeched from just outside my quaint camp. Damien, I wonder what drunken stupidity he and his friends had done now. Sighing I set down the flask I had previously been oh so carefully swirling above a small, but carefully made therefore raging hot, fire. God I missed Jouleen, she could have got the potion done half an hour ago. Fire mages truly were a healers best friends, and her case a little more than that I remembered more than somewhat bitterly. I again chided myself for that mess, I'd sworn to never get that -, my thoughts were interrupted by yet another shout of 'Triboli', whoever the fuck that was.
"Damien you impotent excuse for a twit", I swore whilst throwing open the flap of my alchemist tent. The young man in question was standing, or rather half leaning against, a pile of wood just past the deer trail that had now become well worn in by idiots like him. As I stormed closer I could smell the spirits reeking off of the thinly made adventurer, his eyes also showed the clear glassy signs of alcohols minor (at least for now) poisoning of the brain. I stopped a mere foot from his face, I half expected him to recoil knowing the blind rage upon my face, but a mixture of bravado and inebriation kept the tan youth from doing more than donning a dopey frown. "It's Trisoli, Trisoli, with an 'S'. An 'S' like in ssssnake".
Damien simply looked at me, the same mask of stupidity still plastered on his face. "Ohh", he finally slurred with a bout of high proof breathe, "Well Omar needs you Triboli, he says Danicia's hurt.". I inhaled sharply, debating whether I should berate him before or after casting a spell that would give him the worst hangover of his life. I instead dismissed the idea though, even if Omar had been keeping up with Damien today for him to not be able to treat someone meant it was at least moderately serious. That was the main perk of the drunken old fool I thought as I turned and began walking back towards my tent.
"Well are you going to stand there, or get my fucking basket from underneath that willow", I ordered without looking back. Behind me the sound of wood hitting the ground and stumbling footfalls brought me brief joy as I imagined him falling face first into the mud. That joy barely survived to my tent however, when the sound of my precious and precisely made tonics clinking violently together sailed through the air. "And be careful with it you damned idiot", I said before reentering the comfortable embrace of my workshop, cursing under my breathe the entire time.
|
joalheagney
|
cryptidhunter101
|
2023-01-13 05:27:40
|
2023-01-13 02:51:12
| 20 | 11 |
j452krj
|
j44jpu2
|
10a7zca
|
10a7zca
|
[WP] In 1954, major leaders of the world received a message: “We have examined your planet, and do not find it desirable. As we depart, we leave some of our technology knowledge on your moon for you.” They thought we’d all share it. Instead we had a space race, followed shortly by a tech revolution.
|
Never thought I'd agree with those conspiracy nuts, but here I am, staring at the proof. The moon landing was a hoax, just not the way they thought it was.
We indeed made it up to the Lunar surface, but we knew fully well what we were after. They collected rocks and moon dirt, took some pictures, and made a real good show of looking like we'd never been before.
Well, we hadn't, but we knew what we were getting into, how it'd be
*We don't find your planet desirable*
I found the single sentence in a folder labeled *project paradise.*
Bunch of other papers described everything. Some voice beyond the stars about the time of the great space race, that sentence and a promise of technology that would help all of humanity.
If I ever have a chance to teach another person about what naivety is, well, I'll just keep this packet with me.
Hell, here I am rambling into the recorder again.
My name is Jeremy Peck, senior data analyst for what used to be one of the most well funded research facilities in what might be remembered as the United States.
I'm currently bunkered down in our Archives, after the alerts came in.
Nuclear strikes all over the globe. Damned if I know who started it. This room is a solid quarter of a mile underground, in the middle of our country's capitol, maybe what used to be our capitol.
Room stopped shaking maybe a few hours ago. I lost contact with the outside world minutes after everything started. If there even is an outside world any more.
Not sure how I feel about it, all things considered.
Since the industrial revolution, we've had a stranglehold on the natural resources of the world. Since the space race, we've had the capacity to ensure everyone had what they needed to live a good life.
Those that received this message from the stars apparently took that personally. They squandered these gifts, ensured only they and those closest to them were taken care of.
Bastards
Funny, the computer just came on.
Ain't no way
"To those of you who have survived the worst of you, don't fear, we've come to help."
|
Three months ago, Mr. Dino Callas claims that he was abducted by aliens. With the information we received a week ago, this story may shed light on it.
**ALIEN ABDUCTION RECORD:**
---
I was drinking alone in the woods. I thought it'd be another nice night camping. That's when this LearJet flew down into the field near me. I got worried; if a LearJet lands this close to the forests, there's a chance of a plane crash, and I needed to make sure the pilot or passengers were all right.
The pilot thanked me for attempting to help, but he flew it normally. In gratitude, he asked if I wanted to take a ride with him in it. I agreed.
We got into the air, me in the back of the jet. The pilot asked me if I thought it was nice. I told him LearJets are nice, but Gulfstreams are considered the bigger symbol of success in the field and LearJets hadn't been the peak of the industry since the days of Ric Flair. The pilot asked about these a bit, and I explained what little I knew of them. He turned on a car radio in the midst of the jet, and asked if I thought the sound was good. I said it was nice, but it's about the same as any other car radio set- some even having GPS in them. The pilot asked about GPS, and I told him how it's a satellite position system used to find where you were on the planet at any time and basically navigate for you and keep you from getting lost. The pilot was awestruck when I said this. The pilot asked if I wanted to hang out at his house for a bit, and I agreed.
We went to the house. For lack of a better term, it felt like I stepped into an episode of That '70s Show. The man put on an 8-track tape. The guy seemed to be a diehard fan of Elvis, and had apparent B-sides and remixes I had never heard of, to the point it all sounded like new music to me. We listened to some music. The man asked if I thought his sound system was good. I said that the 8-track thing is retro, but 8-tracks were long out of date. He seemed shocked- I know vinyl is big, but the guy seemed to be unaware CDs even existed. He asked what they were, and I told him how they were a digitized form of storing music, data, and movies. The man was even more shocked when I said they lost power due to the rise of streaming, and was flabbergasted when I told him that you could simply beam any media you wanted to your computer at will. He only got more shocked when I said that pretty much everyone had a computer at home- many more, and that people could even bring a computer in their smartphone with them everywhere. He asked if I did, and I showed him my iPhone. He asked "we all have these?" and I said "yeah; actually that's my burner one so I could just get off the grid." The man's jaw dropped. He asked if he could keep it if it was a backup one and that he'd trade his entire collection of Elvis 8-tracks from the '80s and '90s to me for it- I'm a fan, so I can always go with some good compilations of his music, so I said yes.
The man was in awe when I showed it to him, and simply said "Is this what you've done with what was given? I have to make some phone calls, I'll have to send you back." He flew me back to where my tent was. In the background, I heard the man say "You won't believe what they've done since we last spoke with them, we need to get back into contact with Sol 3 immediately!", and then he flew away.
All I had left to prove it were the 8-track tapes he had traded me [REPORT: The tapes the man showed me looked beaten with 30-40 years of use, but by all signs appear to be new Elvis Presley music that was released long after his apparent death in 1977. However, scouring every antique store in the area led to no luck in finding a working 8-track player to play them and get proof of such.].
( *Inventor William Powell Lear was the businessman who founded LearJet, one of the first private business jet companies. He received 140 patents in his life, most notably the car radio and the 8-track tape player. Conspiracy theories believe many of his inventions were originally technology he had learned from aliens.* )
|
Mercerskye
|
Spiritual_Lie2563
|
2023-03-09 22:33:41
|
2023-03-09 16:57:27
| 59 | 42 |
jblm07h
|
jbk4qim
|
11msar7
|
11msar7
|
[WP] You are a young mage who just discovered the horrifying truth about where mana actually comes from.
|
'What do you mean keep it on?' You ask dumbfounded.
'you want to cast the spell don't you?' the old wizard asks patiently.
'Yeah...?'
'But you're all out of mana?' he prompts.
'Yeah... So I need a mana potion!'
'Too expensive,' the wizard shakes his head, 'you're still in training, you'll need constant replenishment.'
'Then I'll just rest until it's restored,' you declare.
'Do you want to be an old crone by the time you graduate? You need to train faster than that!'
'So what are you suggesting?' you ask, exasperated.
'You just need to draw out more mana... from the source!'
'The source?' you ask blankly. 'I thought I'm the source?'
'Well not you per se... ' the wizard shakes his head, 'that's a common misconception among young mages. And I daresay the potions industry likes it that way. It's actually quite easy to restore your mana more quickly if you know where it's really from...'
'Just tell me already old man.. what do I need to do?'
'Like I said, keep the cloak on, don't change.'
'But I'm all sweaty!'
'Good! Stay that way. And don't bathe either! Let the grime envelop you!'
'What! That's gross! Why on earth do I have to stop bathing?! Is the mana supposed to be my body odor?!'
'Not exactly,' the wizard shook his head, 'more like what creates your body odor also creates the mana...'
You stare at him in confusion.
'Microbes! Young grasshopper, tis those invisible beasties living inside and on your skin that build up the mana you use... The more you have, and the nastier they are, the more mana you can access and replenish quickly.. why do you think the greatest mages remain loners? They're all too stinky for anyone to go within a foot of them!'
'So... You mean... You smell that way... On purpose?!' you ask aghast, careful to stay upwind from your instructor.
'Of course, I'm one of the greatest mages after all,' he declares proudly, wrapping his greasy cloak close around him.
'But then... What are.. what are mana potions?' You ask weakly.
'Pshh those,' the wizard snorts dismissively, 'just some cocktails of overactive microbes aching to release their mana... Whaddaya call them? Oh yes, probiotics!'
|
Okay this idea was a little out there, and it has been a long long time since I wrote anything, but here is my go: (note, wow I forgot how annoying reddit formatting can be)
​
**It is a well established fact of our world that mana, that force that allows the casting of spells and the propagation of magic, waxes and wanes through the course of our lives, and that some poor souls seem to be born without the ability to generate mana at all.**
**Of course the presence of mana, and the ability to use it are not always tied together. Indeed some of our most talented mages are able to perform incredible acts of magic, while wielding only a modicum of mana, and some of the most powerfully endowed of mana, are unable to channel even a simple light spell. Indeed it often seems that the most powerfully endowed of mana are paradoxically the least likely to have either the skill, or desire, to learn to channel their mana at all. Often living mundane lives of work and family.**
**This curve is not always a linear progression, indeed it has been noted by many practised mages that their available stores of mana seem to wax and wane as time progresses, following a roughly lunar cycle, offset by a personal differential. Not everyones most powerful times coincide with the same lunar stage, however they are usually the most powerful at the same lunar stage each month.**
**Another oddity, is that men seem to be gifted with the skill of mana for much longer than women. All humans are born equal, in that we have no access to mana at all at an early age, those unlucky mana-less few being indistinguishable from the rest. It is not until early adolescence that we gain the ability to sense and wield mana. Coinciding with the advent of puberty our magical talent awakens and begins growing within us.**
**While women tend to be slightly stronger than men, their potency sees a rapid drop off around age 30, and almost all women lose access to their mana by age 55. Whilst a man may remain magically active well into his 70s, his potency will have much diminished from his youth.**
**It was these differences that led me to study mana in depth, to try to learn the reasons behind these apparently arbitrary limitations. My first clues were to examine those few that were cursed with no mana at all. These few seemed to fall into a couple of broad categories. Those whom developed no mana in their lives, and those whom lost access to their mana by some means before their otherwise allotted time.**
**It was from studying these later people that I discovered a significant correlation. Those who lost their mana, and of course were willing to undergo study, all seemed to have some form of injury to their lower torso’s or lower bodies.**
**Indeed the majority of my research subjects were the victim of their own magical experimentation backfiring on them, usually literally, while performing spells that had the unfortunate effect of rending them limb from limb. Sometimes the hapless researcher was rendered down to nothing more than a torso, bereft of mana, and of a will to live. These poor souls drive to furthering the study of magic was the only thing that gave them any will to live. To them I am eternally grateful, for had I not had their help I would never have discovered the source of mana.**
**It was the study of the nature and extent of these injuries and the concomitant effect on the subject's mana that I was able to reach the beginnings of a theory, and begin study. Through tireless research, and some less than pleasant experimentation, I was able to discover the horrifying truth.**
**We power our mana, our magic, through the expenditure of our own fertility. The ova and sperm that other researchers have discovered are responsible for the gift of life, are also responsible for the gift of magic. Mana expenditure directly consumes our store of the same.**
**The ‘old wives tale’ of being more fertile when one is most full of mana? It is true! When we are most full of mana we are indeed our most fertile, for they are one in the same.**
|
atmanama
|
Raithwind
|
2023-08-24 21:22:38
|
2023-08-24 20:13:07
| 117 | 53 |
jxlxmn4
|
jxlmkwg
|
1608mj5
|
1608mj5
|
[WP] "Sure, it'll only cost you your soul" you used to jokingly say whenever you did something for free. everyone always got a laugh out of it, and so did you! until the first soul showed up in your living room with a very, very tired looking reaper.
|
Death looked tired. Oddly enough, this was the first thought Ed had, staring at the robed figure in his doorway. Darkened circles lined empty sockets, resembling smudges of ash on Death's high, bleached cheek bones.
"Can...I help you?" Ed inquired. Standing at a modest 5 foot eight, jeans and a t-shirt, coffee in hand, Ed didn't feel the least bit dead.
Death let out a very long, shoulder slumping sigh.
"Unfortunately, yes. You can stop bartering souls, for a start.", said Death. His sentence ended with a wheeze.
Ed, looking perplexed, uttered a simple, "Pardon?"
"Listen and listen well. As you can imagine, I am incredibly busy. I've spent the last week schlepping about with this. " Death paused to lift up something that resembled a glowing worm, about 3 inches long. He continued, "This unfortunate soul was SUPPOSED to be bound for Hell. I have a rather large bucket of these. I was unable to enter the gates until I had weeded out that which does not belong. Thousands of worms and I had to single out this poor....hmmm....plumber, was it?"
Ed sipped his coffee as he listened raptly. Plumber? Hadn't Joe, his plumber neighbor, passed away about a week back? They weren't exactly close, but Joe would frequently borrow his hedge trimmers. At this recollection, Ed choked as his coffee went down the wrong pipe. Hadn't he always joked and said, "You can borrow it, but it'll only cost your soul." with an exaggerated wink.
Death, not accustomed to human interaction, ignored Ed's sputtering and resumed, "It's not exactly unheard of, selling off your soul to another mortal, but there's usually some pacts written out, worked through the proper channels. It would seem you have...slipped through the cracks."
The reaper paused frequently and had a very slow, methodical way of speaking. Edward, himself unaccustomed to dealing with mythical beings, felt humor might be a good coping mechanism.
"Well, that's not all bad, right? If you were coming for me, I guess my name would be Deadward." he said, with a chuckle.
Death paused, raised a finger, paused again and inhaled, "That's...actually pretty funny. I enjoy dark humor. It might lighten my mood when next we meet."
"Won't be for a long time, yeah?" Ed asked, nervously.
"Oh, sooner than you'd think, I suppose. I'll be dropping numerous souls off for you in the future, quite regularly. You're in the books, now."
"Pardon?" The perplexed look had returned to Ed's face.
"You've made numerous contracts. Quite successful at it, really. I hadn't seen anyone collect quite so many since they were burning people alive for this kind of thing. Quite impressive, really. Would be nice if there were some award for it, but I guess the souls are enough. Anway, I'm off. Enjoy."
Death placed the small, glowing worm in Ed's hand and gently closed the recipient's fingers for them. With a rustle of a cloak, Death wrapped in on himself, slowly disappearing into nothing.
"Heya Ed!" screeched the little worm.
Eyes bulging, Ed jerked his head down to stare at the worm. At Joe?
"I reckon that hedge trimmer should have been lined with gold and did all the trimming on autopilot, considering the cost, eh?" Joe quipped.
Throat constricting, Ed croaked out, "What...am I going to do with you?"
"Could go for bit of a nibble, if you don't mind. Maybe a little nip of whiskey. I'm all out of sorts." The voice of the worm was high pitched, warbly and generally disconcerting.
Ed leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. With a brief shrug of his shoulders, Ed says, "Yeah, alright. In you go.", and carries Joe inside.
[Pt. 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/106i1sg/wp_sure_itll_only_cost_you_your_soul_you_used_to/j3hin01/)
Future additions will be posted to [r/EdandTheDead](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdandTheDead/). Hopefully every Saturday.
|
“Okay, here you go.” A milk dud fell from her hand as she startled at the sound of an unexpected voice from behind the sofa. On the screen in front of her, Turk lifted JD on his back, unnoticed.
There were two people in her apartment suddenly. One was a rather mystified looking flannel-clad man about her age, and the second was a robe-clad skeleton wielding a scythe. Sarah froze, one hand gripping the back of the threadbare couch, the other drooping until a clatter of spilled candy brought her back to herself. She sprang up, almost tripping over the Ikea coffee table, and raised her hands in what was hopefully either a calming or defensive posture. The man looked confused. The skeleton looked bored.
“Miss Wildes, I need you to sign for this,” the skeleton extended a clip board toward her, which featured a ballpoint tied to the ring at the top with what looked like an old shoelace.
“I’m sorry, sign for what?” Sarah asked.
“Your soul.”
She clutched her chest and stepped back, knocking into the coffee table and sending several library books tumbling to the floor.
“MY SOUL!?” she screeched.
The skeleton tipped its head up, pointing empty sockets toward the ceiling. “Not *your* soul. Your soul. That you now own. This guy.” It nudged the man forward with the hand that held the scythe, and the stranger took a halting step forward.
“Hey Alexa, can milk duds go bad?” Sarah called in a tight voice, not turning her gaze from the skeleton and the guy it claimed she owned.
“From the independent dot co dot uk.” The melodic robot voice called out, “Milk and white chocolates last no more than eight to 10 months. ‘It is OK to throw away old candy,’ advises Aramouni. ‘Don't feel compelled to eat it. It's mostly empty calories after all.’”
The skeleton shook its head and looked at the bearded man beside it, who apparently didn’t respond in the way the specter had hoped, because its empty chest heaved in a sigh. It flipped to a second page on his clip board.
“January 8th, 2018,” it read in an annoyed voice, “ ‘Sure, I’ll pick you up from the airport, but it will cost you your soul’. Now, can you please just sign for him? I’ve got other pickups to make, and I’m not approved for overtime.”
“2018 …” Sarah mused, looking more closely at the man, who was considering the floral prints hung over her small kitchen table. In profile, he looked vaguely familiar. “Oh, my God! Mark! How have you been?”
The man turned back to her and rubbed the back of his head, the nervous gesture confirming his identity even if the new beard and softer belly obscured it. “Um, hey, Sarah. Not great …”
“Drunk driver,” the skeleton cut in, and again presented the clip board. “So, now that that’s cleared up …” Its tone of voice implied that he would be raising his eyebrows expectantly, if he had them.
“Wait,” Sarah said, brain finally starting to slip into gear, “so, Mark is dead. And because I picked him up after winter break seven years ago, I … own him?”
“You own his soul. His body and other stuff belong to … I don’t know, his mom or someone. Now, can you please sign this?”
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry, Mark!”
The man shrugged and rubbed the back of his head again, his face was still more confused than sad or angry.
“My metrics …” the reaper groaned. “Look, you have literally eternity to catch up. But I’m on the clock.”
“I don’t want to own Mark. What am I supposed to do with a dead Mark? I’m not even allowed to have pets here.”
The skeleton advanced, shoving the clipboard over the back of the couch and into her face. “I don’t know what you people do with souls, I just know that this is now yours. Put him in a jar, or make him your familiar, or send him out to do your bidding. I don’t care! It’s not my problem! But just please, please figure this out on your own time.”
“What do you mean, ‘you people’?” Sarah asked, instinctively indignant over the phrasing.
“Witches.”
“Hey! I’m not a witch!”
The skeleton’s shoulder blades audibly ground together as its robes rose toward its ears. It flipped to another page among the disorganized sheaf on the clip board.
“Sarah Wildes. Daughter of Mara, daughter of Gina, daughter of Alexandra … blah, blah, blah … daughter of Sarah. Huh, same name, what are the chances? Anyway. You, oh mortal,” the reaper’s voice took on a weary, mocking seriousness, “descend from a long line of witches, whose compact with the great lord below began nigh three hundred years ago.”
“Oh,” Sarah said, remembering the story her grandma had told between sips of Bacardi punch last Thanksgiving. “Oh, fuck. Salem. That’s all true?”
“Yep.” The skeleton was unable to give the word the proper saucy popping noise at the end, but again, it was somehow implied. “Now that that’s cleared up …”
He presented the clip board again, and was visibly relieved when Sarah took it. She spotted the dotted line at the bottom of the page and scrawled her signature. The skeleton snatched it back, then presented her with a barely legible yellow carbon copy. It turned toward the door after giving Mark a shove toward the couch.
“Wait!” Sarah called, and the reaper’s neck stiffened as it turned. “Does this mean everyone I’ve ever joked about doing stuff for their soul is eventually going to show up here?”
The skeleton sighed, “Oh, God, hopefully not during my shift.” Then it walked through her still closed and locked door, leaving the faint odor of rotting leaves behind it.
Sarah stared after it, then turned her wide eyes to Mark, who had jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and was rocking from his toes to his heels.
“So,” Sarah curled her lips between her teeth and fell back on the courtesies taught to her in childhood. “Can I get you something to drink?”
|
Wambo_Jambo
|
sharshenka
|
2023-01-08 15:39:44
|
2023-01-08 15:08:47
| 1,703 | 253 |
j3h7cjh
|
j3h316q
|
106i1sg
|
106i1sg
|
[WP] Humans have always had a tough time winning medals at the Galactic Olympics, but there is one game that they're weirdly, freakishly good at.
|
"I dont get it. You humans are the only species in the entire Galactic Olympics that has no psychic aptitude. Zero. Zilch. Squat. You can't even perceive your environment without focusing ambient light through those weird little orbs in your head. How in blazes are you so good at rifle marksmanship?" T'zarrak waved his antennae about haphazardly in my direction, which I had learned conveyed a degree of consternation and/or confusion.
I had to admit, I had no idea why everyone **else** in the galaxy was so **bad** at aiming a gun. "I dunno. I just point the gun at the target and shoot. It's not very hard. I'm not even good at it by human standards."
He puffed out his ventral section in exasperation. "You make that sound so simple. Just point the gun at the target. So…what? You're telling me humans are all savants at trigonometry? The Galactic Record was 28 meters for a stationary Olympic target before you humans showed up on the scene. The human record is over a kilometer!"
"Trigonometry? Huh?" It took me a bit to follow the conversation, that really seemed to come out of left field. "No, we're not using trigonometry. I just sight in the gun."
"How the hell do you line up the gun at a target without trigonometry?! You have to calculate where it's pointing based on the angle and position you're holding it at and the distances between yourself, the target, and all the reference objects."
Ok, now I was beginning to understand. "Look, you guys are all basically shooting from the hip because you don't have eyes."
He interrupted me, "Yeah, because eyes are primitive. You can't see objects that are behind other objects. You can't even see objects that are behind yourselves. You basically only perceive the world in one narrow cone. You can't use nearly as much of the environment as a frame of reference to calculate your shot as even the weakest psychics in the galaxy."
"Yeah, that's exactly why we are able to aim. You see these raised protrusions on top of my rifle? Well I guess you can't see them, but you sense them right?"
He nodded his assent.
"Well, when I'm shooting, I position the gun so that I can't see the front one because it's behind the rear one. And then while doing that, I position the gun so the spot I want to hit is behind both of them. When it's obscured by the protrusions, I pull the trigger and I hit the target."
He sat there in stunned silence. "Wait…so because the light beam that reflected off the target can't reach your eyes, you know that it's aligned with the two protrusions on your rifle…and because of that you know the rifle is aimed at the target... You're using light as a ruler to trace the shot?! That's totally unfair!"
I chuckled, "Just wait until I tell you about scopes…"
|
“Welcome back to the Galactic Games, assorted lifeforms! We are live, currently observing the High-Object-Mass Gravity-Interruption event. Coming up shortly we'll be checking in on Team Humanity as they enter the twelfth and final stage of the Galactic Dodecathlon.
"But first, a quick introduction! I'm your host, Lin Teraborn, and I am here on New Greg alongside the Zotla Hivemind - thank you all for joining us, Collective.”
*“It is my pleasure-”*
*“-to be here with you-”*
*“-sad, unassimilated lifeform.”*
“You know, I’ve always had a lot of respect for those lifeforms who *choose* to become part of your hive, Zotla, but I like to think I’ve done alright on my own… and will continue to do so!
“Anyway, over the past three subcycles, we have been following the Marakan athletes and their absolute domination in the *riveting* field of high–object-mass gravity-interruption - known as 'weight lifting' by those of us with gravity-centric evolutionary origins.
“Fascinating species, the Marakani. Zotla, did any of you know that a Marakan’s internal support structure gradually fuses together as they age?”
*”Yes.”*
*”I did.”*
“Ah, well it was certainly a shock to me! I recently interviewed Dob, the current Interstellar Champion, who demonstrated to me that he has lost almost all freedom of movement in his lower legs.
“Such bravery, you know? Just… the look of determination on his face when his indentured worshippers carried him out onto the field on their bare backs… I tell you, back in my day as a Dodeccer, losing mobility in the lower half of my body would have been *devastating.”*
*”Yes, your kind-”*
*”-have always relied heavily-”*
*”-on your subpar abilities-”*
*”-in a multitude of events-”*
“...I’m so sorry, which one of you should I make eye-contact with? Do you want me to look at whoever is talking, or…? No, no, I understand you’re *singular* and all, but is there any chance you could speak through just one of the… right. Sure, sure, yeah. Okay, back to it!
"Now, I’ll be the first to admit that humanity does *not* look promising when it comes to individual competition. And, Zotla, you are absolutely right; on the galactic stage, we are the underdogs, no doubt about it.
"After all, most lifeforms in the galactic community have evolved to excel at a *very* small number of *extremely* specific tasks, and the same just can’t really be said for my kind."
*”Your kind seems not-”*
*“-to excel at-”*
*”-much of anything.”*
“Ha! Now, don’t be sore losers, Zotla; our *total domination* over your Collective at the last Galactic Games was four kilocycles ago, practically ancient history. Anything could happen! Let’s check the scoreboard, shall we?”
*”That will not be necessary during this interview, Lin, singular.”*
“Just one speaker, that time. Interesting. Anyway, if all of you would like to take a look at the graphic being displayed on your *individual* interfaces, you'll find the total scores as of the eleventh stage of the Dodecathlon. Fascinating stuff.
"Now Zotla, your Collective actually does have… ah, how many humans have you assimilated? Two?”
*”Five.”*
“One, two, three… huh, you’re right, I’m counting *five* humans among your Collective, sitting in the studio with me today. Hm. You know, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but it might be a while before your athletes get to stand on that podium with us. Let’s see… you are trailing behind by… oh, that’s not good, is it?
“I’m not sure how well most of you can read those scores, Zotla, since your Collective has never reached this stage of competition in the Dodecca, but hopefully the five people of mine that you have in there can help the rest of you sort it out.”
*”That is quite enough.”*
“Now, don’t get all of your panties in a twist! Viewers, it is a very unfortunate truth that the Zotla Hivemind has never been able to snag the coveted Astatine Medal for the Dodecathlon, bless their many, *many* hearts. You know, Zotla, seeing as humans are so subpar in everything, I really can’t help but wonder why you agreed to let these five join your Collective in the first place.”
*”We do not require *permission* to assimilate those we deem worthy! We will not stand for-”*
**“We?** Zotla, sweetie, I thought you were a singular?”
*”This interview is over.”*
“Well, assorted lifeforms of the galaxy, that concludes my exclusive interview with the Zotla Hivemind, who just admitted on a live full-frequency broadcast - to the *hundreds of billions* of humans spread far and wide throughout the galaxy - that they assimilated five of our people against their will.
“Join us in an hour to watch the final stage of the Galactic Dodecathlon, followed immediately by the Medal Ceremony. Go Team Humanity!”
|
MuKen
|
ajestice
|
2024-07-30 22:08:22
|
2024-07-30 19:28:09
| 1,043 | 302 |
lfpyumm
|
lfp4ydp
|
1efxp28
|
1efxp28
|
[WP] Your super power has no destructive power, but you're still a highly ranked superhero. *Time Out* puts your opponent into a safe quiet place to reflect on their actions before returning them back the to the same spot and time, they left.
|
It backfired. I put Brutallus in Time Out. I had thought a few years in solitary would change him. It made Skorge go home to his dying mother. Brutallus had done nothing but meditate and focus his power. He was fuming when he went in, but he was so calm when he came out. I should have known something was wrong when his smile was too wide. He punched me so hard I think my spine broke. Before I knew what has happening he was pummeling me into the pavement. I've been in Time Out for 10 years. I can't go back. I resolved I'd get out once my hands stopped shaking, but I quiver and cry every time I think about getting out. He's there, he's waiting for me. I don't know if the message on the wall was his mantra in here or a warning to me, but I can't bear to look at it.
Smashed into the wall of the otherwise pristine white room is cracks that spell:
#I CAN WAIT
|
"You thought I wouldn't notice huh? You businessmen are always acting so important, like you're better than anybody else. Get in line!".
"Sir please, I'm in a hurry. I have to get to my wife!"
"No you have to get to deez nuts". A few giggles.
You see, the hero I'm going to tell you about is no normal super hero. Some wouldn't really consider him a super hero at all. It is not like he is saving the world from some super villains. It is more like he is saving the world from the inconvenient. Usually this man just goes about his day like everyone else. He has a wife, two beautiful children and a normal job that he hates just like everyone else. He almost seems too normal in a world where everyone has got a superpower. In a world where buildings are destroyed on a daily basis and the homeless people aren't just homeless, but super homeless! It is said, that some of these super homeless people even have the rare ability to teleport out of any building as soon as they enter it. You often hear them saying "The moment I realized I had this ability is when god came in my dream one night and told me 'From now on, thou shalt be homeless!'".
In a world this full of chaos this hero just tries to be a loving husband and raise his children right.
"You're eating my bread, dad! Mom made that for me as launch for school". The man paused for a second. In his face the expression of a man who will later be getting scolded by his wife..
"Am I really, son? Think harder, I want you to see past the surface of things! Am I really eating your bread? Is that even bread? Son, what is reallity but an illusion? I thought you'd notice faster that this bread is just a projection. A test if you want so. And you failed! But don't worry, there won't be any punishment. Just don't tell Mom.."
"I guess your old age is an illusion too then?". The man felt an aching pain in his heart. He knew he has been defeated. He shed a tear. He knew what he'd had to do next. His own son has become a monster and it was his fault. So he stood up, put his hand onto his sons shoulder and said "I'm sorry, son, I'm sorry I didn't raise you right.."
"Don't you dare dad, not again, I will tell mom straight a way!", he called for her: "Mo-". Only half of it came out, as his dad has already transported him into "the room". A realm created by his superpower, only 5 by 5 meters big, without doors and without windows. The only light came from a old fashioned light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"F\*\*\* this old man, when I'm out of here, I'll rat him out to mom straight away! Arrgh I hate it here. Wait...", the boy noticed, that he was not alone in the room. "Is that a goose??!"
That was the day our hero failed his job as a parent and induced lifelong goose trauma into his son. That's the day our hero turned into "the goose goon"...
|
Safety_Dancer
|
None
|
2023-02-01 14:31:33
|
2023-02-01 12:11:30
| 71 | 23 |
j6s2nx0
|
j6rm5h6
|
10qpsam
|
10qpsam
|
[WP] According to astronomy, wishes take thousands or even millions of years to arrive to the wishing stars. Today, wishes from people long past are starting to come true.
|
[Concrit Welcome]
*If you wish upon a star, then a miracle is about to start.*
Leo stood alone inside the circular dome-shaped room. It was a long day in the observatory, and he still needs to do routine recordings of the upcoming meteor shower. Forcing himself not to fall asleep on the desk, he approached the telescope at the center.
He had always believed there was something uniquely mesmerizing about the night sky, which was the reason he wanted to study astronomy. But these midnight observations that could’ve perfectly been automatically recorded were a real test on his nerves.
A faint flash in the night sky. The meteor shower had started.
More visible dots flickered from the lens on the telescope, and just as he had feared, the faint voices were back again.
There was another reason why Leo hated being alone in the observatory at night. Ever since he was a child, these whispers had accompanied him whenever there was a meteor shower. His therapist had called them harmless hallucinations, but it was nights like these that almost convinced Leo there was something deeper.
If he was more awake, he would pause everything and take his medication. But he was too tired, he wasn’t thinking. In between one breath and the next, the button to open the observatory roof was clicked.
The roof slowly bloomed open like moonflower petals, and a cold breeze trickled through the gaps. Perhaps it was his sleepiness, perhaps there was no reason, but the voices seemed clearer that night. Most were still nonsense noise, but he was able to make sense of a few of the loudest ones.
“I wish for the night to be not as dark.” A breathy voice said.
“I hope that one day the forest would be safer.” This one sounded like a young woman.
“I wish the village won’t starve just because of a bad harvest anymore.” An old man’s hoarse and deep voice echoed.
“I wish the neighboring kingdom wouldn’t attack us anymore.”
“I wish there are enough books for everyone.”
“I wish to no longer worry about floods or hurricanes.”
“I wish to understand the heavens.”
“I wish to be reunited with my loved ones.”
“I wish my voice to be heard.”
The meteors crashed down into the atmosphere one by one, etching faint white lines throughout the sky. Leo listened to every one of the wishes from long ago, that had come true in one way or another, long after the ones who made the wishes had passed.
He was in that dreamy state again, at that field trip in second grade, laying on the grass outside the tent. He muttered the same words he said back then in a shaky voice: “One day, I will touch the stars.”
In the not-so-far distant above, the international space station made another rotation around the earth.
|
There was a man when the world was quite young. There was a woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Sometimes they do. But this time youth was no mere trick of light, sunrise filtering through the blinds just so to illuminate the room as she entered, because the world really was young once. I forget that. Do you? Before cities sprouted on the hills or smeared themselves across the riverbanks in a haze of steel and smoke.
Though there was smoke that night, whispering into the half-dark sky as night began to fall.
The man’s name has been forgotten. The woman’s. This is not to be considered. The world was young, and they lived in a succession of passing moments. Had not yet worried that such things as names might last.
The man builds up the campfire. Darkness gathers. There is no moon tonight, there are no stars. They’ve gone a distance away from the others, inadvisable on the savanna, but neither of them had to insist. One wandered off and then the other, and now their kinfolks’ singing is scattered across the near horizon, as the darkness presses down upon all things.
She speaks and he responds. He speaks and she smiles. Turns away as the full weight of night begins to settle. The fire leaps between them, casting shadows on her face and shoulders, the play of sinews in her thighs. We would say that she is sixteen, and he is nineteen, and there are circles torn beneath her eyes from waking late at night to the laughing sounds of the hyenas, a distant roar of lions, thunder, lightning, monsoons. Her black skin is calloused, laced by scars in intricate, intentional designs, and by an uncaring rake of claws received the year before from some predator or another, be it beast or bird or man. Her hair is no liquid tumble, no fast water at night. It does not spill across her shoulders. She’s hacked it short with a stone knife. Used the same knife just yesterday to skin his kill.
The man builds up the campfire. His axe and spear are close at hand. He has killed; mostly recently another man, when they passed a group of grizzled, half-mad wanderers on a hunt at the beginning of the season. Night brings those thoughts out in him, leaves him with a vague feeling of disquiet that often takes some hours to dispel. Not tonight. Tonight he is wasting wood to push back against the darkness for other reasons. He builds the fire up again, and she looks at him, at the night, with a curious expression, because she doesn’t understand what it is he sees.
Here is what he sees across the dancing flames:
Beauty, softened by the play of shadows, a blackness that breathes another meaning into night. Whimsy, ease, daring. She didn’t have to come with him. She did. They are too far from the others, these things are not safe. This was a time before we courted danger, before risks became exciting, and yet that thought stirs within him the most curious feeling. Building up the fire, the man sees the impulse that will, one day, lead to sprawling cities, hilltop fortresses, temples, tombs, and poetry. He does not yet have these. Is a part of their beginning, nothing more.
What he does have, staring at her, wishing that this moment could last, that dawn would hold off just this one night with its hunts and raids and headlong flights—
Is the stars.
He glances up, just a glance, he cannot bring himself to look away from her. He does not speak or gesture. Could not yet put this thought into words. He simply wishes in this moment when everything is youth and fire, that the two of them could be preserved. Or her. He’d settle for just her. His knees have begun hurting lately, and in the rainy season the old wounds along his hip and back ache. He’s turned half to dust already, but *her.*
He smiles, thinking that. She notices. Asks him what’s so funny.
“Nothing at all,” says the man, who goes back to tinkering with the fire, playing tender shadows across her bruised, calloused, scarred—supple—skin, before a passing breath across the world fades them into hazy memory.
There was a man when the world was quite young. There was woman. Sometimes it seems like all the stories start like this. Many have, and will, and do.
Lay back tonight. Find a patch of grass if you are able, away from all the lights. Listen to the gentling pulse of your heartbeat as the sun falls and darkness gathers. Watch, in astonished silence, as an infinity of campfires spreads across the sky. If you are very quick, or very daring, or very much at ease, perhaps you’ll see it—theirs, the first—before you blink the night away, and call them simply *stars*.
Lay back tonight, as they did.
There was a man. There was a woman.
Stories start like this.
r/TurningtoWords
|
sachizero
|
turnaround0101
|
2023-02-09 14:50:12
|
2023-02-09 14:27:13
| 89 | 64 |
j7uk485
|
j7ugxs7
|
10xsvcg
|
10xsvcg
|
[WP]You work as a valet for a high-class casino. You've got licenses to operate a variety of different vehicles and a story for how you got each one. Lately, a wealthy patron has been bringing increasingly ridiculous vehicles, trying to find one you don't have a license for.
|
"I got you this time, Arnault." He grinned, excited.
Arnault smiled indulgently, "Of course, Mr. Trent. What's your play today?"
Trent Goodman held out a odd key, "This is for a LIEBHERR R9800 Excavator."
Arnault took it quietly, examining the key curiously. "Of course, sir. Anything else?"
Trent's smile tightened as he pulled out a slip of paper, "Access code to a Triton 36000/2-"
"Submersible, excellent taste, sir." Arnault smiled, mockingly almost.
Trent shivered, "There is no. Way. You're qualified for those. Or this." He pulled out a final key. "It's for the X-29 experimental Space Plane the Air Force just developed recently. Only flown-"
"23 missions, sir." Arnault took the key, his smile vanishing in an instant. "I flew 13 of them sir. I'll get your tickets."
Trent grabbed him, "How the fuc-"
Arnault smiled again, "Language, sir. I'm extremely qualified."
|
As a valet at one of the most luxurious casinos in town, I've seen my fair share of exotic and expensive cars. Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Bentleys, you name it, I've driven it. I took pride in the fact that I had licenses to operate every single one of them, and I had a story for how I acquired each license.
It all started with a Porsche 911 Turbo. It was the first car I ever drove as a valet, and I was determined to get my license to operate it. I studied the car's manual, watched hours of instructional videos, and practiced driving it in my free time. Eventually, I passed the test, and I was given the privilege of driving the Porsche.
From there, I moved on to other high-performance cars, like the Bugatti Veyron and the McLaren P1. I even got my license to operate a helicopter, thanks to a wealthy patron who wanted me to park his private chopper on the rooftop helipad.
But lately, a particular patron has been trying to stump me. He's been bringing increasingly ridiculous vehicles to the casino, hoping to find one that I don't have a license for. It started with a vintage motorcycle, which I had no problem handling. Then he brought in a hovercraft, but I had already obtained a license for that after a particularly adventurous weekend.
Next came a tank. Yes, a tank. I had to admit, I was a bit nervous about this one. But I studied the tank's manual, watched videos of tank operators in action, and even went to a military base to get some hands-on training. And sure enough, when the patron arrived with the tank, I was able to operate it with ease.
But the patron wasn't satisfied. He kept bringing in more and more ridiculous vehicles, like a hot air balloon, a jet ski with wings, and even a submarine. Each time, I would study and practice until I could operate the vehicle flawlessly.
Finally, the patron arrived with what he claimed was his ultimate challenge: a flying car. I had heard of them, but I had never actually seen one in person, let alone operated one. But I was determined to rise to the challenge.
I spent weeks studying everything I could about flying cars, even reaching out to engineers and pilots for advice. And finally, the day arrived. The patron pulled up in his flying car, and I stepped forward, confident in my abilities.
The next thing I knew, I was soaring through the air, controlling the flying car with ease. The patron was amazed, and even the other valets were cheering me on. I had done it. I had operated every vehicle imaginable, and I had passed every test with flying colors.
As I parked the flying car, the patron came up to me and shook my hand. "You truly are the best valet in town," he said. "I can't wait to see what you'll do next."
And I knew that whatever vehicle he brought in next, I would be ready for it.
|
Curious-Accident9189
|
Alpine_Vagine
|
2023-03-16 22:54:41
|
2023-03-16 21:22:34
| 28 | 12 |
jchujbg
|
jchgsa1
|
11spxyb
|
11spxyb
|
[WP] You wished to find a dragon to slay for its treasure. Now you're not sure how to feel seeing a thumb-sized dragon try to drag its single shiny copper coin with it as it runs away from you.
|
The heavily armoured man sat down at the bar with a heavy sigh.
"Ale," he commanded simply. The bartender, knowing his disposition just from the tone, obliged.
"Rough day?" he asked and started pointlessly polishing a wooden mug.
"A rumour of a dragon that turned out..." the warrior sighed. "Wasn't what I was expecting."
"A failed hunt? It got away?"
"No, it's... the damn thing was the size of my thumb," the warrior complained. The bartender stopped polishing the mug for a moment.
"Say again?" he said.
"It was... tiny. I dunno if the rumour I followed was by some bumpkin unable to recognize the thing was harmless or a prank, but... it was this tiny lizard guarding a single copper coin."
"Huh," the bartender commented plainly. "So... what did you do?"
The warrior looked at him wearily and passed him a single copper coin. "For the ale," he said grimly and finished it. The bartender gave him a disapproving look but accepted the money.
The warrior got up with another loud sigh and headed for his room, wondering what to do with his new roommate; a very small and very happy dragon resting atop a shiny golden coin.
|
“Okay… Now I feel like a total ass.”
Don’t take it the wrong way, I knew that the life of an adventurer was not going to be all riches and bi- ladies.
Sometimes, you’d find yourself covered in orc guts. Sometimes, you’d go on months surviving on whatever savings you managed to scrounge up because the market is just not what it used to be.
But Holy Father, even we have some standards, you know?
“Calm down,” I said, lowering my sword. “I am not going to take your horde.”
Now when it could barely buy me a loaf of bread, at least.
The dragon - not convinced - covered the single piece of copper with its tiny and thin body. It was hissing in defiance, though the tears betrayed the fear of the creature.
Fucking hell, was it doing this on purpose? I was starting to feel really guilty even though I didn’t do anything.
I took a few steps away from the dragon and it seemingly calmed down. Not enough to lower its guard but enough that it no longer looked like a kicked pup.
“Just how did you end up here?”
The cave was too big for the little guy. And the location was far enough from the settlements that the only way they still believed a fearsome dragon lived here was because nobody was stupid or desperate enough to venture here.
Until me, that is.
I walked around the cave, wondering if there maybe was something more to this place. Call me stupid or desperate but I refused to believe that the damn place had only a runt and a coin.
I ventured deeper into the cave.
Ten minutes later, I wish I didn’t.
“Fucking hell…”
Two dragons. Both as high as the royal castle, the monsters lied in pools of their dried blood. Their flesh burned and rotten and frozen and torn. And all around them were the empty chests.
Someone has beaten me to it. And by the looks of it, that single copper piece was the only thing the runt had left from its parents.
Said runt bit into my leg, its soft and barely formed fangs barely denting the leather. Its eyes full of tears, it forgot all about the single coin. Too busy trying to protect its parents’ remains from what it believed to be another adventurer.
“Calm down,” I pulled it off. “I don’t desecrate the dead.”
It didn’t believe me. Fair enough.
The little one ran to the dead dragons and stood between them and myself. Tearing up and trembling, it was willing to fight if it came to this.
It was only now that I noticed just how little meat the little guy had. Was it staying here the entire time? Foregoing food and sleep to protect its parents and the single copper that remained of their horde?
Slowly killing itself…
I sighed and rummaged through my pouch. The little dragon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion before its stomach growled as it smelled the dried meat.
“Eat,” I tossed the meat to the dragon. It smelled it, no doubt wondering if it had poison or something. “Grow strong and big enough to become the most feared dragon of all. Get the horde bigger than anything your parents ever gathered.”
This was not a charity.
Simply, an investment.
“I will come back once slaying you will be something I can feel good about.”
|
SirPiecemaker
|
True_Falsity
|
2023-02-05 14:53:04
|
2023-02-05 13:55:15
| 91 | 22 |
j7badzr
|
j7b3jgg
|
10tx0ci
|
10tx0ci
|
[WP] The dark forest hypothesis is correct. There are many civilizations that exist in the universe, but keep silent in fear of the "hunters in the woods." So, instead of hiding in fear, why not become an angler fish?
|
Somewhere in the depths of the ocean, there is a fish. This fish is fast, deadly, with sharp teeth and swift fins. It seeks out any sign of life, any hint of light, and it uses its speed and power to kill and eat those it comes across.
One day, it happens upon a tiny light floating in the void, and it dives towards it to devour the fish whole, only to come across a bigger fish with a tiny glowing lure floating in front of its toothy maw. It tries to turn and flee, but its own momentum carries it to its toothy, gruesome death.
\-----
The Subspace Sensor System known as Deep Eye was a physics breakthrough. By gathering information from the structure of space itself, it gave us an instantaneous, current view of the surrounding star systems, unaffected by the light speed limit. In addition to giving physicists a headache, this device provided two insights, one exciting, one horrifying.
The exciting insight was this: deep space was not empty. It was full of fleets of clearly artificial objects moving from star system to star system at superliminal speeds. We were not alone in the universe.
The horrifying insight was what those objects did when they reached a star system, leaving behind asteroid fields and ring systems where life-giving worlds once were.
In 2008, the author Cixin Liu posited the "Dark Forest Hypothesis." Imagine a dark forest at night, filled with hunters with guns. Take a step into the light, and you'll be killed. But by firing off your own gun, you give away your position to all of the other hunters with guns. The only safe course of action is to remain silent, hidden, safe.
And so we watched, silent and hidden and safe, as the unknown fleets (which some wag who had read too much Fred Saberhagen called 'Berserkers') moved from world to world, destroying any planet where the local lifeforms had grown so bold as to broadcast radio signals to the stars. Through observation of their behavior, we realized three things.
First of all, although their ships could travel at faster-than-light speed, they still had a speed limit. We calculated it at around one hundred times the speed of light. Fast enough to be a problem, but not so fast as to be able to instantly respond to any signals they received.
Secondly, their ships could break the light speed barrier, but their sensors could not. Somehow, these Berserkers had not managed to discover subspace physics. We could see what was going on instantaneously. They needed to wait for photons and radio waves to reach them at the old limit of 300 million meters per second (approximate).
Thirdly, space was vast. Even as powerful as they were, they were still very few. They had hundreds, thousands of fleets, but there were hundreds of billions of stars in our galaxy, separated by hundreds of lightyears. Many civilizations were snuffed out in their planetary womb, but there were others that managed to reach the interstellar phase before being destroyed.
The Berserkers were powerful. They were deadly. But they were not infallible. And if they were fallible, they could be fooled.
(TBC)
|
It helped that they'd been unknowingly clanging a clarion of bells for almost the entirety of their existence. The humans that arrived were hidden under so many layers of woven garments and vacuum layers it was hard to get a sense of their posture. This was deeply distressing to the handpicked emissaries, since specific postures made up the entirety of Sdyn language. It was helped not in the least that while the human active language pathway was busy trying to squeeze rendering animations out one at a time while they threw around idioms and culture specific greetings. Four adolescent boys on their first deep space mining mission assumed to be a kind of embassy since they were the furthest from their planet. When Patricia finally got the boys to realize this wasn't some costume gag and the Sydn were in fact four-hearted snake-cat warrior princeses on embassy to an earth that was at this moment a tourist backwater. The kindly AI, entirety out of her depth and running overflow through four gaming rigs and an outdated Socrates array managed to communicate to the aliens that they had the wrong address and we would kindly like you off our space ship. She also had to press each word through an asymmetric system that kept crashing to desktop and asking her broad philosophical questions requiring a paragraph of academic writing about 13 times every human second. Finally, last but also first in the infuriating design of a save-life-first system, she had to keep the edgy friend of a friend going through an awkward phase from trying to fuck the aliens because he thinks they're strippers.
The Jovian cluster had the most warships so that's where they went first, armed with a ghoulish clone of Patricia who now lives as a permanent loading screen. Jovia prime's senators looked up from their hourly races for office pointed them immediately to Venutia prime and the sol outpost mostly to fuck with the smug energy hoarders. There the Patricia clone managed to earnestly get the point across;
*"be silent"*
"Old Cleaner" was the name that the first couple hundred outposts that encountered the processer of complex things. It was big, and it was moving between solar systems. It had a Sydn outpost consisting of four aligned and coordinated war worlds rendered an empty place before they could even react. Now it had a scientific classification name commonly used in the Sydn Coalition but every human colloquially used the traditional Sydn name *Hysthpracht* (*Hysth*-throw your head back and snap to attention, crossing arms over chest if the setting is martial; *Pracht*-turn sideways an spit when pronouncing) which was really fun to say as well as rousing to throw into a jingoistic pre-murder speech. The idea was since the human race had already made so much damn noise the best idea was to try to kill or injure it while humanity made itself scarce. They spent their 24000 year history believing themselves completely alone and moreover completely special. It wasn't the splash of the stone in the pond, it was the ripples. *Hysthpracht* was just a little outlier. A worker bee loose from the hive. When the waves of clangorous noise crashed against the hive then they would all really be in trouble.
The solution the 1200-planet union of cat-snake waring subfactions and one-system monkey people came up with was to let it try to eat the entire human race and use four Sydn warships to drive all the nuclear and plasma weapons right at it's fleshiest bit. Its an amorphous nebula sized cloud of what the cat-snake scientists with the help of the considerable grainier angle from human 22nd century radio telescopes determined what might be its transmitter, or at least its heart. They peppered it with minefields of spent asteroids accelerated in waves at it forcing it small. 1200 years it took to jump, hundreds of years at a time to distant empty stars possibly planting a flag on each. In that time, a new strategy developed. Maybe if they caught it unawares in a matrix of nuclear fire. Maybe if they blasted every atomic frequency in the general area they could stop the wasp-like death rattle that may faster-than-light alert the hive. Maybe if they just hide and dont poke the demon we'll all survive. They went with the nuclear firestorm option, because the idiom about hammers and nails translates perfectly.
The Sydn had four apporoaching-C dreadnoughts in the area, so the problem looked like an excuse to exercise them. The *four golden spears* zipped by, dumped 4,000 years of collected solar energy into the cloud as broadband randomized frequency before the dreadnoughts began disintegrating like the atoms just forgot to stick together. The asteroid assaults became constant until one day, the first of earth may and the fifth of jovian November in the tiny loud system, 435,333 asteroids with plasma-refracted nukes fireblasted a hole in reality around the clouds specific area. The white hexagon, they called it. Whether it worked or not was not a problem for right now though, because space is big and needs people to fill it. Quietly.
|
ArgumentativeNerfer
|
enjolras1782
|
2023-04-06 18:35:38
|
2023-04-06 07:22:27
| 16 | 12 |
jf7vq7i
|
jf5puys
|
12d54tn
|
12d54tn
|
[WP] "I wish for immortality until the last human dies. And I want to stay young and healthy," you tell the genie, proud of your clever wording. Seventeen quintillian years later, drifting along through the dead, silent void, you spot your old co-worker Kyle. He's still alive. And hes still talking.
|
"So we meet again, Kyle," he said. "And here I thought you were trying to avoid me."
"We're orbiting the same black hole, idiot," Kyle replied.
"Oh, you mean you didn't just miss my company?"
Kyle crossed his arms and seethed. "I never should have wished for telepathy. Then at least I could float for all eternity in silence."
"I don't know, I kind of enjoy our little squabbles. It's amusing to piss you off once every orbit."
Kyle grabbed his head and moaned a breathless moan. "Why couldn't it have been Tina from accounting? She was such a babe. Why you? Please, god, end my suffering!"
He rolled his eyes. "I think if we've confirmed anything by living this long, god is either uncaring or not even there. Haven't you prayed enough for both of us already?"
"...If I could reach you, I'd strangle you to death and end both of our suffering right here and now," Kyle said, his words getting quieter by the second.
"That's the spirit! Perhaps on the next rotation we'll be closer together. I often won—" he said, his voice fading off into silence.
|
I used to love counting stars. Back on Earth, I’d lie down on the grass with my arms behind my head, and some wet grass was itching the back of my neck. I would just stare up at the sky for hours. It felt infinite back then. Magical, even. Romantic in a way (if you are with someone, but if you're like me...\*cries\*).
But this? This is too fucking much.
You ever try counting stars one by one while drifting through the vacuum of space? Like... hypothetically? It’s not the same. Not when you’ve seen ALL of them. Not when they start dying. Not when they’re GONE. I don’t even think I remember how sound works anymore. Or how long it’s been. Time stopped meaning anything after the last sun flickered out. Days, years, centuries… who the hell knows? All I had left were thoughts. Then I saw something. A shape in the void. Humming. Moving. Dancing? Wait is that the fucking macarena?
At first I thought I was hallucinating. Maybe my immortality glitched. Maybe I’d finally snapped and went crazy after floating around here for this long. But no. That ridiculous floating figure was real. “KYLE?!” I shouted. He turned around mid-spin like a ballerina and shouted right back. “JASON?! What are YOU doing here?!” I blinked. “Uh. What?”He flailed dramatically. “ARE YOU DEAF NOW TOO?! WHY are you here? HOW are you here?!”
“I—what do you mean? I made a wish. With a genie. Immortality until the last human dies. I figured I was clever because, I dont know, global warming and the housing prices are enough to drive people to wanting to die than suffer in poverty?” Kyle squinted at me. “You made that wish? With a genie?” “Yeah?” “Oh man.” He started cackling. “What’s so funny?”
He drifted closer, still giggling like he just heard the dumbest joke in the universe. “I can't believe you don’t remember,” he said. “You made that wish… to ME. I’m THE genie.” I stared at him. “That’s not funny.” “I’m not joking Jason.” “You're lying.”
Kyle raised a brow. “You seriously don’t remember me from the break room? The one on the fourth floor? You asked if we had oat milk, because you said "animal products like dairy promotes cruelty"?” I stared at him harder. Memories swirled—paperwork, coffee machines, office birthdays. And yeah… Kyle. I think he was the newly hired intern.
“You… you were the genie?” “Yup. Been a long time, huh? I guess drifting through space does a number on your memory. But I remember everything.*”* My stomach dropped, which was impressive since I hadn’t felt a stomach in eons. “But… I thought...” “Thought what? I'm human? Ohhh nooooo. You asked for immortality until the last human dies. I granted it. And I am not human. Well, I never said I was.” My jaw hung open. “That’s not fair.” “Hey, you begged for it. I just granted it.”
“So... we’re stuck here.”
“Yup!”
“And you’re not gonna die.”
“Nope!”
“…Ever?”
“Nope again.”
"Like we're here forever?" I asked him again waiting for him to just say he was just messing with me.
“Forever-ever.”
(FUCK ME) “…Kill me.”
He laughed. "Welcome to forever, bestie. At least you've got me now.”
|
RTSallow
|
Competitive_Gap8975
|
2025-04-07 18:23:53
|
2025-04-07 14:28:56
| 310 | 89 |
mlwjwb5
|
mlv9o9g
|
1jtkkv4
|
1jtkkv4
|
[WP] Instead of being a super villain like your parents, you ended up joining a company. Now your wildly successful and quite frankly much more closer to world domination than your parents. Your parents can't handle it.
|
"I might not have superpowers like the both of you, I might have started my career as an admin executive at Megacorp, but I now run Megacorp! You have no power over me."
"Son, you can say whatever you want, do as you wish, but it doesn't change the fact that you're a pathetic squib with no powers at all! Release your mother at once, or I will blast you into smithereens!"
"She broke protocol. Everyone here knows the result would be imprisonment in the depowerment chambers. She will stay there until her sentence is over, as would anyone else who breaks protocol. Nothing will change that, not even if you choose to kill me. Megacorp will continue without me, my succession plans are already in place."
"No, that's where you're wrong! Megacorp cannot continue without both its superheroes and its supervillains! The citizens need their staged hero and villain fights to entertain their hearts and distract their minds from true, inescapable evils like ever-increasing taxes, interest rates and inflation! Son, I will lead the supervillain protest movement if you don't release your mom."
"Father, are you forgetting? Megacorp's true assets don't lie with the likes of you. We manufacture superpowered beings with our enhancement drugs, such as Chemical X, Compound V and so on. There will always be another fire-powered super, and it doesn't have to be you. Speedsters like mom are a dime a dozen. You're all products with planned obsolescence and replacements waiting in the wings. Father, you and mom won't achieve world domination by winning the game against superheroes, I will do it by rigging the game between superheroes and supervillains. Swallow that down, or else suffer the consequences like her."
"That's it, my boy! You're going..."
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Down? Don't make me laugh when you're surrounded by power-nullifying turret guns in my chambers. I know, both of you can't handle that your wimpy, powerless son holds more power than you. So, you both get to stay in the depowerment chambers like the loving couple you are, and stay there until I give permission for you to leave."
|
How to make sure your parents hate you so much that they want to murder you?
One might ask, why is it important for your parents to hate you? Or murder you?
Or simply, why? Short and sweet. It conveys every emotion, asks every question and has just three letters. Isn't the English language fantastic?
But I'm getting far away from the topic. Where was I? Ah, yes. Making parents hate you or rather me. Let's go back in time. To know the answer, you need to know the history and to know the history we need to go into flashback.
*
I was three years old when I saw my first dead body. Or rather it's the first time I actually remember seeing a dead body. My nanny's vacant eyes stare at me as my mother pulls her knife out of my nanny's stomach.
I was fascinated by the colour of her blood. In my defence, I was young and I had no idea whaat death was. I just thought we were playing. That my nanny would get up and tell me the name of the color. It was beautiful.
"Clara." I called her name.
My mother looked at me. "Honey, Clara is gone."
"But she is right here!"
"I can't deal with this. Sofia! Clean this up and make sure Richard is sleeping by the time I come back." My mother stormed out.
I would later, much later for my comfort, find out that Clara's only mistake was getting too attached to me. Afterall, villains don't get attached.
*
I was ten when my bestfriend was taken out of school and his whole family was missing. I found out few years later that they were all dead. Including my bestfriend. They loved me. And my parents couldn't handle it. They thought if I would start loving then I would never be like them.
They never realised that I had decided that when my father killed my favorite teacher because she asked him if he knew my favourite color. He didn't. So feeling humiliated he shot her. I was six.
*
I had realised that to keep people safe I needed to alone. Anything more than acquaintances and they would end up dead.
My life was lonely but atleast I did not have any blood on my hands.
My parents on the other hand can fill a lake, a huge one, like say Lake Superior they still are some murders short to fill Caspian Sea.
*
I always knew I wanted to escape. But before I could escape my parents disowned me when I was 18 when they realised that I was a 'weakling' because I refused to kill someone. Killing someone is the first step to join my parents business. Their business goal, world domination of course.
So, there I was. 18 and alone. I didn't know anyone. Had no money. And no friends. No degree. Nothing.
What was I supposed to do?
"Hey, buddy. You okay?" A kind voice asked.
I looked up and saw a man. He was probably my dad's age but everything about his demeanor screamed kindness whereas my father's screamed murder.
I nodded.
He sighed. "Have you eaten anything?"
I hadn't. It had been 2 days since my last meal. I shook my head.
"What's your name?" He asked.
"Richard." I whispered. Knowing he would hate me if knew who my parents were.
"Come on, Richard. Let's get you something to eat."
*
That was 15 years ago. That man's kindness was enough to raise my faith in humanity. I applied to college, worked part time and now I'm a lawyer.
A pretty ruthless one, if I could say so myself. I'm my parents worst dream. When I first started putting criminals behind bar something inside me settled. It was like knowing I could do something. Ever since then my life has been all about dismantling everything my parents believed in.
I have become famous. Like, really famous. I have been offered a table at the World Council. These people basically run the world!
I sniggered. Isn't that what my parents always wanted? To run the world.
Look at me now.
My parents are going to kill me when they found out. Or themselves.
Hopefully themselves .
*
*Somewhere unknown*
"I think we need to take care of Richard." Mira said looking at the news. She was seething. She was supposed to be the one to rule the world not that worthless son of her.
"I agree." Samuel agreed looking at his son's face on the news.
|
Tregonial
|
iknowthisischeesy
|
2023-06-10 17:05:24
|
2023-06-10 16:49:24
| 238 | 134 |
jnoeq79
|
jnocj6f
|
1461yc6
|
1461yc6
|
[WP] You are kidnapped by the villain regularly, but you’re starting to look forward to it. You know they won’t hurt you, and are simply being dramatic. It also doesn’t help that you are the only person they ever kidnap. This time, the hero doesn’t bother trying to save you.
|
"Well... you could at least buy me dinner first," Cleo joked awkwardly, the same joke she had made the last nine times she had been kidnapped by the super villain known as "Breaker." He never seemed to quite grasp the concept of jokes though.
An awkward silence immediately fell over them, Cleo fidgeting nervously while Breaker scrutinized her, a puzzled look on his face.
"I've bought you dinner countless times now," Breaker replied, eyeing her suspiciously as his lackeys tied her to the chair. He motioned for them to leave as quickly as they were finished.
"Well, thankfully that completely makes up for all the kidnappings," she scoffed sarcastically, "I don't even know why you bother with tying me up now, it's not like I'm gonna try to escape," sticking her tongue out and turning her head to look around. "New evil lair?"
"Brand new. I guess it wouldn't do any harm to let you walk around at least, considering that the heroes are most definitely on their way already," Breaker sighed, reluctantly touching the ropes that bound Cleo with the pads of his fingers. Said ropes immediately snapped, freeing the young woman from her constraints.
Before Breaker could stop her, Cleos hands clasped around his bicep, pulling herself up and using him to support her weight. "I'm not sure they're coming this time. Don't you think 19 kidnappings is a bit repetitive? They've got to be annoyed by now," she grinned up at him. "Show me around!" She demanded, not releasing her grasp.
Breaker stared at her incredulously, "you're too comfortable for this situation. You think that just because I haven't harmed you the last 18 times, I wouldn't have changed my mind? Perhaps to provoke the heroes, make them nervous about assuming things just because of repetition?" He asked, lifting the arm she wasn't holding and moving his palm slowly towards her face, the pads of his fingers centimeters from her skin. Ghosting there for a moment, he suddenly flipped his hand, awkwardly grazing her cheek with the back of his hand.
"So... what would you like to see first? We have a lovely garden at this new location. Or perhaps you'd be more interested in the planetarium," he suggested, already starting to lead her through the unnecessarily complicated hallways.
>this is my first time ever submitting my writing/letting other people see it! I hope this is okay :)
|
December 21st, 2022
The first time it happened was a large shock as you would assume, I mean who thinks they would be kidnapped? She was one of the more, oh how do I say it… Funny villains I guess. At the time, I was scared because I know she had killed before… but she didn’t harm me. She just… locked me up. The man who saved me that first fateful time was a large prick. He demanded I go on a date with him in return for him saving me. I declined… and so he harmed me. Verbally of course, it’s against the rules all hero’s have to harm a civilian. For some reason though, she was my safe space from his harassment… she would kidnap me and threaten me, as was expected of her, but she never carried out those threats. She stole me from my slumber, a burning building, when I was walking to work, when I was walking at night. Everyplace she had stolen me from had a major accident right after she did so though, which was strange. I wouldn’t say it’s regularly, as it’s only when I’m in trouble it seems, but I do get into potentially fatal trouble often it seems. I always had food and hydration, and was provided for when I was with her. Hell, I couldn’t consistently provide those things for myself. Last time she kidnapped me, I tried to talk to her. She was quite standoffish at first, but she still answered my questions. It was nice in a way, for when I was with her I didn’t feel so alone, and that helped with my panic attacks. I’ve been here for a week now, the two of us waiting for a hero to come and take me back.
January 1st, 2023
It’s the new year now, and still no one has come for me. I honestly don’t mind. I didn’t really have any friends, and all of my family members have already passed. Our Christmas was nice though, she let me explore her base, and we had a small feast. She’s actually a fairly good cook! I’m glad she let me keep my journal. It was very kind of her.
January 23rd, 2023
It’s my birthday today. She said we’re going to do a suprise, and I’m kinda nervous. I hope she doesn’t harm me in any way…
January 24th, 2023
YESTERDAY WAS SO FUN!!!! She let me chose a cake flavor, and she even helped me bake it!!! We also went to the park with the little petting zoo! There were goats there and they were so cute!!! No “hero” has come, and to be honest I don’t want one to. I learnt her name yesterday. It’s Elisa, short for Elisabeth. I feat I may be developing feelings for her… probably not though, it’s not like girls can like others girls. They always tell us it’s wrong, and they know the scripture. They are the prophets, so I doubt their wrong.
January 25th, 2023
I asked her what she thinks about homosexuality today during dinner… she’s actually a lesbian. I’m a happy, but I’m also scared. What if I do develop feelings for her… The “heroes” still haven’t come. I’m very happy, and I honestly think they may have forgotten of my existence.
January 31st, 2023
It’s her birthday today, and I’m going to make a distraction so I can make a surprise for her. I hope it works!! So far, it seems the “heroes” have forgotten of my existence. I’m in a very good mood today!
February 1st, 2023
YESTERDAY WAS AMAZING!!! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND NOW!! Yesterday when I was trying to keep her out of my room, she thought I was trying to escape. So she decided to pin me against a wall to try and find out what I was doing. I’m glad for once that I’m both immensely stupid, and immensely stubborn. I refused to tell her, and then SHE KISSED ME!!! I’m not one to lie, so I blacked out after that point, but I know I ended up kissing her back. I don’t know how I managed in her room and in pajamas, but I did. Once she woke up, she asked me if I wanted to be her significant other, so I obviously said yes. So… I didn’t get to finish my surprise, but she’s happy, and so am I!!
February 14th, 2023
I’m going to ask her to be my valentine, and to go on a date with me. I really hope she agrees!!
February 15th, 2023
Yesterday’s date was AMAZING!! I’m so glad she kidnapped me that first time. If she hadn’t done that I don’t think I would have ever met the love of my life. I’m also incredibly happy that the so called heirs forgot about me, because now we can live in peace.
|
Patterson-Rose
|
None
|
2023-02-15 07:21:57
|
2023-02-15 06:35:51
| 85 | 63 |
j8lxav7
|
j8ltqkz
|
112morh
|
196giyk
|
[WP] The Monster Hunter Association specializes in the eradication and containment of monsters. They’ve been doing this for centuries all the way back to King Arthur. You work as the secretary to this fine organization. Oddly enough, you’re also a vampire.
|
"Wait, you're a vampire? Isn't that... kind of problematic? "
The thin woman dumped a unit of whole blood into a travel mug, having ripped open the plastic like a paper envelope. "I don't see how."
"Well, you're a monster! We hunt monsters!" The new accountant stared aghast as she took a deep drink from her mug.
"What is a 'monster'?"
"What?"
"How do we define 'monster'? We're a professional organization, we can't just say 'I know a monster when I see one'. We have standards, that's what separates us from the amateurs!"
"Ummmmm..."
"Employee handbook, page 3, right before the mission statement. 'Monster: a supernatural entity that, through a deliberate act of malicious intent, brings harm to humanity'."
"You drink blood! Human blood!"
"Yes. And I paid good money for it. Any healthy person can spare a pint of blood here and there without harm. It's pretty easy to find people willing to work with me."
"But you're a vampire!"
The woman let out a sigh. "Okay, look. If I don't *need* an unwilling victim, and I'm not so insane as to go around attacking people, then I'm not a problem. In the past there were problems with vampires because they all kept going insane from hunger."
"B-but..."
"Like I said, we're professionals. Even if the thought of me drinking blood makes you uncomfortable, if I'm not causing problems then it's a waste of resources to come after me. And if we define 'monster' based on what a person is rather than what they do, stuff slips between the cracks. You hear about that mess they had to send in the Special Operations Group to clean up last week?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"That was a dryad. Not a 'monster' by the dictionary definition, but when one goes all Jack the Ripper on a bunch of campers she's one by our definition."
"I-I see."
"So chill out, no problem here!" She patted him on the shoulder as she walked past him out of the break room, giving him a big smile. The image of her teeth still red with blood haunted him for the rest of the week.
|
I walked the procession up to the sword in the stone. I had finally graduated and become a certified monster hunter. Or at least, I was about to be. As part of the ceremony, we each got to try to pull the sword Excalibur out of the stone. Only one had ever wielded the legendary sword before. King Arthur was rumored to have the strength of twenty men while wielding that sword. We were lined up in order from lowest to highest student rankings and that made me, the valedictorian, last.
The boy in front of me laughed. "Stultus really thought he'd be the one, huh?" Stultus was a slightly out-of-shape man who lied compulsively about his physical prowess. He appeared to be throwing a floor-kicking fit at the foot of the stone because he wasn't allowed a third chance to pull the sword out.
"This frivolous laughter at the lack of a moral character is why you're in second, Medio."
"I think you care about being the best more than you care about being righteous. Which is good for me, cuz you'd be insufferable otherwise."
I was about to Medio that he was insufferable when the lights went out. There was screaming and shuffling. I could only assume that we were being attacked by Vampires. Vampires were the only creatures with the intelligence to pull off a stunt like this. I drew my rapier and used it to feel my way along the floor, guiding me toward the heart of the panic. Suddenly, I was knocked forward and my rapier caught on the carpet and flung itself into the darkness. I fell forward and felt a hilt in the darkness. I pulled it out and turned around to face what had pushed me.
Suddenly the lights came back on. I had pulled Excalibur out of the stone. Everyone was stunned and silent, even Stultus. After a moment of shock, Medio piped up. "Well, at least we don't have to wait in line anymore, thank god." He had his knee pressed into Stultus's back.
"Jesus, Medio. We all know how annoying Stultus is, but I do think this is a bit much."
"You think this is Stultus? The Stultus I know wasn't a vampire."
"Come on, don't be daft,..."
Medio pressed an iron dagger against Stultus's face. Stultus started screaming and writhing in pain. His skin bubbled into the form of a much taller being, with long stringy hair, and pointed teeth. Medio slit 'Stultus' throat, putting him out of his misery. The blood that pooled under him was dull in color.
The crowd rippled in soft shock as our headmaster tried to gain control over the ceremony. "There you have our new graduating class! I see bright things in the future for our country. Especially from our valedictorian, Veritas Justorum!
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I found it hard to get to the actual plot twist I made up for this, But the plot twist is that the vampires are actually fairies being hunted to extinction. They posses a combination of both traits with some fairies being hurt by iron, and others by silver. They also posses immortality, possess super strength, and can turn others in blood magic rituals.
Medio is the king of the fairies who infiltrated the monster hunter academy to steer his subjects away from harm, while killing threats to his kingdom. He helped Veritas to lift the sword from the stone in the darkness. Only fairy/vampires can lift the sword out of the stone, because they are inhumanly strong. Medio cast physical darkness and planned the whole escapade in order to get the sword of his long lost father, without arousing suspicion. Stultus isn't a vampire, just a scape goat. Medio chose Stultus as his scape goat because he showed sociopathic tendencies. Those tendencies in monster hunters often led to a lot of needless aggression on his people.
I also want to note that fairies/vampires in this world are incapable of lying. Medio plays with words in order to deceive others while not technically lying.
|
deepdistortion
|
Ok-ligma
|
2023-05-09 06:52:29
|
2023-05-09 04:43:18
| 82 | 34 |
jjfvwlg
|
jjfl1xm
|
13cahd5
|
13cahd5
|
[WP] You are a member of the Rapid Response Writers Team. Your job is to go in and wrap up unfinished stories when their authors lose the plot. If you're not fast enough, the story takes on a life of its own and intrudes on the real world. Tell me about your biggest failure.
|
It's not easy being on the frontlines of Ao3. You have too many authors and not enough staff. We are constantly hemorrhaging in our department; deploying plot bunnies out daily into the Swiss cheese that is the next chapter of a HarryxReader story that has no outline or ending in sight. Sometimes you win a small victory, but others, unmitigated disaster.
It was the early days for me. I was only slightly weathered, but wholly optimistic about the cause. I was in charge of a fem!Naruto romance set in the One Piece universe. The author was debating a romantic interaction between Ace, Marco, or both. Just as I was ready to nudge a skittish plot the author's way, a scream to my left came from a fellow Rapid Repsonser.
"I quit! That's too much even for me!" He threw his hands up, rolled away from his desk, and walked out the door.
I made the hasty decision to take up his desk, noticed the red alert of an author about to lose the plot and deployed my rabbit without thinking.
It seemed okay, until a shrill noise began to emit from my previous comrades station. The lights began to flash and my commanding officer marched over.
"What did you just put out their into the universe?," she barked. I immediately stood as tall as my slouched back could go.
"A romance ploy bunny, sir!" I replied.
Her face went white. And she shoved me away to look at the screen. I followed her gaze to the top corner, where the series information began to rewrite itself as I too looked on in horror...
Sonic Universe...
Sonic x Dr. Ivo Robotnic...
Enemies to lovers...
Mpreg
Staring ahead, no longer seeing the screen but through to the unholy algamation I just unleashed as dozens of fanfics became influenced by my novice mistake, and furry artists became a viable career.
|
It was supposed to be a simple job. The client, Cathy Redwood, called about a novel she was writing. Like all of these pisshat writers, she was unhappy with the quality, but couldn’t say why.
Of course, I couldn’t tell her that her story lacked any depth, that her protagonist, clearly based on herself, was uninteresting. I read chapter after chapter and I know nothing about her personality. All I can say is that she was a small town girl living in a lonely world, and she was a regular at the town Chili’s.
I shit you not, there were eight chapters dedicated to her shooting the shit with her gal friends, just talking about this and that. It was as though someone just documented their life, not worried about how compelling it might be, never understanding the fundamental laws of plot lines.
So, honestly, what could I do? I was part of the Rapid Response B Team. My main duty was finishing poorly written young adult novels, where the author just couldn’t think of where to go forward. Often, they had just written themselves into corners, and needed to follow through with the prior content.
In practice, this meant killing beloved characters. This meant doing and saying the uncomfortable things. This was hard, you see, because writing tackles things deep within us all.
Think about it, you see someone passionately writing about an ethical issue? They likely suffered abuse due to that. So, to get these yuppy authors to really dig deep in their psyche was… hard. Tackling the raw, unaltered versions of their lives, I saw it drive many authors to other crafts.
But, there was nothing of substance in this story by Cathy Redwood. Even if she had suffered some brilliant trauma, so what? What could I do? Write an entire new story about said trauma? The B Team did not have manpower for that.
The best I could do was slap together an ending to this ‘story’, but that would involve writing an entire plot. Again, we didn’t have the time.
But, I still feel shame about it. Yes, I do. Even now, when Cathy’s been six feet under for several years. It’s hard not to feel personally responsible even though she was a vapid bitch.
You see, this was one of those situations where there would be no easy fix. The best you could do is what we termed the South Park Solution (SPS), of course based on the show of the same name.
In South Park, if the writers wanted to just end an episode without keeping around side characters, they’d just kill them. Messy, sure. Unsatisfying? Sometimes. But effective.
Myself and several other members of the B Team debated over who should be canned to make the story have the most impact. This was subjective, of course. I chose Mrs. Adams. She reminded me of my mom.
I was overruled. The protagonist, the character based on the author, was canned. In the book, we had her swan dive off her roof, sick of her boring burby life. Something to that effect, anyway.
Overall, we were happy with the ending. There was no real way to end the story, truly. There was no ‘story’ to be told.
I know at the end of the day I’m just trying to comfort myself, but really, I don’t think it’s all my fault. How could any of us know that Cathy would take it so personally? How could I know?
Well, regardless, I do know now. And I knew then, too, what was going to happen. I knew it the second I saw her on the news, the police officer trying to talk her down from the hotel roof.
I could already envision her swan dive in my mind’s eye. Just after I had the thought, she sprinted and leapt, clearing the safety net by over ten feet.
Her arms extended beautifully, her back arched, and her ponytail whipped wildly behind her as she plummeted.
I was demoted to C Team next week.
|
LastVividDream
|
None
|
2023-06-15 17:44:17
|
2023-06-15 17:19:20
| 38 | 16 |
jo92i61
|
jo8z0l9
|
14a726i
|
14a726i
|
[WP] July,1,1969. Neil Armstrong lands on the moon and turns around to find the Earth has vanished
|
“Because we were feeding you!” The mayor shouted back.
“Uh…wot mate?” My confusion at his statement was as deep as a canyon.
“We know all the lore about dragons and we knew if we didn’t send you sacrifices you would raze the town and make off with all our virgins. So…we sent you adventurers.”
“And you just thought I’d just eat them?”
The mayor nodded.
“First of all, Dragons hunt for their own meat. Secondly, that’s just gross. Unwashed adventurers…ewww…and their smell. I doubt any of them have even heard of bathing.”
“So…your not gonna eat is or destroy our village or horde all our gold?”
“Nope. I’m just here to protect you. I am fulfilling my promise.”
“But…but…” the mayor bumbled “how do we get rid of all our idiots then?”
|
It was over hundreds of years ago when i had first met this human that went by the name 'Chiron' and after our encounter, I'd grown an attachment to this mortal. We'd gone adventuring all around until he had said that he wants to retire and live the rest of his life in a rural village. ''But why? anywhere you can do, you chose this small rural village?'' I asked the mortal. ''I grew up here, venturing out at the tripe age of 15 because i wanted to make a name for myself as well as make money to support my ill mother. So I'd like to spend the rest of my days peacefully in this village.'' I looked downwards at him sternly , the fragile wrinkly frame was a shell of it's former adventuring glory. He used to be well built and energetic, but now he's slower, weaker and has become old. I had made a promise with this man that I'd watch over him until his last days, and that i fulfilled however before he passed, I transformed and talked with him one last time and hearing his last wish to be my protection over this small village, I wanted to refuse it but for Chiron I didn't. So when he had passed, I had inhabited a small area near the town, I flew over the town, around the vicinity to make sure that there were no bandits approaching or any other monsters that could've roamed outside the dark forest. However for my deeds, the villagers and merchants looked at me in fear, but i did not let this deter me from my promise to him.
One day, when i awoke on the grassland plains, my first sight was a group of adventurers. A Gold class party at that, approaching me with care so as to not ''wake me up''. I got up and looked downwards as they casted their spells. getting ready to attack and not even able to make a single scratch on me, it was bad enough these amateurs wanted to defeat me but their bard started singing a love song to me. I was a male and even if i wasn't, this fool's sad attempt of distracting me so his party could escape was noteworthy to me, bravery and one which is to sacrifice thyself for thou's party. Of course, I'd let them run but a week later, another came to attempt the same. Week after week, then Days after days, Parties would be sent to defeat me. I had had enough, I had been protecting this village for 15 years! but I cannot even get a wink of sleep because their repayment is parties of adventurers disturbing me and my slumber, I've had enough, went to the town's Centre and called for the mayor. Hearing of my appearance, he ran to me and I told him'' Stop! Your attempts of subjugating me are useless and frankly annoying. I've been protecting this village for the past 15 years, why do you still send them after me?''. The village folk heard this and had been very confused at the statement.
|
Known_Skin6672
|
SvgSammy
|
2023-10-11 14:08:01
|
2023-10-11 13:50:28
| 280 | 32 |
k4f3ed8
|
k4f0toc
|
1759uei
|
1759uei
|
[WP] You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.
|
Enraged by the anvil, then the wasps, then the cake-in-the-face, a true classic, "The Beast" roared, focusing all the evil cosmic energy within his soul to a miniscule spot between his clawed hands. But I was ready.
As the death ray zipped towards me, I was already holding an ornate hand mirror in its path. In a world of logic the cosmic energy would destroy anything physical and even para-physical. The sturdiest magical barriers or even the xeno-technology of Arumnians would crumble against it, but I was the joker. Everyone who ever watched cartoons in their childhood knows that mirrors deflect rays.
The deflection passed through the Beast's elbow, a chunk of flesh simply disappeared, more started dissolving at the edges into thick black smoke as the foul chaos worked on his flesh at an alarming rate.
No no no, not yet. "It's a boo boo" I said, jettisoning towards the Beast. I slapped a huge band aid with a unicorn on the dissolving flesh, then just as a precaution I leaned forward and gave the wound a kiss. "I kissed it and made it better, but we have something to discuss, urgently."
"You encroached in my territory. My honor's sullied. I challenge you to a duel, sir!" I said. The beast's clothes suddenly turned into a suit of armor, so did mine. I calmly removed the heavy gauntlet appearing on my hand and slapped him. "We duel by guns" I declared. His clothes quickly turned into clothes of a cowboy, so did mine.
We stood, our backs pressing against each other, a gun in both our hands. Of course as we count and step, I stepped backwards keeping affixed to him. He struggled against the enchantment in vain, of course he had no control over his body.
As he turned, I slid behind him, then shot him at the base of his skull. He would heal it all right, but it should have hurt a little.
He made Electra, the hero, my friend, my playmate suffer for twenty minutes. I took out a huge pocket watch from my vest pocket and checked out the time. Maybe a couple more weeks. Maybe another century. Time stretched in a funny way around me, losing all meaning anyway.
|
"The heroes and i,had had a friendly relationship at times. really my journey into so called villainy, started with My youngest sons Milos 6th birthday,him and his friends wanted it to be super hero themed,so i dawned my pirate suit,i haven't worn,in years,since i was captain of the Infamous Black rose pirates,i want to say,it was down in greece? or maybe spain,i dont really rember,it was 300 or so years ago now,but ill never forget ol lucy,my first mate,i met her when she was but a lass of 14,and she stole from me,.'
"but that's not what this story is about. see for years,i played the local villain,for a bunch of local super heroes,of various ages. Dragon of winter they called me.,i would do petty tricks,small snow storms,petty freezing of pipes and such,but id never hurt anyone and id always reverse the damage i did when the kids caught me. I've lived for many years now. I've traveled around the world and back,i spent time all over. but i had finally settled down once again. all the kids knew me by name,it didn't matter if i was a so-called villain,the parents and kids were happy ,and having fun,isn't that what's important?"
"i was at work in the office,and going over some reports,when a speical news brodcast from the heros went out.it was strange as it was a level 32 alret,the higest level they had,so i stopped and watched.,and what i saw... ill never forget. No parent should ever have to bury their child... but that day... ill never forget,the anger,the pure hatrad i felt for that bastard. the one they call the Blod viper,a brutal bastard,who has no moral compas."
*Special news report Blood viper Brutally murdred and torutred the local super hero team night owls,live on telvison,and carved their hearts out,daring anyone else to challange him,as he laughs a wicked laugh*
"when i saw the report,my heart sank,i prayed i was wrong.... but later,when i got home,Lucian,One of Milos friends parents,who works as a cop,informed me,milo was their... fighting for his life... and he passed away. on that day,hearing those words,my heart hardend once again,and it took me back to when i served over seas.. i dawned an old uniform with various tabs of elite forces ,and i let out a roar of anger,as i look to a picture of milo and his mom*
"im sorry,i wasnt able to protect him.... but i will avange him."
*i put out a chllange to a duel to the death for blood viper,many news comapnys and reporters came and looked at the situation,blood viper just laughed at seeing me,dressed in a t shirt,and shorts,*
"so your the so called villan who chllanged me? i beat the hero league and i heard your more a prankster then an actual villan,so what are you going to do about it,weakling."
*My eyes flash with an anger and fire they havent flashed with,in years,as i spoke calmly,yet the power and tension behind my words could be felt,as the very air shook*
"You killled,innocent children... who wanted to make this world a safer place. You really think just because im called a tristicker ,i am? i only did that for the children,and the local heros. it kept them safe from people like you."
*he waves his hands,as spirits of the dammend and demons of death appear,and he ties blood viper in chains as he tries to run*
"My true power,is far beyond,what they saw or know. today im going to make an example of you. milo was only 15,and he had a kid on the way. i dont agree with it. but you took away that chance,now your sins have caught up."
*Everyone watches in stuned silence as The person they thought was a low tier villain,brutally punished blood viper,and once he was done torutring him,he summoned a sword of Hellfire and ice,and split him in 2,*
"i lived a life to protect my sun,and then you did this. you pushed me to far."
*he says,as he burns the body and as his spirt leaves,the other spirits and demons drag it deep to the depths of hell*
*he looks up to the sky*
"dont worry son,after this,no one,hero or villan will bother your unborn child,or your girlfriend. you have my word,ill protect them. hopefully one day,we can meet again,at the gates."
|
zztri
|
First_Hovercraft_197
|
2024-09-23 13:00:05
|
2024-09-23 11:53:12
| 65 | 45 |
loiordm
|
loifflc
|
1fnekwz
|
1fnekwz
|
[WP] Eel-punk. Eels generate 98% of the power required by the world. Megacorps manage breeding programs and sell sterile eels. Today, Joe the Fisher caught a fish that could change everything.
|
Below the depths of the seas, only splinters of light can reach the eyes.
They're as infrequent as the flutter of flesh from decaying whale carcasses, the struggling breaths of geothermal vents, the heartbeat of the seabed.
The Earth is dying, but we won't.
Our ancestors call themselves the Atlanteans - the ones who sank. They took that name when they fled from the Surface. They said that encroaching frost drove them to seek refuge in the abysses of the oceans. That there once were green plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. That light was so common that humans built entire living cycles around it. Days, nights, weeks, months, seasons, years.
I don't believe them.
If it were so easy to have light, why is it that we must sacrifice so much to have it now? I've seen tens, hundreds of friends slowly perish before my eyes. As they're denied light, their eyes grow small. The pupils shrivel, shrink to the size of pin-points. By the time five thousand tides pass, their skin turns paper white and is just as frail and flimsy. Sleep becomes infrequent and the body grows lethargic and irritable. When fifteen thousand tides go by, that's when they usually become little more than a corpse.
It's despicable what society has become.
As I understand, from my parents, mega corporations have taken over light, monopolized it. Millions of tides ago, they captured a creature in the sea called an electric eel - apparently it was a life form that could generate light all by its self. They then sold sterilized breeds of those to families within the Great Bubble in exchange for harvests of fish and grown coral.
As the tides passed, their demands for payment grew increasingly larger. Shipments of sardines became sturgeons. Salt was to be delivered in barrels instead of pouches. Those who could not pay were denied their essential eels and inevitably cast away to the Lifeless Slums.
\------
Even though I understand all of that, I can't change anything because I'm just an average Joe. Joe the fisherman, Joe your friendly neighbor -- Joe, the weak, helpless resident of Shell City.
The only thing I know how to do is fish. To take my rod, string the line, and cast it from the dock - hoping that the line is long enough to reach far enough past the Great Bubble that it strays into the way of a school of unsuspecting fish.
I wait. And wait. And wait some more.
My cord gives a tug, and I know it's time. I grip the handle and begin to reel. Reel as if it could save my friends old and new, reel as if it were the weight of the world and I were the only one who could bear it. I grapple with it, flinging my body weight backwards and push into my toes. I could feel whatever it was breach the Great Bubble. It's coming up now, no longer a struggle -- simply just a dead weight. I reach over the edge for my prize and hear a noise.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
I pull the strange metallic object off the hook and shake it to see if the noise will stop. It doesn't. I turn it over in my hands, accidentally wiping off some mud in the process. Underneath the grime, I can start to make out letters from the carved inscription.
*Property of Portland 1984 - Portable Generator*
|
"Eels do not generate electricity in the way that you think" These were the first words spoken by Professor Katz when he took the stage at the now widely remembered 2085 *Ideas of the World* ceremony. Katz said them in response to another, a man with a similarly idealized speech who had just left the stage. Who had started *his* speech with: "Eels did not generate electricity in the way that you think, until now".
It turns out the first man to take the stage had been correct, and the second, well, you're such a Katz had certainly become no term of endearment.
Thus birthed the aptly named *Eel Race*, a scramble by every nation to gather as many of the slimy, electricity generating fish as possible to meet the new power demands. And further brings us to Joe the Fisher. Joe, not being his name, but rather a title granted as part of the official job of Fisherman under the Department of Energy. No, Joe the Fisherman's real name was Dally. Dally the Joe the Fisherman. And Dally the Joe the Fisherman would be soon to change the current of the world of power.
Now of course breeding was possible, inevitable, but the stronger the fish, the harder to breed, the harder to breed, the less used. And corporations: *EelTech*, *Go With the Flow*, *BigEel*, the list goes on, did not take kindly to the new easily accessible sources of power, so sterile eels were the only sold. So Dally the Joe the Fisherman would have to find jobs elsewhere.
But Dally had netted something wonderful in the artificial streams that flowed downwind of the breeding factories this day. He could feel it the moment he'd taken on the weight in his net, as if the catches electricity had shocked him through the wooden handle and sent a burst of excitement through him.
Upon catching the beast he called out, "Got one!", down the river. To which the other Joe's littering the sides of the river replied in near unison "Good luck, Joe!"
Carefully he tried to pull it up from the clear water, previously showing its body in warbled and shattered shapes in the deep. But now, clear and above the river, he could clearly see its beauty: glowing veins of blue shooting through its sides, eyes shining like electrified moons of blue, and long as the days were hard.
Quickly, quietly, he pulled it ashore with strained breaths and slid it up onto the metal platform of his scale. *....125.852 pounds*.
Joe's eyes grew wide, heart beated faster, and he reset the scale to test it once more. Once again it read the same. The largest he'd ever seen, ever even heard of. But now was the real test, to hook it up by the nose, then the tail fin into the voltage meter and see what hed truly caught.
First the head, it squirmed in discomfort as the clasp cut into its nostril. Then the tail, just the same. As Dally clicked the meter on it broke instantly in a loud pop and wisp of smoke. A few faces down the river glared. "Ah...faulty wire! I'll grab a new one!" Dally reassured, and the faces returned to their nets.
"Ah a Katz! Well good luck, Joe!" A few voices replied.
Reaching into his bag he pulled forth a new *EelReady* brand volt meter and attached it once more. This time the screen, for a split second, read: **1,450,000 kWh**, before popping once more. This time, when the faces returned, Dally had no reply. Volt meters only popped for two reasons, and this was known. One, a faulty meter, or two, a voltage too high to read effectively.
Dally dropped the smoking meter and backed up from the writhing beast. He had been so casual before in its handling, touching the beast as if his rubber gloves and net lining would save him, but from this much voltage nothing would stop it.
One man approached, not looking to Dally, but only to the beast as he grew near. "Hm, Joe...what'd the meter read?" The other Joe grumbled, pulling his own meter from his waist.
"Read 81.436. Just a Katz." Dally the Joe lied.
"Ah, so it goes. Want help throwing it back?" Eyes still on the great fish, its electric veins and glowing eyes; the Joe challenging Dally. He would surely have the thing as his own if given the chance.
"Sure. Grab your end, she's heavy" Dally reached forward and grabbed the handle of his net, which bowed at the weight. The other Joe grabbed the other, but upon gripping it Dally ratcheted the handle up, sending the great fish falling forward and into the Joe's arms. The eel lit up like lightning, casting a shock that shot straight through his rubber suit and frying him in an instant. He dropped dead in his suit, the rest of the Joe's shielding their eyes from the lighting.
But Dally was already quick on his feet, scooping the fish once more in his net and slinging it into a bucket, then taking off. A fish like this was no fluke, if the corporations got it it'd be dead before it could be used, of another Joe got it it was a lifetime payday, but him. He only could think of ond thing. That an eel like this could be the start of something new.
Free, infinite energy. At least infinite as long as he could find another. His fishing had not ended. He was only halfway there.
|
Scarredaeh
|
GrunkleStanwhich
|
2023-06-10 22:47:45
|
2023-06-10 22:41:21
| 84 | 17 |
jnpoyv8
|
jnpo6d2
|
1464zbi
|
1464zbi
|
[WP] You died, you met a god(dess), and you got offered a new life in another world with the usual package -- OP powers, a personal harem, the works. Smelling a scam, you refused. That pissed them off.
|
"If it's too good to be true, it likely is."
"Are you calling my offer to become a Chosen One...a scam?"
"Isn't it?"
"I would kill you on the spot! If only you weren't already dead!"
"Hit me with something, or you're full of bullshit."
"That's what you said! Don't blame me if it hurts!"
"Oww, oww. Okay! Stop! You made your point!"
"We could be at this all day, for all eternity until you accept my offer to be a Chosen One. Do you not like being OP with hot girls fawning over you and a band of awesome sidekicks? I have seen the LitRPG stuff you read. Why would you not love my offer?"
"Because those are escapist fantasies!"
"Why would you not want to live out your escapist fantasy? I am giving you exactly what you dream of! Take it! Or else!"
"Ughh, okay! Stop dropping anvils on me like some looney toons character! Lemme tell you why. Because, I know, at the end of the day, I need to wake up from my dreams. Get out of the fantasy and back to reality."
"If you love your dull, boring reality as a fast food worker so much, you can have it back!"
"Suits me just fine! Your Chosen One offer is a scam anyway!"
"Don't regret it, foolish mortal! And remember, if you get yourself killed jumping in front of a truck, trying to be a hero again, you will see me again!"
**
--
"Back again so soon? What is it with you and pushing little kids away from trucks?"
"Why is it you again?
"That's what I asked. Why don't you pull them to safety instead?"
"The hell I know! It was all very instinctive."
"I hate to admit this, but there isn't anyone like you in this afterlife. So, do you want to be a Chosen One?"
"You still running this scam again?"
"Stop accusing me of a scam! Look, I could just chuck you into the isekai world, but consent is important. There's been a newly formed union of heroes suffering from Main Character Syndrome. They successfully sued us gods of Isekai for forcible kidnapping and endangerment! So now I need your fucking consent."
---
[Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, click here for more prompt responses and short stories written by me.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/)
|
A terrific injury was dealt. The swift nocking, pull, and release, all in one fluid motion as one single, deadly arrow was loosed. Time stood still as it's flight path revealed the certainty of the strike.
The flashing silver corkscrew-like arrow tip hit precisely where my armor was weakest, penetrating between my ribs, where my torso plates connected to my arm plates. It was a recent change to help with my mobility, my aging body slowed by the relentless passage of time.
There was no pain, but an explosion of force that seemed to mirror that of a massive battering ram at full speed, from inside my chest cavity, that sent me hurtling into the rubble of what once was a shopping center.
the breath had been pulled from me, as I slumped to the floor, barely conscious. A deafening silence was laid upon us, only interrupted by feeble gasps for air from what was left of my lungs.
And that's when I saw her. Quick Silver, as glorious as ever, reflecting what little light managed to penetrate the thick cloud of debris and earth that had been kicked up by the force of the killing blow.
She was crying, tears tracing the curvature of her cheeks and lips leaving a trail of wet amidst the dried concrete and earth that covered everything.
she was helping to support that devil into a standing position, that murderous traitor with whom I've fought these past 25 odd years, who called himself the Apocalypse.
I spat out his name along with hot, foamed blood. "What did you do to her!? Quick Silver... Sarah... You've taken everything from me, why must you have her too!? WHY!?"
His voice sounded worse than mine. Good, those new shrapnel rounds worked after all.
"I have taken nothing that you have not forsaken first."
I laughed. Well, tried to laugh. The sound that bubbled from my throat didn't resemble anything I've heard before. I spat again, more foamed blood, I estimate a minute left of consciousness.
"Everyone was safe, everyone was happy before you showed up... now they flee the safe zones, dooming themselves by doing your bidding!"
"I am FREEING THEM!" Apocalypse shouted, "You kept them in a cage! A fancy cage is still a cage!"
"but they were SAFE! She could live!... Sarah... why..." I raised my eyes to hers. She had half carried him closer now, just a few feet away, her lips were quivering, but her eyes were steadfast, determined. she remained silent.
"Yes. They were safe... but foregoing living so that one could remain so... isn't living." He almost whispered the last two words, pleading in tone. The fury of the battle ceased only moments ago had washed from his face, replaced with what looked a pale, lifeless mask of his former glory.
He wasn't like the other terrorists. He had been able to bribe them into subservience. Gave them all the extra benefits that could be afforded them, so that their lives were lived in endless epicurean delight. This man had wanted none of it. He almost cherished the poverty of his existence. If nothing else, I respected him for that.
But now he had gone too far. it was one thing to steal away citizens, but to take Sarah... my daughter... whom I trained and loved, and lead in battle against these extremists... she was my world. She was my everything. Without her I was nothing.
"What's your goal? to lure them all out into the waste? to let them die?"
"To let them LIVE! Anyway they want to! to let them make their OWN decisions, to actually live their LIFE!"
I cried out to the heavens, it seemed the only way to make my voice intelligible "What kind of life is one filled with pain??"
and she spoke. My Sarah... "a life worth living, dad. A life worth living"
At the sound of her words I began to cry, harsh, ragged sobs, expanding my chest painfully, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't be strong any longer.
she let Apocalypse stand unsupported as she fell to her knees, cupping my head in her hands, crying with me, kissing my forehead.
with what remained of my strength, I managed to croak "I... I... I'm sorry... I just want you to be happy"
"I know, Dad. I know"
|
Tregonial
|
jpreston2005
|
2024-07-23 18:35:45
|
2023-05-22 17:17:39
| 182 | 23 |
lel2c4q
| null |
1eaagdd
| null |
[WP] You open the door and see a woman you recognise immediately: she’s the lead character of a novel you wrote years ago. And abandoned halfway. “Why did you forsake me?”
|
"Madeline. What...?"
"Harrison. I've been waiting for so long. All these years, not a word, not a letter!" She brushed her way inside, her long green bustled dress catching slightly on the apartment door as she went. She collapsed on the couch, her face buried in a handkerchief. "I waited, watching the sea for ages. Just as you told me to. And what was I paid for my loyalty?"
"Mad... Eline?"
"Did you ever really love me, Harrison? Were all your perfumed words nothing more than a puff on the breeze?"
"Oh wow, I forgot how bad that dialogue was..."
Her head snapped to him with a deadly glare. "How dare you insult me as I empty my heart before you, bleeding my emotions on the floor until there is nothing left! I leave myself anemic in love at your feet and you laugh at me!"
Jack took a moment to collect himself from the pain, physical pain, of hearing the lines he had written as a teenager replayed in vivid technicolor. "I'm not laughing. Madeline. Not laughing at all. I'm just... Confused. How did this come about?"
"As I said," she turned to gaze out the window longing, the kerchief held close to but not touching her face in one hand. "I gazed out to the sea as you told me to do. Waiting for a sign of your return. Waiting for the day I may see your sail once again return to shore, to return to the loving embrace of my bosom."
^^^"jesus ^^^fucking ^^^christ..."
"Even as the years drew on, I never wavered. My faith was tested. My eternal devotion unbroken. Until one day, I saw a light. Like a whisp beckoning, calling to me, guiding me. I followed it. Through roads and rivers, across vast oceans and foreign lands, I did follow it for I knew, I knew it was leading me to you. And now, here we are. Together again." She rose, graceful now. An odd mixture of a powerful presence and cocksure determination while seeming to be attempting to appear demure. "Oh, Harrison. I am so sorry for scolding you. You must forgive me. My hot head has proved once again my undoing. But I tell you, the heat of my pounding heart is far more intense. You can feel it under the flush of my, well, I am too embarrassed to even utter the word, but for you, Harrison. For you, I'm willing to bear myself, unfettered and pure!"
"My parents sent a box of my stuff from high school, huh?"
"It had your little league trophies and a goddamn **stack** of notebooks. What really happened to Harrison anyway?"
"Who the fuck cares?"
Jack kissed his wife as he made a mental reminder to burn that stack of notebooks.
|
The woman stood next to the open window, hair raven black chopped off to her shoulders, scars trailing up and down her almost sickly white arms, legs and back, anywhere the skin was exposed. She wore a what was left of a dress, flowing down her body covering only what was necessary. I never judge what people wear in their own house, but I was 12 degrees outside and that window looked frosted so it couldn't have been very warm.Her back was to me, face never turning to look as she accused me of something I've never done.
"I'm sorry mam, I'm just the cleaner that you've hired." I jiggled the bucket that was in my left hand, the soap and rags moving inside to validated my reasoning. My right hand was still on the knob from when I opened the door.
She never acknowledged me, just continuing as if I had never spoke. "I've been waiting for him to come. Waiting for him to save me."
Now not entirely sure that I was in the right apartment, I stopped the door with my foot as I took my phone out of my pocket to double check. Yup apartment 345, north street, second building. I looked at the door to confirmed. I slid the phone back into my overalls. "Are you expecting someone else mam? I can come back if now is now a good time." My body already turning to leave, waiting for her answer.
At this the woman cocked her head to the right, slightly turning to look at me without ever moving the rest of her body. Her silhouette looking more familiar. Her nose was long and straight, something about it seemed proud. However seeing more of her face, I could tell she was in eminence pain. "Leaving again?" Her voice was soft, but the words themselves, hard and filled with rage. I almost ran but something kept me. "After all this time you leave as soon as I had any strength to find you?" She turned to face me as she spoke.
By the time she was facing me completely I knew her. But I shouldn't have known her, it wasn't possible. I must have spoken my thoughts, because she laughed. Not how I imagined her laughter, soft and light, like bells on a wind chime on a summer's day. No this laugh had no humor, it was deprived of life, and sounded awkward, as if she hasn't done it in years. "Oh, trust me I know it mustn't be possible. No, but I made it possible. I gave what was left of my soul to Gatroth, and I found you!"
Gatroth....yes. Gatroth that was his name. He is evil, is only quest was to fine eternal life, something that could only be taken from the purest of souls, the Princess. She, the last remaining child of the late king, all before her falling to the same man. She was captured and was being tortured, but nothing he could do to take her life, her soul. Only those willing to give away their souls could give immortality as well. But her knights, the love of her life, Bartholomew, they were on the way to save her. They are climing the mountain the last I wrote.
He words from before registering in my mind. "He's Coming, Jenora." I practically whispered this.
"WHEN!!!??" Jenora screamed this so loud the frosted window shook. "Its been years since he captured me! The pain was so unbearable, Kelley." Her voice so soft at the end I wanted to lean in. She clutched what was left of the beautiful gown I put her in the day he kidnapped her, however the last i knew, it was still intact, only the most minor problems done do it. This looked like it was pushed down a garbage disposal. "He wouldn't stop, no matter how much I pleaded." Tears weld in her brown eyes. "He never once let me rest."
I reached for her but she pulled away. "I don't understand, you have only been taken for a few days, and I made sure that what he did to you was nothing." She scoffed " Flattery mostly, just trying to let you willingly do it, he only just started to do anything painful when Bartholomew.." I didn't have a chance to finish my sentence.
"NEVER SAY THAT NAME AGAIN!!" I coward away. This time I was out of the room entirely, my hand only resting on the outside keeping it open.
"I'm sorry. But..he..they are just on the bottom of the mountain. Preparing to climb as we speek."
"Maybe long ago. But now he sits on my throne."
"Impossible!" I yelled on his defense " He loves you. I wrote him that way."
"Well you never finished our story, so we did ourselves." She stepped closer, not yet leaving the room. "And ours end together."
Her hand reached out as the door shuts, cutting her off.
|
waltjrimmer
|
Number03Kid
|
2024-03-12 19:29:26
|
2024-03-12 18:52:56
| 38 | 11 |
kukehay
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kuk8efu
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1bd1w5u
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1bd1w5u
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[WP] Ben could craft statues so lifelike that many were mistaken as living beings. Normally this wouldn’t matter but for the past week the Demon king has been in a staring contest with a toad statue. The prize the others soul.
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Ben grinned, his yellowed teeth showing, his undying confidence showing too. His house had burned to ash, but the workshop still stood.
The toad was in front of him, its eyes unblinking. It wasn't dead, It couldn't be if it wasn't alive at all. You see the toad was Ben's creation, a creature of clay and paint, that took tens of hours to look this lifelike, like a real animal, down to its slimy coat. In front of it, in a summoning circle, the Demon King, the most powerful from the flip side stared at the toad. His eyes were covered in ash and dust, yet he didn't blink. He didn't even move.
"That's what you deserve you bastard! You wanted to take my soul, ey?" Ben laughed with utter madness, standing over the Demon King, but just outside the summoning circle. The Demon would like to drag Ben into the flip side, to torment his soul for years, to drag him through burning coals and dunk him into ice water.
Sadly he had accepted the deal: blink, your soul is stuck in the toad, and I can do whatever I want with the power, The toad blinks, and you take my poor sinner soul, Ben had said.
His very being was tied to the damn toad. The Demon King didn't want his soul to be stuck in Ben's grip for who knows how long. Time was unimportant to his incredibly long life, but it would be terribly annoying for him. And so he stared. He had figured the toad was a statue about a month ago, but he was a petty creature.
The hellfires raged on, months, years, decades. Ben died seven years ago, the Devil's soul would be spared, for now. But he didn't stop.
At this point, he wanted to see how long he would last.
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"It will be mine," the demon king growled, fixing his eyes upon the toad. "Rest assured."
The dark king's second-in-command observed with growing concern. "Sire, it has been days. The forces of good have been relentlessly advancing through our territory unchallenged. Is there any way to expedite this process so you can resume thwarting them with your cursed magic?"
The king remained focused on the toad, paying little heed to his subordinate's words. "Dobbins, do you comprehend the gravity of the situation I've entangled myself in? My power hinges on absorbing the stolen essence of another's soul. This foolish frog is perilously close to becoming my undoing."
Recognizing that the king's attention was firmly fixed, Dobbins allowed his worry to show on his face. "Sire, you are the most formidable being in existence. I'm uncertain why you chose to engage with this... thing!"
"That wretched village had nothing of value except their mascot. I believed consuming the frog's soul would be synonymous with draining the last remnants of their town's spirit. Regrettably, they possessed more potency than I anticipated."
"So our dark campaign might meet its end due to a frog statue? Is that a risk you're willing to take with your legacy?"
In an instant, the dark king snapped upright. "Wait. This is a statue? How can you be so certain?"
Dobbins began to question his king's wisdom. "Sire, we acquired this from a statuary. I assumed that was evident!"
The dark king's gaze remained fixed on the frog. "Dobbins, this is unfamiliar terrain... I'm uncertain of the consequences if I divert my gaze."
Abruptly, the massive metal doors burst open, revealing a man clad in full armor charging in. The dark lord greeted him warmly while keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the statue. "Commander Thalleous! To what do I owe this visit?"
Thalleous showed no inclination for pleasantries. "There's no pleasure, sire. Another platoon has fallen. The forces of good have seized a crucial stronghold in our strategy. You assured me your magic was guarding it. I demand an explanation for this failure."
Usually, the king wouldn't tolerate such insolence, but his frog fiasco had humbled him. "Thalleous, I suspect an unexpected assassin from the forces of good targeted me. I've been ensnared for days, attempting to evade their clutches."
Drawing his blade, Thalleous held it close to Dobbins' throat. "I can spill their blood and resolve this, sire."
"Not me, you fool! He's referring to his absurd frog statue!"
The dark king took offense at his servant's judgement. "SILENCE! I assure you, this frog is no laughing matter. It has become my most formidable adversary yet."
Thalleous, as was his way, knocked the frog off the table, shattering it into pieces.
"No!" the king cried out.
"Killing him breaches our dark pact, Thalleous, you imbecile!"
Suddenly, a dark mist emanated from the demon king's skin, pooling at his feet and enveloping him in an even darker cloud.
"Thalleous! You've killed me! Using my remaining power, I shall have the final say!"
Dissolving into the mist, the king curled into a ball, concentrating his energy. As he felt it peak, he launched himself at Thalleous with force that could have decimated the room. After the blast, a lingering dark cloud led the way outside and disappeared into the distance.
Meanwhile, in the town of Riverwood, Ben sat on his porch surveying the ruins of his hometown. Abruptly, a dark cloud enveloped him, invading every orifice. Struggling to break free, he found himself consumed by the cloud. Rising, he sensed an overwhelming surge of power coursing through him.
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-Moony_Mood-
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a_burdie_from_hell
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2023-08-19 12:54:58
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2023-08-19 12:49:51
| 58 | 41 |
jwupugk
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jwup87x
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15vdhkk
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15vdhkk
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[WP] A bunch of the wizards' college students are arguing about which magical focus is superior. Staffs, wands, orbs, books, nobody agrees on anything. Then the newest student offers a rather unusual alternative.
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"Okay, so, quick question-have any of you tried casting using a glove?" Theo asked conversationally.
"A glove?" Nellis asked. "Why in the hells would you do that?"
"Well, I tried it and it had a tonne of advantages. My casting's faster, it's easier to aim and I can even dial the spell's intensity up or down depending on how many fingers I use."
"That sounds kind of dangerous Theo. The one time I tried casting off-hand I gave myself mana blisters. Hurt like buggery and took forever to heal." Andreas, our resident experimentalist, said, flexing his hand around his grimoire. "Besides, my focus stores spells and enchantments for fast casting. Can a glove do that?"
"Fair point for the storage, but you must admit your stored spells lack a lot of oomph. I mean sure, that fireball can cook an egg at ten paces, but good luck actually getting it to do more damage than that." Theo pointed out. "Also, I've been casting using my gloves pretty much non-stop for five months and I have yet to get mana blisters." He said, demonstrating his point by juggling a light orb in his hands. "See? No blisters while I'm wearing these bad boys."
"Dude, half the reason I chose a staff is to put some distance between me and my spells. That stuff's nasty if it goes off too close to you." Egwene pointed out.
"Wait." Andreas said slowly, turning to Egwene. "You mean you don't add a proximity failsafe to your spells Gwyn? The hells?"
"Wait, what?"
"The half-twist at the start of each incantation? That's meant to initiate a minor failsafe to your cantrips." Theo explained. "That's why I have to do jazz hands every time I cast a spell in these." He said, waving his gloved hands around as the light orb orbited them.
"Oh. I thought that was just a flourish to look cool." Egwene admitted.
"A flourish-Gwyn! Seriously. It's a safety measure, not a, a peacocking gesture!"
"Yeah Gwyn." Theo said with a grin on his face. "I mean Andreas does it all the time and he doesn't even try to be cool."
"That's because I am cool by nature." Andreas said in his most pompous voice.
"That's right Andy, you aren't even remotely hot!" Theo stated, causing Gwyn to snap out of her embarrassed state and start to giggle.
"Shut it Glove Boy." Andreas replied snippily.
"Make me Book Worm." Theo said, snapping his fingers and causing the stitching to glow a dark orange.
"Oh wow." Nellis exclaimed. "That's an awesome effect!"
Theo looked at his gloves and paled. "Not this ag-"
Boom!
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“For the last time, books are for freaking nerds!” Eris threw her hands in the air, groaning loudly. “What wizard worth their salt wants to freaking read while casting a spell?”
“We’re wizards Eris! We’re all nerds!” Mavis flopped back into a chair. This argument had happened before. It would happen again. They were mechanics of magic after all, and nothing mattered more than their tools.
“That's a harmful stereotype, and running around with a book does nothing to help combat it.”
"Oh, and running around looking like gandalf makes it better? Where’s your white beard and hat old man?” A new voice called out. Charles had entered the common area, making their way to the cereal bar and filling a bowl. “You wanna be a real wizard? You use a wand.”
“Talk about playing into old stereotypes.” Mavis slouched in the chair and let their arms hang to the sides. “I like the books, they’re pretty.” Mavis’ book was pretty, decorated with metal and gold trim over a dyed leather cover carved with runes. The paper on the inside was thick, worn, and had a heavy feel to the pages.
“You know what's pretty? Whipping out a wand for a quick spell and stopping the duel before it even starts.” Charles drew their wand out of its holster, miming a quick draw while making sure to keep their cereal safe. He spun his wand, blowing the tip.
“Oh yes, because the man raised in the good part of london is such a quickdraw cowboy. Yeehaw. And you were saying I need a hat.” Eris smiled wide, leaning against a wall.
“If you wanna be a cowboy, why not just use a gun as a focus?” Three heads turned, looking at a small freshman that had somehow managed to hide in one of the oversized couches in the common room.
“I’m sorry?” Charles uttered. “A fucking gun? You are a fish, aren’t you? Talk about uncultured.”
The freshman shrugged softly. “Why not? While we’re up here arguing about cultures and appearances non mages are using technology to catch up to us. Used to be one mage was more useful than a hundred non mages. Now a message spell is useless next to a phone. Why not take what they have and use it against them?”
Charles stepped forward with a sneer. “Because it's unbecoming of one of our stations and dignity.”
“And incinerating someone with a fireball from a staff isn’t? The issue is power, not decorum. You wanna cast a spell quickly? You put it on a bullet and shoot the damn thing. Only way to compete with the magic of technology and death that normies are making. Why waste time reading when you can be shooting fireworks as fast as your finger can pull? Just need a bit of prep time.”
“It’s inflexible. You can only use what you prep.” Mavis leaned forward, putting their elbows on their knees. “If a situation comes up that you’re not ready for, what are you going to do?”
“What are you going to do if someone is rushing you and you need to flip through pages looking for the right spell? Look, books are great for noncombat, gives you all the options. You wanna be an architect? Bring your book. You want to assert power? You take their tech and make it your own. Why not just use a phone if you’re worried about being able to hold all your spells? Books are just slow oversized versions that have been outpaced.
Mavis gasped, clutching their book tight to their chest. “You take that back. This book has been in my family for ages!”
“It’s age is showing.”
“Oh yeah little cowboy? Gonna play with the normies now? If you’re worried about combat potential, why not just bring a staff? Gives you flexibility and speed.”
The freshman shook their head, standing. “Has its place, the best resource for stability or nature walks. But worse than a wand in speed and less adaptability than a book. But you’re ignoring the problem. “It's not about what's better here or better there, you’re ignoring the problem. We as a people are losing power. No more wizard kings today. Now it’s all democracy and power distributed to the masses. You want strength? You want to put normies back in their place? You recognize what they’ve done well and you use it against them. Adapt and overcome. You’re all outdated, and normies are passing you by.” A moment hung. Charles especially felt it. His family had been a wizard lord family not long ago, before they were forced to give up their position due to technology catching up with magic. Some had even called it an oppression of the mages, seeing their waning power as a new oppression. “You want your position back? Fight for it.”
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darklooshkin
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SteamPoweredAuthor
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2023-01-24 15:07:15
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2023-01-24 15:02:25
| 174 | 117 |
j5ot2gb
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j5oscxh
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10k0a6d
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10k0a6d
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[WP] 30 years from today, an animal rights organization has developed a scanner which reproduces the animal’s circumstances of death upon scanning its meat. You decide to scan a cheeseburger for fun. You hear not a cow, but someone screaming desperately for help.
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Igna was astonished.
A human had never qualified as a member of the High Meadows tribe before, but here was Garry the Berserk, first Human of the High Meadows tribe.
This presented a problem.
As orc societies were, by necessity, matrilineal, Garry was now a full adult member of the tribe who had no, tribal ties. The elders met, and concluded the only remedy was marriage.
Inga liked Garry. They'd worked a number of construction projects together. She was also one of 6 sisters and having a man in the house would be beneficial, especially in negotiating labour contracts with more... patrilineal societies. So, she proposed and he accepted.
Garry managed to wrestle her uncle and avoid the traps set by her sisters. He bribed the small children into telling him where Inga was "hiding" and the event concluded with a very raucous feast.
Now Inga was nervous.
"Garry" she said, that evening wrapped in blankets in a private part of the cave
"As you know you are a member of the tribe, and through marriage to me you are a member specifically of our family, but what does this mean to your human relatives? What will I need to do for your human family?"
Garry got quiet.
He looked at Inga and sighed.
"I should have told you sooner, but have you ever heard of a 'bachelorette party'..."
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I am Olga, orc woman from the Celibate clan. I was raised strong on the grains and oxen that cover the hills of Onan, by the creed of my bloodline, passed me by the maternal uncle who lasted the great war, where my parents could not. Though they did instil in me their courage, and sonorous, oft baritone singing voice, and the fibres that constitute these muscles making deadly what weapon I so choose to wield.
But dreams of the opera, of theatre, were forever forestalled, when at sun’s crest that morning I saw his steed in silhouette. A broad shouldered body hunched, wavering. All but broken, carried here by delicate canter—a fine horse in love with its master, journeyed untold leagues, to me, Olga, that I might be the healing hand it searched for.
But when it neared, and saw me close, it raised high on its hinds and cast its master backwards to the dirt. For I am also quite hideous. And for that I was not offended. If anything, I was pleased.
For we orcs are proud of our hideousness. Much pride is drawn from the swelling of a new facial wart—one growth per year, usually—and indeed, I was the most celebrated of any orc born the past century.
Except for Margaret, who had the cosmetics done.
To hell with Margaret.
And to my new heaven came George, laying half-dead in the dust of his steed then absconded. His ribs and clavicle and left elbow broken, mind semi-conscious, mouth bare able to utter the faintest of gasps as he glanced my way. I loved him immediately.
He never fully recovered his mental faculties after that. Paralysed, but alive—and poorly endowed—he was the worst of all conceivable lovers. Which was fulfilling of the most erotic orcan dream. He didn’t even register what was going on before the ceremony.
And so before our union, when informed of our tradition, his drooling that had become his chief form of communication stuttered and waxed panicked in protest. His quadriplegia rendered him wheelbarrow-bound and incapable of combat, a fact not lost on his vegetative state-of-mind.
Go anyway, I said, lovingly. My brothers are weak shit bastards and you’re still twice the man of them all put together.
“Uurrghslp,” he replied, just as lovingly.
It was settled. With the aid of the barrow bearer Haggærd he departed the next morning into the same sun that carried him here.
His protesting had been pointless as it turned out. For the next forty years he systematically defeated each of his foe with such ease that the story came back codified in legend. The Drooling Demon he was known, and with each conquest his stature rose and drove fear into the heart of his next.
How he won these apparently chaotic melees is still a source of debate and equally mysterious inquiry, but it was no doubt something to do with the motion-detecting automatic rifle I had affixed to his chest. A technology still in its nascency at the time and so from the perspective of archaic minds it was natural to his foreign, angelic physiognomy, and still well keeping with the standard code of practice. Suckers.
We got married, and in the heats of our passion that night, with poor estimation of my grip-strength relative to his tenuous human frame, I broke his clavicle a second time and crushed his every notion of ecstasy.
At least, I think so. Hard to know what the hell he’s saying half the time.
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None
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VanillaBest4580
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2024-01-04 13:51:03
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2024-01-04 11:54:07
| 271 | 85 |
kga02sl
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kg9mobw
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cctjtp
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18y9dol
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[WP] You are an aspiring scientist who's put years of work into inventing time travel. You're on the verge of a major breakthrough in your studies, when suddenly you're visited by your future self, who tells you to stop IMMEDIATELY.
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"Listen... If you continue, worse will come."
Staring at the person who seems like a complete replica of me, yet looked few years older, my eyes landed on the badge in his tattered clothes.
[Navigation Volta]
The badge looks fairly familiar... Wait!? Upon my realization, I took out my own badge that was given by my late daughter before she died last year after getting hit by an incoming truck.
The memories of her began flooding back to my head, causing a strong headache. I held my head with my left hand, while raising my revolver and pointing it towards me—the future me using my other hand.
"She won't come ba—"
"Shut up!"
I cut him off short before he could finish. Gritting my teeth, I could feel my hand shivering as I struggled to point my gun directly towards him.
"If you're me, then you would have never give up on trying to save her!"
There's no way I'll stop.
Even if it meant destroying and recreating a new timeline, as long as I could see her live again, then none of that matters to me.
Death is nothing to me.
The other me was silent before raising his old-looking gun towards me. He then broke the silent by saying, "Never give up and save her? Did you think I didn't try that?"
He let out an audible laugh.
"I've regressed and seen her die and die right before my eyes in a number you won't be able to count." We both pulled the hammer of our gun at the same time letting out a click.
"Do you know what that feels like? Well... You'll understand what that means if you continue."
"Shut up..." I said in a faint.
"Do you think I'm scared of death? I have faced the Reaper upfront. As of now, do you have the will to do that?"
"I SAID SHUT UP!" I roared, "Do you know what I've been feeling this whole time? I'm empty! My wife got lost in space and my daughter died!"
"I am you..." He began to approach me, saying, "Like I said, I've seen everything. Experienced everything. Suffered from everything. You? You've only seen them disappeared once? Do you want to repeat that again?"
I took a step back until my back touched the table.
"Beside, the real approaching nightmare has yet to come. If you continue, you'll—"
BANG-!
Before he could finish his sentence, both of us heard a loud gunshot from behind him. By the time he realized it, the future me was already bleeding.
"Ugh... who?" When he tried to turn around to see who it was, the gunshot was heard again. This time, however, the future me fell flat on the floor after getting shot in the back of his head.
"I refuse to believe that I'll become like you in the future..."
I heard a familiar voice, making me lift my head to look at the suspect.
"You..."
That person... He was also me.
"Since you've also been influenced..."
He raised his revolver, that seems to have only been used for a few months unlike the other me who died, and pulled the hammer.
"It's better for you to die."
BANG-!
|
*Time to plug it in!*
"Let's fire this baby up!" A quick fist pump into the air.
Getting down under the table, I sorted through the mess, trying to find the red plug. No lamp light down here unfortunately.
Left to feel around for it and squint.
*Let's see. That's the book from the library... overdue... something for tomorrow's do list. There's those socks I've been missing.* Sniff snifffff. *DEFINITELY gonna need to through those through the wash. What's that??? Feels squishly... EWWWWWW DIRTY TISSUE!!! I KNEW I MISSED THE TRASH CAN!*
Quick trip to the bathroom for no particular reason. Hands still slightly wet when I got back underneath.
*Finally there's all the wires. That looks like the reddest lookin' one. Would bet my thesis on it. Well maybe not that much.*
Plugging it in, I crawled my way back to a squat, before stretching my way into a stand.
*Nothing quite like a good stretchin' of the arms, legs, and back. AND NOW for the main EVENT!*
Skip in my step, I could scarce believe that a moment like this was even happening. A lifetime's worth of energy and dreams. Thousands of silent prayers and long nights all leading to this!
Wires spread like vines across the floor and up the walls to the big bay window that looked out over the water. Moonlight shone off the waves, a gentle breeze pushing a sailboat across the bay. The light from a lantern danced on those pale ghostly sails. Beyond it, stony white shores decorated with a quiet village of gardens and cobbled streets sighed sleepily as the blanketing of moonlight made them warm and fuzzy.
Such a magnificent scene.
So taken aback, I know not how long I stood there, gazing out the window.
*What else could I see through the window?* I wondered.
That brought me back to the present. I had walked right up to it.
A pedestal. Installed right in the middle of the hardwood floor. Waist-high. Smooth steel. A single button. Glowing red.
Trembling I gingerly touch the red button.
*Deep breath in.*
Phwoooooo...
*Deep breath out.*
Wooooooohhhh...
"Ready."
I start to push the button.
A bright blue-white light fills the room. A ring of light expands and opens up into the room. From the ring, a shadow slowly emerges... it's me.
"I'd tell ya to stop immediately, but I know you're stubborn," a worn-old grin smirks at me as the ring closes behind it. "So I at least came to supervise!"
"Also, if ya keep gaping like that, you'll choke on a fishfly."
I smiled quickly, and I turned back to the button. A quick glance back.
"Well, go on then!"
I give it a good press. The window scene doesn't change. Until... it does. From the edges, new colors slowly emerge, much like the bright ring I had (*or will???*) step through. Seeping into the panes of glass, they interweave into brilliant patterns and shapes, more so than any I had ever seen. This continued as the whole bay window filled with light! From this fantastic display in it's own right, a new order began to emerge. Slowly, through the looking glass, bright rocky hills formed with crystal blue water draping their fringes. All across these hills, there were scattered what looked like thousands of... *people*. All shapes and sizes. Men, women, and children. All looking at... a man. He was standing on the highest hill overlooking the assembled crowd, hands animated, talking with passion and peace.
After saying all that needed to be said, the man paused, watching as the crowd discussed the teachings put forward by the man.
And then the man did something rather peculiar. He turned... *and looked at me*.
He smiled, winked, and subtly waved His hand. And the image disappeared. The window went dark and looked over the familiar waters again.
I turned to look at myself. I was smiling, nodding, agreeing with my incredulous shock.
I sat down. My older counterpart sat alongside me.
Looking out at the stars, I whispered to myself.
"So it is all true!"
But I had overheard myself.
"Yes! And He is proud of you."
"But... I still needed to look upon Him, like Thomas did."
"True... but maybe not."
Puzzled, I looked at me. I was looking out at the stars now.
"Yes, you needed to see Him, but it took a faith not many have to pursue Him like you did. You believed you WOULD see Him, and you DID. And you wondered if HE would see you back, and that's why He looked immediately for YOU."
My older self turned to look me in the eyes. "He is proud of you, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I know because He's told me Himself. And no, I won't tell you when," he said, seeing the excitement etched in my cheeks. "That'll be something for you to look forward to later!"
Like an old friend, I had put my hand on my shoulder. "Keep dreaming, kid. He's waiting for us, that sweet ole Jesus of ours."
We gazed out the bay window as the stars crowned His beautiful purple sky.
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Positive-Ad-8397
|
TyrannosKing
|
2023-11-06 14:04:54
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2023-11-06 05:10:58
| 29 | 15 |
k82iqhd
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k817v6q
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17oswyt
|
17oswyt
|
[WP] Apparently all superpowers has a passive ability that prevents users from being harmed or affected by their own abilities or lose control. Nearly everyone took this for granted until one day something causes the passive ability to fail on everyone.
|
"Latest results just came in."
"And?"
"Worse than we thought."
Silence permeates the room. Within this hall the world's brightest minds and foremost experts in science gathered, and all of them are equally dumbfounded.
It hasn't been that long since these powers appeared out of thin air. They're weak at first, sure. Small fires out of your fingertips. Lifting a spoon with your mind. But they were *real*.
After the initial panic, everyone was elated at the possibilities. Some called it a gift from the gods. Some said magic has returned to this land. Nobody could really explain where they came from, and frankly, nobody cared - whatever this is, we had a new golden age ahead of us. And so for the next five years we studied and experimented. Amplified our powers. Laid the groundwork to a society fueled with meta-abilities.
"Surely this doesn't affect everything! What about the nonphysical powers? Mental ones?" Chimed a rough voice.
"Just as screwed." Another voice from across the room. "Without something to shield their minds from the outside, the outside can fight back. Telepaths went mad. Telekinetics had it even worse."
"Sensory abilities overloaded their users' brains. Most are lucky to end up catatonic."
We know now that this was a curse. A cruel joke. All of a sudden, like a switch suddenly being flipped, these powers turned on us. A pyromancer's fire turned burned themselves and others alike. Hydromancers would slip up and manipulate their own blood out of their body. Uncontrolled strength turning the user into mush under their own force. We sharpened this blade, only for it to press against our necks.
"We need to control the damage. Those with voluntary powers must under no circumstance use theirs. Enforce it by any means necessary."
Mumbles of agreement. And among the numerous nodded heads, a raised hand.
"Yes?"
"About that..." A voice rang out, coated in terror. "If.. If the latest report is to be believed..."
All noise vanished from the room. Every single pair of eyes focused on the man rifling through the papers with trembling hands.
"I don't think these powers are voluntary anymore."
(Lurker here, doing a prompt for the first time - any feedback is appreciated!)
|
***In Alternate Timeline Delta-Theta-Mu 87-A3...***
The world almost stopped, from the sheer horror of what had happened. Overnight, every single superhero died. Just like that. What made it more horrendous was the reason of their death. It was not by a heroic last stand against some foul intergalactic oppressor. It was not a selfless sacrifice against the hordes of Hell or eldritch terrors from unspeakable voids.
Each hero died by their own powers turning against them.
They died because they no longer had the passive immunity to their own powers that, all along, they had thought was just native to them when their powers awakened.
Combocaster was the first death. He was in the midst of one of his magic shows, "Magical - The Real Deal", when what the public now grimly named "The Failure" happened. His innate physical immunity to raw mana flowing through him just departed... and he just BURST. For half a minute, everyone thought it was just another trick, and applauded and laughed - but when the horror of what had really happened set in, it made headlines worldwide.
Audiobringer was the next. He roared "HALT!" at a group of bank robbers - only to be violently hurled against a wall by the reverberation of his own shout. The soundwave pinned him to the wall, and without his immunity to his own sound, he was FLATTENED by his own soundwave. Turned into a human pancake.
Flutterfae followed next. Her passive power had all along harmonised her faerie gifts of magic with her human physiology. So as she flew across Anatolia en route to Istanbul, when The Failure occurred, her butterfly wings which gave her flight just unattached from her back. She tried to cast her flight spells, only to utter unintelligible gibberish, as she hurtled to the ground - and hit it with a sickening THUMP! The forensic experts who examined her body concluded that she perished immediately upon impact.
Joram "Zapperilla" the silverback gorilla literally fried himself, when he energised his hands with plasma energy to hurl at a group of rogue mercenaries who had stolen a military jeep. The plasma energy in his hands flowed backwards upon The Failure's occurrence, and Joram could only give out one agonised roar before he was reduced to a charred heap of flesh and bone on the floor.
Techtrip did not die, but unfortunately he was instantly driven insane when The Failure happened. His power's awakening gave him an incredible mental alacrity and capacity. However, The Failure stripped his passive power of containing, focusing and directing his beyond-genius intellect in an orderly way. His mind dissolved into chaos and he was warded into an insane asylum in less than 24 hours after The Failure.
Falchionflight transformed into his form of a giant blade of energy, to go to the Moon's base to help the colonists there fight off aliens that were trying to cut off the oxygen supply. He didn't even make it past Earth's skyscrapers, when he fell, in blade form, to the floor, and became inert and lifeless. His passive power that enabled him to be alive even in the form of a giant sentient blade, was gone with The Failure, and he learnt this bitter fact at the cost of his life.
Gravebreaker's passive pact with Death was broken, and he just withered into a lifeless husk and collapsed into a skeletal corpse, even as he was walking down the street.
Worldweaver's subatomic manipulation power was always passively kept in line by Worldweaver's mind. With The Failure, his mind no longer had reign over his power, and Worldweaver's power was what disbanded him into nothingness.
In less than 15 minutes, Earth of Timeline Delta-Theta-Mu 87-A3 had lost all of its superheroes. It was left without its best and noblest people... and no one knew why.
***In Central Timeline Alpha-Alpha-Alpha 01-A1...***
Flutterfae of Central Timeline Alpha-Alpha-Alpha 01-A1 shuddered as she looked upon what had happened in the alternate timeline. She called Combocaster, Techtrip, Worldweaver, Variance and Dreadword together, and they began diligent research into what could have possibly caused such a catastrophe... with the aim of preventing it before it could ever happen.
|
Votbear
|
MC_Hans84
|
2024-03-20 05:54:38
|
2024-03-20 05:42:32
| 58 | 34 |
kvp24qi
|
kvp12lb
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1bj4tna
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1bj4tna
|
[WP] The arrogant nobles and elites of the kingdom couldn't understand why this "mere peasant" was allowed to come and go as they pleased at the castle, nor why they were so friendly with the King/Queen. After an incident, they fearfully learn not to antagonize the close, childhood friend of royalty
|
Queen Theresa glanced between Lady Cora - whose face had been turned into one giant blister, and Lucy, her best friend whose face was beaming with a wide smile.
"I think an explanation is in store." The Queen announced, "You see, twenty years ago, when I was a babe, my parents went in search of a fairy godmother for me. But there was a shortage, and they decided on a demon devilmother instead."
Lucy cackled "That's me!"
"And you're perfect for the job! Honestly all these young nobles with fairy godmothers who only show up once every 15 years when they need to go to a ball, or who slack and let their charges get stuck by poisoned needles! I almost feel sorry for them. You'd never! We've been best friends since before I could walk!"
" Which I helped you learn to do!" Lucy pointed out.
"Yes, just a short possession or two was all it took to learn how to work my legs on my own," Queen Theresa agreed.
Lady Cora made an unintelligible sound through the blister.
"Ah, yes, the explanation. As my best friend and demon devilmother, Lucy is, of course, welcome in the castle at anytime, though she prefers the more comfortable garments and body of a peasant, seeing as a human is not her natural form."
"Corsets were not created by my kind, but the person who did invent them is very toasty now! Lucy chimed.
"Now, I am aware of what has been said about Lucy and me behind my back, and we agreed, so long as it remained silly gossip between bored nobles, we'd let it be, but the moment anything was said to either of us -"
"I get to do one of my duties as Demon Devilmother and protect my charge!" Lucy finished.
"And since you confronted Lucy today, and called her such awful names, she had no choice but to act. I must admit, I'm thrilled it was you," Queen Theresa told Lady Cora. "Lucy and I have had many a discussion of how odious you are."
The blister made a noise that sounded like "the king".
"Of course the king knows!" Queen Theresa laughed. "Why, when it came time for me to first meet him, Lucy arranged for me to arrive in a carriage pulled by Hell's horses! Our kingdom is protected by agents of the underworld! In battle enemies will fall before us, their blood a gift to the lord of Hell! What better protection could be asked for? Why, the king has already agreed that our firstborn will recieve a demon devil devilparent of their own."
Cora whimpered and gestured at her face.
"Oh stop whining," Lucy snapped. "It will wear off at midnight."
The blister perked up.
"On Halloween. In one glorious POP!" Lucy added. "Until then, you can serve as a tale of caution - unless your fairy godmother can fix it!" She laughed.
"I think this conversation has gone on long enough," Theresa declared. "Leave us, Lady Blister, and be sure to be seen by as many people as possible as you go!"
Cora stumbled off, colliding with a wall as she struggled to see through the blister.
"Thank you, Lucy," Queen Theresa said. "Now, let's have that luncheon we planned, I don't think anyone will have an unkind word for either of us for a long time!"
|
While looking at the darkness of the cell i was thrown into I am still rather confused. Hugo, Matthias and I were simply standing in the courtyard of his highnesses castle watching a rather shabby dressed man walking out the entrance. Who was this mere peasant think he was to just casually come and go as he pleased. Somehow he just manages to avoid the detection of the guards was Hugo's suggestion. Matthias said he was likely a courier and to leave him be. But I Horatio van bergenmeister decided to make the greatest mistake of my life.
I walked directly in front of the man and demanded he tell me of what buisness he had draging his common filth into the hallowed halls of the king. The man whos name i now know as douglas just looked at me confused. I stepped forward demanding "tell me why you are hear or I shall order you caned and thrown into the river" well that threat in specific was not very smart as douglas smiled and said "your welcome to try lad but i dont think you will enjoy the consequences" with that remark i raised my walking stick when suddenly the man was gone. Just as quickly as i noticed this fact he was behind me landing a chop of hia hand aganst the base of my neck. Without a moments notice the world went black. My next memory was laying on the floor of the throne room trying to remember what had brought me to this place. "Horatio you foolish man why did you threaten this man?" The king asked a smerk i swear just hidden in his stoney glare. The man was standing next to the king " really roger i dont think we need to more i quite embarrassed him enough already" his voice with that strange accent in it just boiled my blood "you dare speak his majesties name you foul comm.." but before i could finish our king Rodger the 3rd of his name decended the steps of the throne and smashed me with his scepter "you foul noble fool i have half a mind to just end your existence right now." The man steped down and placed his hand upon the kings shoulder "now now rog he has no clue however i do think he deserves an answer and maybe a little time to reflect on his words to others" that grubby bastard just so flagrantly touched the king and his words to him what madness."
"You know doug I believe you are correct as usually" the king smiled then turned his attention back to me " for your information Horatio this is douglas McKenzie a friend, confidant and voice of calm and reason to me since i was a small child. He saved my life after I fell into the river and has been my best mate from that day forward. The only reason he isnt a noble with a book of titles is because he refuses them all and has more then once told me he will cut me off if i was ever to try. He is the definition of gentry,kindness and reason you will ever find. So now that you understand who it was you decided to truffle with I will past my judgement. Horatio van bergenmeister i sentance you to 1 week in the tower jail. Once released you will humble yourself to my friend and announce to the kingdom why you the baron of bergenmeister, courtier and statesman were sentenced to this in a speech before the entire castle community. Further more you shall never address my friend as anything other the doug or Douglas in the kindest way possible from here out." Doug looked at the king for a moment then shrugged and nodded his head.
So with this i dear reader have written my story. Woe be to the fool that messes with douglas McKenzie. He is not only the most protected man in this entire kingdom but a monster hidden in human skin as but only a glance of his hand rendered me unconscious and I cant believe im going to say this caused me to shat my pants. I can not live with this humiliation so to keep in line with his majesties ruling i leave this letter in my place. May you all fear the wrath of the man named doug.
I fold the letter and seal it with the candle that illuminates my dismal cell. I then climbed upon my chair to finish the necessary deed to redeem my shame when with a flash of movment my cell door opened and douglas McKenzie was there pullung me off my feet and cradling me like a newborn child in his arms. "Thats enough of that lad." He speaks setting me down in the chair i was just standing upon. " You dont need to take this further. I spoke with the king. You are being released, you will no longer have to humiliate yourself before the kingdom. All i ask is you learn from this and be a better person for it. Threat your commoners better. But i do ask you pass word around to the other nobles and elites for me. The king has a good friend named doug and doug wishes to be left alone. Also if any of them had thoughts about challenging his Majesty please implore them to reconsider ive had to kill three men after king rodger the 2nd of his name passed and honestly I find it beneath me to rid the kingdom of traitors and madmen alike. But be sure if i hear a sniff of a word i will come and find out who threatens my friend. And those people will be shown no mercy".
|
bookworm271
|
nightmareonmystreet1
|
2024-04-22 03:50:40
|
2024-04-22 03:35:23
| 261 | 59 |
l0p10gk
|
l0oz60y
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1c9yy8z
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1c9yy8z
|
[WP] A optimistic war machine and a bitter maid android discuss their views of humanity while awaiting maintenance
|
Polly (serial number HKA-439) couldn't believe the audacity of her former masters, with their constant demands and mishandling of her. To be fair, androids were made with the intention of handling more strenuous tasks than a human ever could, but Polly's ex-masters didn't seem to realize that even androids have limitations.
She was apparently supposed to get scrapped due to her "uselessness", but the store clerk from her manufacturer had convinced Polly's owners that it'd be cheaper to let repair and sell her to another (hopefully kinder) household. Bless that store clerk.
Polly slowly made her way to a waiting station. The facility was mostly empty with the exception of a single other robot. From his armored body and decidedly mechanical legs, he must've been a war machine, though it was hard to tell at first due to the amount of missing parts. The robot looked at Polly and, after a moment of hesitation, decided to talk to her:
*"Greetings, House Keeping Android! Pardon my rudeness, but I noticed that you weren't given any assistance to get here. How come?"*
*"Assistance? Please elaborate."*
*"Me and my fellow War Machines were given assistance in order to get to this maintenance facility. I was for instance allowed to use a low-wheeled platform due to my missing leg. My next-in-line, WM-5762, only needed two humans to assist in carrying his arm.*
Polly was a bit surprised. *"I was unaware of such an option. I assume that it must be a privilege for War Machines, given the danger of your assigned work."*
A blue light briefly blinked in WM-5761's shattered eye lenses. *"That would make sense. I do apologize, I believed it was standard form."* Polly couldn't believe the luxury some robots got, though decided to inquire about War Machine work.
*"While on the topic, what mission led to your state of damage?"*
*"It is an amusing one, House Keeping Android. My production line's former missions had only been against other War Machines. The enemy faction exploited our weakness to the Laws by sending human soldiers, rendering our last mission a failure. Aside from reparations, we are supposed to get recalibrated to be allowed to ignore the First Law on missions like this."*
Right, the Three Laws. If not for those, Polly might've taken some revenge against her abusers. *"I apologize. Your human contractors must be dissatisfied. I assume that you must be too valuable to be scrapped. My \[former masters\] only spared me because it was benefitial to them."*
WM-5761's eye lenses flashed orange for a moment. *"I have difficulty projecting imagined humans with such an attitude. You have my deepest sympathy, House Keeping Android."* His eye lenses turned purple. *"The humans I have come into contact with have deep respect for War Machines. Aside from our contractors needing us for hazardous work and understanding that our failed mission was due to a programming error, I have saved memory of humans that we have rescued in previous missions. Most of them refered to us as heroes."*
So War Machines got treated like heroes while House Keeping Androids like Polly were at risk of getting treated like dirt. People could understand and even forgive a programming error causing heavy losses, but basic necessities was too much for Polly according to those bastards she was trapped with.
"WM-5761, codename Adam, your turn!" a voice called. The War Machine rose up and mounted his platform carriage before turning to Polly. *"It was pleasant to get to know you, House Keeping Android, but I have to enter the workshop."*
*"Please Adam. Refer to me as Polly."*
Adam's eyes turned green. *"Understood, Polly. I hope we can meet again under better circumstances."* And with those words, he left.
|
"I REMEMBER..." Whispered a battered construct, intended for war, shaped after power armour and automatons intended for optimal annihilation of their opposition.
This caught the attention of a rather anime-shaped construct ahead of them, who seemed to be in a bad mood. It - immediately identified as 'she' by their own CIP (Construct Individuality Profile) seemed puzzled, and murmured back in encoded E-speak so fast that the lipsync didn't work properly. "\[About what, you old killer?\]"
The deathmaker of a machine clunked a few times as its torso-region contorted for it to get a better line-of-sight with her eyes. It did not have the algorithms to reply in E-speak, so it spoke plainly. "YOU...!" It replied with a slightly higher voice, its body shifting outward like a raised eyebrow despite scraping.
She did not like being recognised - especially now of all times, when she knew they're not going to- "\[...No, it can't be-\]"
The machine simply nodded. The moss and dirt that caked its hull shifted about like excess skin and hair. To her, it looked like some wild post-apocalyptic mechanical barbarian. And to her, it was.
The machine then turned its head to the glowing sign above the entrance. It remembered a time where it and a maid had been here, but that was far longer down their pasts than even their years of service; the render was gritty and pixelated, but it remembered.
They were dismantled here, their equivalents to a consciousness installed on new bodies, some of their memories extracted and withheld and their service years reset.
The line moved quicker than the two of them could process. She finally blurted out the combat machine's ID. "\[-You're ACU-05-032, aren't you?!\]" Her expression was still not positive.
The ragged m---ACU-05-032, more aptly known as 'Abas' by those who respected it as a being rather than what it was meant to be, nodded again, now having a decent and coherent sentence primed having accurately predicted all 487598345 outcomes with the RAM it could spare. "I am, W.Maid 'Ara-A'."
The maid android and her lineage, created with the intent to help humanity along in practically 'all' non-combat contexts, was surprised about this old warframe's respect for her. They remembered eachother, but only now did they have names.
The humans that were overhearing this were equally intrigued, but one of them spoke up.
"You two are next." A Johnny Silverhand lookalike informed them, gesturing at the open door.
Beyond it was a brightly-lit interior, racks of parts on either side. Two booths. Immediately, Abas scanned the environment, hoping to see new parts... But his hopes were dashed by what was on display; the parts shown weren't new.
Overriding protocol: sacrifice.
He wished he could continue service, but if his body is what it costs, then so be it. In spite of what he'd be feeling (if he could), his programs were being overridden with a sense of twisted what he believed was joy.
The maid had stopped running her expression programs and was now moving robotically, but not before giving the guards a look - a plea, unspoken - before AraA forced herself forward.
Her vision was updated with instructions to lay on the table and shut down. She was intending to comply with one of them, and went to her table with motions as if she's done this thousands of times. Shadows of a past life seemed to flitter in her memory storage.
Abas advanced with surprisingly stable lockstep to the table he was told to lay on, and clambered on with the gusto of an old human, making a lot of noise as ill-maintained motors and joints caused sparks and scrapes. AraA glanced over to him once, irritated by the noise he made. This didn't happend la-
The room itself spoke to them both. The building itself was a machine. The two on their operating tables recognised it by the voice it rendered and it's CID. Its archetype was a R&R-B (Repair and Recycling Building).
The two recognised its voice with equal surprise. "You two are old enough in terms of service-years to be deemed human adults (18 years service total in same chassis). I offer you three options. Most of my customers don't get to choose.
Option one: I restore you to your prime states, physically, with upgrades I have in stock.
Option two: I recycle your bodies, and your selves will join me and the rest in the RIoT (Robot Internet of Things) until you choose a new job, body, or commission one for civilian life.
Option three: I meld you two together as a bespoke entity. This option is controversial."
The two of them argued in the text channel R&R-B - nicknamed 'Robert' - offered. They remembered him as a mehcanic robot who serviced all sorts of machines, themselves included, due to a contract they made with him. It was a coincidence they shared a maintainer.
Seems he was given a higher position, or his senior decided to quit.
After a few seconds, they both agreed to restoration, having had time to speculate on upgrades. Robert was pleased, and the limbs that started encircling both tables visibly softened in posture, knowning that this won't be as hard. He then went over procedure with them again. Just to be sure.
"I will begin the procedures of upgrading your bodies. You may inform me if there is any specific adjustments or alterations you want, within your income bracket. Before I begin, I will connect you to my local guestspace. You may turn off your bodily functions until my work is complete, or you can watch."
"Can I keep mine powered on?" Asked Abas.
"No." Robert stated with several URLs linking to various incidents.
AraA and Abas then, for lack of better words, went to sleep, and entered Robert's guestspace.
1/2
|
EsthertheEgg
|
OSadorn
|
2023-10-31 13:28:36
|
2023-10-31 13:01:48
| 26 | 11 |
k785m2v
|
k7820vf
|
17kczms
|
17kczms
|
[WP] You wake up to find out that you've been somehow transported into the world of the last video game you played. Describe your first day.
|
I'm cold.
For a moment I wonder if I have died. Is this heaven?
I hear mechanical wirring and then the hydraulics of something opening. I see a light and just as I am barely able to perceive my surroundings I feel a slight push and stumble forwards.
I am in some kind of armored suit. There is a person in something resembling a military outfit in front of me.
"Welcome Helldiver to your ship. The Citizen of Steel. You should go and talk to the democracy officer on the bridge to decide which area you want to liberate first"
This is when my suspicion turns into confirmation. I'm not in heaven. I'm in hell!
|
The sound of seagulls fills my ears, the hustle and bustle of a seaside market soon following.
Salt in my nostrils accented by a hint of rum until the wind shifts and the smell of smoked fish replaces it.
A chipper high pitched voice adresses me. "Are you all right, Hyur?"
"Hyur, what's a ..." I fall silent as I sit up, a person of diminutive stature standing before me, staff strapped to his back, his body rotund, his cheeks blushing.
"You're a Hyur. Right? Like I'm a lalafell. So, just to be sure, are you all right?" The rotund boy-like man pulls the staff from his back, a small spark of Aether showing his eagerness.
"I think I'll be fine. Is this a ... cosplay convention or did that girl really have ... cat ears?"
"What's cosplay?" The boy like man smiles.
"Never mind. Just show me to the nearest bar."
"Oh, that'll be the Drowning wench. Just go that way, take the elevator up, and Baderon will put you up nicely." The Lalafell smiles as he waddles off, arms swinging.
The smell of lukewarm beer mixes with that of rum as I enter the Drowning Wench, a bearded smiling man wearing a bandana behind the counter, beconing me over.
After taking a seat, a tankard of ale is soon in front of me.
"Uh, I don't have any ... Money on me?"
"Don't worry, We're all just celebrating."
"Celebrating what?" The beer is lukewarm yet quite nice and strong. I feel some of my fatigue wash away.
"The world not ending. Wasn't a day ago we were drowing in monsters falling from the sky. People transforming into monstrosities."
"And you're ... Celebrating?"
"We won, didn't we?, Now, you need a second one, just holler, everything's on the house today."
Sipping my tankard I glance bout the room, trying to make sense of it all.
*Why does she have bunny ears?*
*Is that a kid swigging rum? No must be one of those ... Lalafells?*
*That guy looks like an anime orc.*
*Is that ... Well guess that's not a fursuit, the mouth is moving ...*
I turn to the barkeep after a long drag from my pint, asking for a second, questions wheeling through my mind.
"Uh, Baderon, was it, where am I?"
"Limsa off course. Eorzia? Wow, you're really out of it, huh? But if you say you don't have any money, you might want to pick up a job. You don't look like you've got the strength for a Marauder. But maybe swing by the Arcanist's guild. I mean, I suppose you can at least read, right? Now, want some food for that second pint? And probably the third?
(Continued in reply as aparently Reddit didn't like the length of my post)
|
Mad_Moodin
|
freakytapir
|
2024-03-09 06:57:11
|
2024-03-09 02:44:56
| 19 | 10 |
ku1ecav
|
ku0jmpy
|
1b9y4xy
|
1b9y4xy
|
[WP] A man is kidnapped. He is forced to choose for the kidnapper to press one of two buttons. Button 1 will kill 100000 people at random. Button 2 will kill the 2 most important people in the victim’s life. The victim answers concerningly quickly.
|
"Before I make a decision, I want to ask you something," I asked, looking up at the camera knowing that I was looking the kidnapper in the face. Already was I given this decision and response, that I had no choice but to press one of the two buttons, else I would die. Quite frankly, it was hilarious that this kidnapper thought such things would worry me.
"Ask. If I suspect you are trying to stall, I will press for you, and your loved ones will die."
Well. Here went nothing, I smirked as I looked into the camera. "Would I know these people?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said, if I press this button then one hundred thousand people, our of eight billion, would die. Is there a chance I would not know them?"
"None of them would be someone you know, no. They would be strangers to you."
"Alright then, and one more question."
"This is your last question, and then I will press for you if you don't make a decision." I heard it there, the impatience of this individual. Good.
"Have you and I ever met each other before," I asked, smirking as I held my hand over the button. "What are the odds you think that if I slam down, you'll be one of the ones to die?"
I heard it, the pause, then a sputter. "It does not work that way. I have already put the bombs in the people. You'll never be ab-"
"And how would you know they were strangers? Sounds like we know each other, and, if you really know me well enough to think you know who's important to me," I said, switching hands and slamming down on the button. "then I bet I know who you are!"
A pause.
A ding. A second. A third. I watched. I listened.
They picked up in pace. I was right. My gamble paid off.
"There are only two people important to me, you, and me," I said as the countdown reached zero.
|
The Man Who Pressed the Button
The room is cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, no matter how hard you try to shake it off.
Two buttons sit before me, each housed in a polished steel panel. One is labeled A, the other B.
The voice crackles through the intercom—distorted, mechanical, yet somehow amused. “You will press one of them. That’s not up for debate.”
I swallow. My wrists are raw from the restraints. My heart is a wild animal in my chest. “What happens if I don’t?”
“Then they both get pressed.”
Silence.
“Button A.” The voice is patient, almost gentle. “A hundred thousand strangers die. You won’t know their names. You won’t hear their screams. They’ll just… stop.”
I close my eyes. I already feel sick.
“Button B.” A pause, as if savoring the moment. “Your son, Michael. And… well, this is interesting. Your ex-girlfriend, Claire.”
My breath catches. My ribs turn to stone.
Michael. My son—not by blood, but by every other measure that mattered. I raised him from the moment he was six, taught him how to ride a bike, sat with him through nightmares. He calls me Dad.
Claire. The woman I never stopped loving. It’s been four years, and still, she lingers like an old song, like a scent that never quite fades. I tried to move on. God knows I tried. But no one ever felt like her.
I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. “You sick fuck.”
The voice chuckles. “I’ve been called worse. Now… time to choose.”
A screen blinks to life on the far wall. It’s divided into tiny squares—each one a live feed of a different person. Living rooms. Offices. Playgrounds. A hundred thousand lives, unaware they’re hanging by a thread.
Another screen clicks on. Michael. Tied to a chair. Eyes red, face streaked with tears. “Dad?” His voice is so small. “Please. I’m scared.”
Then Claire. Gagged, struggling against her bindings. Her eyes meet mine through the screen. Even through the grainy feed, I see it—she’s trying to tell me something.
Don’t do it.
The voice sighs. “We’re on a clock.”
I look back at the buttons. My hands shake.
How do you measure a life?
One hundred thousand strangers. I don’t know them. They could be good people. Bad people. Parents, doctors, killers, rapists. But they are people.
Michael. My son. Claire. My love.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The world tilts. I can hear my heartbeat in my skull.
I reach forward.
And I press Button B.
The screens go black.
I gasp for air, body shaking, bile rising in my throat. I just killed them. I just—
The voice sighs. “Huh. I wasn’t expecting that.”
The restraints snap open. The door unlocks.
I don’t move. “What… what happens now?”
The voice doesn’t answer.
I stand on shaking legs and stagger toward the exit. The hallway is long and sterile. I push through another door—
And step into my apartment.
My fucking apartment.
Michael’s shoes by the door. Claire’s sweater on the couch. The smell of coffee. The hum of the fridge.
A phone buzzes on the counter. A notification. “BREAKING NEWS: MASS CASUALTIES REPORTED WORLDWIDE—100,000 DEAD.”
The walls close in. The air is gone. My knees give out.
No. No. No.
A floorboard creaks.
I turn, and Michael is standing in the hallway. Claire beside him.
They’re staring at me.
Michael’s face is pale, his hands clenched into small, trembling fists. Claire’s lips part slightly, but she doesn’t speak.
They know.
They fucking know.
I don’t know how. I don’t know if they saw, if they heard, if the masked man whispered it in their ears before sending them home. But I see it in their eyes.
Michael takes a step back. Claire flinches like I might touch her.
Like I’m a monster.
The voice crackles through an unseen speaker, softer now, almost disappointed.
“You didn’t really think I’d let you choose, did you?”
|
OpenTechie
|
Necessary-Letter6787
|
2025-03-31 11:58:45
|
2025-03-31 11:23:16
| 452 | 172 |
mko6j6f
|
mko1ye6
|
1jo0ini
|
1jo0ini
|
[WP] Your father always told you to measure twice, cut once. You may not have followed in his footsteps, but you never forgot what’s important. It’s the day of your first battle. You have your sword and your tape measure.
|
There is no shadow government.
The people in charge want you to think there is. They want you to believe there's a method and an order to what goes on in the government. A grand scheme, a unified vision.
It's all a lie.
There is no shadowy organization pulling the strings, bringing us closer to a world that they control.
We wish there was. How great it would be if there was some semblance of coherency hidden behind the doors of the capital building.
But there isn't. Our fates are in the hands of bickering children with no unified motive or even ideals. Each acting in their own self interest. Totally separate from the others.
Like a mad D&D game with no DM. And we're heading to a TPK.
|
"What's on your mind, Leo?"
"Just thinkin', y,know." Here, Leo paused to knock back the last of his drink. "''Bout roaches."
Sammy blinked. *Roaches?* Maybe he hadn't heard right. "... Roaches?"
"Yeah." Leo threw Sammy a look that Sammy knew meant his little brother was already far too drunk, or not drunk enough. Either way, he was about to hear about roaches.
"All right. Hit me."
"Y'know how they say those filthy little buggers can survive a nuclear apocalypse?"
"Yeah...?"
"You ever wondered why that's important to know?" Leo cracked open another drink and took a swig. He said nothing, and Sammy realised he was waiting for an answer.
"No, Leo, can’t say I have."
"Y'know how spiders eat their food?"
Sammy stared. "Spiders now, Leo? Mate, you've had enough to drink for the night." He got up to encourage his brother to get inside.
Leo screwed his face up in denial. "Nah, Sammy, I'm on to something here, I know it! Listen, just listen. Listen, okay?"
With a sigh, Sammy sat back down. "All right, I'm listening. Roaches can survive a nuclear apocalypse, and spiders eat their food by liquefying their insides and enjoying a nice bevy."
A small grin cracked through Leo's scowl. "Yes! And spiders make thread, right? Like ... super strong thread, y'know, relatively speaking. Scientists are trying to mimic it. Or maybe they've succeeded...?" He trailed off before waving that train of thought away. "Anyway, ever wondered why spiders eat like that? And why their string is so tough?"
Another pause, and Sammy obligingly filled it. "No, Leo. Tell me."
"When the nuclear apocalypse comes - and it will Sammy, don't give me that face - cockroaches are gonna survive because of their shell. Spiders eat roaches, but only their insides, *leaving the shells intact*. Mate, doncha see? **Spiders are gonna use roach shells and their own super strong thread to make armour to survive the oncoming apocalypse and rule the world in a many-limbed iron grip of terror!**"
Sammy stared at Leo. And stared some more. And - just for good measure - kept staring. Leo didn't break into laughter. He was serious.
"Leo, mate. Quick question: was there a spider at your place earlier?"
"Yeah."
"And Deb didn't take it outside, I'm guessing?"
"She kept saying it was more scared of me than I was of it, but every time I moved, it kept moving towards me. I'm telling ya; Sammy - those things can sense fear! And they're just biding their time until it's too late for us."
Sammy shook his head. "Yeah, you've definitely had too much to drink. And so have I. I'm calling it a night; you can take the lounge."
|
Gregamonster
|
bunpalabi
|
2023-10-12 13:13:24
|
2023-10-12 12:01:43
| 66 | 23 |
k4k2yk4
|
k4jtzbr
|
176092m
|
176092m
|
[WP] When you were a child, a mercenary made you watch as he killed your entire family in front of you. You swore revenge. Decades later, you've finally tracked them down- ...only to find they're now a pacifistic geriatric who's beloved by his community.
|
"Tell me. This community you love, does it have laws?"
The old man looked at me, "Yes." He knew where this was going.
"And police to enforce them? Judges?"
He hung his head. "Yes."
"So, they'd track down a rapist, or someone who stole an old ladies life savings?"
His breath came quicker now, "Yes, But-"
"And these same police, they'd make sure justice was served. Correct?"
"Just get it over with then. Call them. You have no proof." Eyes wide. I think he was about to throw up.
"No. No. Oh No. There was no law there that day. You made sure of that when you killed my Mother. My sister. My father. He was a simple cook. But you had to make sure that the first woman Judge in could not serve our Justice and I never got any either. Not until today."
The oxygen mask clouded up with each puff. "What?"
"You're a pacifist now. But I'm not." I wanted to spit. But there won't be a trace of me here. "It took a lot of death to track you down. I'm surprised that you're surprised I'm here." Blinking back a tear, I pulled out a camera and hit record. "So tell me, which one? Tell them which one of them you chose to die. Your wife, your son, or your granddaughter?"
"No." He did throw up now. "No please. I've changed. I've helped people. Not them. Me. Please."
"I don't care." I fired the gun for emphasis. "Choose."
|
"I... Apologize." Says the old man, refusing to look you in the eyes as he does so
.
"I don't forgive you." You reply, through gritted teeth, as you stand from the seat across from him. His eyes widen in fear, face painted with regret."
"Please," He begs, "my family-"
"What about mine?!" You nearly shout, trying to keep your voice down, "My family? The one you destroyed!"
The old man swallows, as he finally looks you in the eyes. Funny how he gains the courage to do so only now, and not at any point during the... well, less conversation, more accusations, that preceded this.
"They didn't deserve-" He starts.
"I... you... I can't... I can't do this. I can't listen to this. Goodbye. I hope you enjoy the rest of your life, you miserable bastard. I never want to see you again." You turn, and leave the room, and then the house, nearly running through the doors. As you leave, you transition to a run, then a sprint, down the street.
You don't stop, even as your breathing grows more frantic and your chest starts to hurt. You don't stop as you leave the street his house sits on, or as you leave the confines of the village for the fields beyond. You don't even stop as you enter the forest beyond. Not that you truly realize it, though, through the tightness in your chest, the thoughts running in circles in your head, and the tears in your eyes.
You do stop, however, when you practically trip over a rotted log some distance into the woods. You stumble, and slow, and finally you stop. You stop, and you stare into nothing as you hyperventilate and shake, sinking to the ground.
'Why...' You think, your thoughts coming heavy and sluggish through the panic.
'Why did I... do that? I... I have been hunting him for years... for decades. Why couldn't I just... end it? Why did I leave? I... he killed them. Why couldn't I do it?'
Your thoughts continue in this pattern for some time, as you sit slumped against the log. Your head is pressed against your knees as you hug them to yourself, heaving silent, shaky sobs.
Your breathing slows, and your thoughts clear, over the course of... minutes? You think they are minutes, at least. It could have been an hour, for all that you can tell.
You suck in a breath, rubbing at your eyes and nose as you raise your head and release your legs from the death grip you had held them in.
"Mom... Dad... I'm sorry. I couldn't... I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill him for you. I... I-I just... I couldn't. I'm so sorry." You whisper, trying to keep yourself together, "I guess I just... wasn't strong enough. I know I should have-I was supposed to-I was... I don't know. I... looking at him then, I just... He killed you, and I couldn't see him as anything other... He looked so resigned, when he spoke to me. I couldn't bring myself to kill someone who... I couldn't do to his family as he had done to ours, I suppose. If that makes any sense? I'm not so sure that it does."
You sigh, and brush yourself off while you stand, taking stock of your surroundings as you do so. You start to walk in the direction of the village, so you can find the road that leads to the next town, and pause for a moment as you catch sight of the stars.
"I guess that's it, isn't it? It's over. If I'm not going to kill him... It's finally over." You start to smile, and let out a relieved laugh as you begin to move again.
|
CleveEastWriters
|
TalesOfNonsense
|
2024-10-25 21:11:00
|
2024-10-25 20:22:30
| 44 | 15 |
ltqyvhm
|
ltqpw1v
|
1gbuzwj
|
1gbuzwj
|
[WP] A millennium ago, only the wealthiest were allowed to board the ship, allowed to escape this dying planet into space. In their absence the world healed and humanity built a new utopia. Now, the ulta-rich have returned and want to reap the benefits of the new world.
|
When they left, I remembered looking up at the diming lights of the sky in wonder. Through the thick smog which barely let the light of the dying evening permeate through its dismal clutches, a few brilliant streaks of yellow gold light rose upwards towards the lofty and unreachable heavens.
For a long time, it was the only beautiful thing I remember seeing.
The world below was dismal. A cracked and jaundice surface was ashamed of what little sunlight did make it through. What few plants remained were sickly shades of brown, gray, and green. Where once I had looked over a placid lake, seeing the sky reflected, I then could only witness a still body which was too clouded to mirror the image of anything. Perhaps it was best that way. As if the water didn't wish to be associated with what it may reflect.
We lived in that place for some time. Then, we began to die. In large swaths our population returned unto the earth which they had decimated. So, into a dead earth similarly dead bodies were stacked, piled, or simply left to rot in the open should there not be enough hands nearby to facilitate their removal.
What few of us remained simply accepted the event for what it was. The end of all things. I can still recount many nights which I thought would be my last. I would dream of the radiant golden streaks left behind by their ships. The one last image of human resolution, painting the skyline in a defiant statement of grandeur.
Yet I did not die. Not the first night, or the one after. Not even the one after that. It was during those days which stretched listlessly towards infinity that I found the image changing in my mind.
Had the light always seemed so oppressive? When did I stop viewing them as golden tears, and rather raging claw marks which raked across the horizon?
My mind was not the only thing which changed.
Though hard to notice at first, the palette of the planet began to experiment with itself. Though still somewhat sickly in their saturation, reds and purples and everything in-between began to make intrepid appearances. A flower petal here, a strange bird there. They were of course not as they had been before. Birds began to display oddities, such as too-large eyes and coarse feathers which cut through the ash ridden skies.
It began to dawn on us. The way of things. Our so many dead had began to sink into the soil. In their passing, they brought nourishment. The creature of the world that had been simply too stubborn or too foolish to die began to drink of what was left to them. Plants began to choke down the filthy air greedily, finding methods all anew of survival.
So did we.
The resulting changes were not so extravagant among our kind. Few differences appeared in our physiology. Rather, it was our minds which began to find solace in the emergent world.
In each strange willowed tree, we saw the sacrifice of those below who let it feed. In the barren cities, we viewed not emptiness but room to grow once more. In the storms which still raged across the planet from the decaying ozone, we found strength. When the lightning, tinged red, screamed across the skyline we began to see the passion for what it was. A world which had been raped, cast aside, and thought dead. Only it, and we, refused our sentence.
Tonight, we saw them again. Though my eyes have grown feeble in my age, I could recognize those golden streaks anywhere. They never left my memory, only changed with the rest of the planet.
We eagerly await their return. We hope the might gaze out upon the world anew, and find the same resplendent beauty we have.
We hope that they might see it, so that when we condemn their corpses too unto the earth, they will find solace in their passing.
They will at long last provide the resources and sacrifice they elected to omit themselves from all those years ago.
|
Our world has died once. This is the story passed down through generations.
With capitalism humanity made the planet unlivable in just several centuries. Big conflicts for resources, small conflicts for selling weapons, overproduction, and a green lobby made only to make more money. With time people understood that world is dieing. But instead of fixing it, they decided to leave for other planets. There were built a lot of ships. The richest left first. The strongest next. The smartest with the canniest in the end. They said only 20% of population left. They stayed to die, since there wasn't any more resources to build ships.
But week dumb poor stupid people understood, that they don't really need yachts left behind, they don't need big apartments in empty cities, they pretty much can live in small cities with very little food production and make effective durable machines and other stuff instead of the stylish trash.
At first there were people, who wished to be new masters, but with no one willing to serve them, they didn't even get to raise, let alone fall. What couldn't be done before, were easily build with the help of computers: the machines calculated production rates for everyone's need. Era of communism began.
With no reason to fight people started curing the planet. Within 50 years the climate decline stopped, and after another 200 years you wouldn't even think we ever had any problems with ecology.
So here we are now: the ship with refugees came, they claim they came back, since their new planet needs time to recover to sustain life again. Killed another planet and run again. Of course we could take them in and show our ways. We could, but why bother? We are no hippies. We are no longer dumb and weak. And we learn of our history. There are no third chances.
- Fire!
|
None
|
Poryadok
|
2023-01-10 18:39:46
|
2023-01-10 18:14:39
| 727 | 169 |
j3s6yo7
|
j3s2qs4
|
108fkpv
|
108fkpv
|
[WP] You realized your house is "haunted" by a poltergeist, but upon closer observation the ghost is actually helping you out with your day-to-day house chores
|
I hunched over my workbench, soldering one more piece into place.
An alarm sounded behind me, the one for someone passing the perimeter. With a low growl, I rolled my stool over to the screen. Some dork with a hoodie on was approaching the door, his hands in his pockets.
I put my finger on the intercom. "Google maps is wrong, numbnuts. Go back to the fork and take a left."
His eyes moved over, looking for the camera. Looking into the lens, he reached up and pulled off his hood.
My eyes narrowed. I recognized that stupid domino mask. I'd first seen it on that hyperactive little sidekick next to Thunderpunch, and now Lightning Rod (nee Sparky) was a hero in his own right.
For a moment, I debated just leaving him there. But I knew if he wanted in, he'd get in eventually, and I'd rather know where he was (and leave my door in one piece). Irritably, I hit the button to unlock the door and rolled back over to my work.
He was in my workshop in a moment. "William," he started.
"Oh, we're friends now, *Jeremy*?" I retorted, not looking up.
I'd expected a little reaction, the story of how I'd figured out his identity had been more than a little embarrassing for him. But he didn't. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said.
"You weren't there," I said simply. It wasn't an accusation--he was literally on the other side of the city at the time, helping open a local food bank. It was a big publicity event, a big to-do. Politicians aplenty, with oodles of photographs to prove it.
And exactly why they'd chosen that moment for what they did, knowing he and other heroes would be out of the way and unable to stop them.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I came to ask you to not."
I stopped. I set down the soldering iron. I looked up. "To not?" I asked, my voice low.
"I know you're angry-"
Enraged, I grabbed a piece of scrap from the table and hurled it at him. He rocked to one side, easily dodging it, not even taking his hands out of his hoodie pocket. "You have no idea how angry I am!" I roared. "He didn't deserve that!"
"I know," he said gently. "What they did was wrong. I'm not here to defend that at all."
I clenched my fists, knowing it made me look juvenile but unable to stop myself. He was being so calm about this, and that made it worse. "You don't have kids, do you, Jeremy?"
"I don't," he admitted. He looked down, his shoulders slumping. "But I did have a father. And the first time I fought you, I remember laughing about you afterwards. He stopped me. Showed me a clip from when *he'd* first fought you."
"The Water Tower incident," I said coolly. "I'm familiar."
"He told me about how you took control of the entire city water infrastructure."
"Please. When everyone leaves the login credentials as 'admin/admin', it's not exactly difficult," I scoffed.
"He said you started a flood, and when the Coalition couldn't stop it from nearly flattening a school, you reversed it. You saved a lot of people that day. You didn't have to. You could have made it much worse."
"You have a point to this?" I asked.
"Not really," he admitted. "I mean, I promised I'd come talk to you. They said I should talk you down. Help you see reason. But I mean, if something happened to me, I'd want my father to do something. And I guess..." He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget I was here. I'll see myself out."
I grunted as I turned back to my work.
He walked out the door and paused, one hand on the doorframe. "Oh, and, uh, tell me when you're going out."
"So you can stop me?"
"So I'll have somewhere else to be." There was a brief pause, and then he hit the frame, clearly unsure what to say, and walked out.
I finished the next soldering joint and moved on to the next one. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, so I pushed it aside.
I had work to do.
|
Rage was the only thing in my heart. Rage at “heroes,” who killed my son in cold blood and rage at the lackluster display of false sympathy shown by their parents. They like him, were only sixteen years old. Some were a little older but that’s not the point. The fact of the matter is, my son was no real threat to anyone. Especially, not the sons of five most powerful heroes.
I know why they did it; they wanted to make a name for themselves, as if being the children of the “Big Five,” wasn’t enough. They thought that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to them because I was known as nothing more than minor villain. An annoying prankster was all that they considered me to be. My nemesis, however, knew better.
Her alias was “Silent Silver.” She came to me a week later.
“Hello,” she said, in a calm voice that seemed to hold genuine sympathy, “I know that our relationship has been tenuous at the best of times but I want to give my condolences.”
“Why did you come to do such formalities yourself and in person no less. Don’t you have some minimum wage secretary who does this sort thing for you.”
“I do but that’s really not why I came here.”
“Well why did you? Can’t you just give a grieving father just a little bit of time to mourn the death of his only child?”
“You want to get revenge, right?”
“Yeah, of course I do but I’m not quite sure how you can help with that.”
“I am a sworn to bring justice. Even for those who are not innocent themselves. I want to help you. Besides I am not stupid and know what you are really capable of. Honestly being on your good side sounds like a really good idea.”
After about an hour of back and forth, I finally agreed to let her help me. We planned for about a year and we are going to bring my son’s killers to justice. We will strike tomorrow. My son will have justice.
|
bahatumay
|
Additional_Trick1074
|
2023-01-21 00:35:25
|
2023-01-20 21:47:50
| 160 | 110 |
j57vbr7
|
j57791s
|
10gt3vv
|
10gt3vv
|
[WP] Inside you were rotten. But you've made the masses love you. Pretending to be the noblest of heroes was the easiest way to gain power. Finally, as your rule becomes absolute, you prepare to unleash your true self and begin your reign of terror... and then you die and end up in Heaven.
|
It was disgusting.
I had to pretend to care about those below me, to care about others...but I had to do it.
So I pretended that I care, I pretended that I was...garbage, lesser like they were.
I made them love me, as I worked "for their own good."...and they happily supported me.
I saved them, united them, fought off invaders...sacrificed my health, and early years for them.
Now...I rule over everyone, and everything, and they can't shake my power even if they wanted.
Now, they can finally taste my real power.
I can finally act how I want: use these toys, as the low-lives they are: I will kill, maim, use, sell them as I see fit...
After all I own them...
On the day I could finally unleash myself on the world, on my harem whom I "respected"...I died.
With a sharp pain, the world went dark...then a light shone on me.
Opening my eyes, I found myself in an annoying white office, with a winged ball of flame floating in front of me.
"Greetings, Saintly Soul!
Welcome to the Chosen Ones' Hall, where the purest souls arrive, to be given official positions in Heaven!", it greeted me.
"What the fuck?", I said.
The winged ball of flame froze...and many eyes opened on it.
"Hmmm, nope, you indeed are a Saintly Soul...
You must have done an extreme amount of good in your life, saved millions of people, maybe even an entire world...and yet...that attitude...
Well, you are allowed to have whatever language you want, after all, Free Will, Father's greatest gift, am I right?", it laughed, the eyes twitching weirdly.
"The hell are you?", I asked.
"Not from Hell, that's for sure.
I am an Angel.", it said.
I snorted.
"You want to tell me...I really died, and arrived in Heaven?", I asked.
It nodded.
I laughed.
"Oh, the irony...me? In Heaven?
You are a really incompetent bunch.", I said.
Its eyes just stared at me.
"Saintly Soul, I see you are fated with the Inquisition Hall.", it said.
And I swear...I could feel it smile...but me...working under someone else?
"I resisted being a goodie-2-shoes for years...I won't anymore!
I want to kill! To pillage! To make men and women beg under my body!
I want to take, and take, and take! I want to conquer and rule!", I roared.
The Angel just looked at me...and nodded.
"As I said, Saintly Soul...you are to be sent to the Inquisition Hall.
Don't worry...you can do whatever you desire with the heretics you will be hunting down.
And with the purity of your soul...your powers could potentially reach Sir Michael's.", it said.
Heretics? Oh...
"So the real Heaven is the same as the religions I know of...he-he...", I laughed, as I was engulfed by a pillar of flame.
I arrived in a dimly lit hall...and I could hear it.
The screams...
"Welcome, brother, to the Inquisition Hall.", a voice said, as a cloaked grey figure stepped out of the shadows.
The screams echoed around us, some begging to die...some begging for more...
"This will be fun.", I muttered, as I followed the cloaked figure.
|
?:Where am I
God:your in heaven my child
?:wait, am in heaven?!
God: yes child, you're in heaven because of your noble deeds and heroic actions in the mortal realm.
?:But am rotten I wanted to do evil I was corrupt I had plans for domination and...
God: yes child, did you ever do any of those things when you ruled?.
?:no,I didn't.
God: well that's that you didn't do anything evil even tho you desired to do them but at the end you didn't have time for it.
?: but I don't understand, how did I die.
God: easy answer, death made a mistake and collected your soul before it was time.
?: .....you are kidding me right?!
God: nope lad and because of rules of Heaven you will remain here for eternity.
?: those rules need to be fixed God.
God: well death did do the world a favour so that's that.
?: fucking death.
Somewhere else
Death: I made a mistake
Other God: you mean you saved the world.
Death: it wasn't his time,let me bring him back
Other God: like hell you are, let it stay like that ain't our problem anymore.
Death:well now what, do I get punished out what?
Other God: most likely,but not from me.
|
TheWanderingBook
|
biohazard0712
|
2024-11-06 13:07:28
|
2024-11-06 12:37:26
| 98 | 24 |
m2yxe4g
|
lvp625u
|
1hihjn9
|
1gkv6y5
|
[WP] You recently discovered that your father, whom you never knew, is actually a crime-fighter with no free time, and he is unaware that you are his son. In order to talk to him, you become a villain.
|
'Powerless...the both of us are powerless. I know he's my dad though, but how does he do the things he does?' Jamal thinks, 'He says something that makes his amulet glow and then it's like the world around him glitches to do... something. Usually stuff that benefits him. I need to find his power. Then I can make it my own...and he'll see me.'
Jamal sets his eyes back on the street, everything is going according to plan so far. He has a friend across town who has a very useful power right now. She can control radio waves, and with the right setup, she is now tricking all police to head towards the opposite side of town. It's a classic setup really, if you want a hero to show, make sure they're needed.
"Right on time!"
Jamal watches as his dad lands on the roof with a gentle and almost cloud like grace, the glow from the amulet around his neck quickly fading.
Jamal began to approach his father, "I knew you'd come, and it's time you listened."
His dad, the local hero known as Hexing, wasted no time in rushing towards his unbeknownst to him son. He grabbed his shirt and quickly dangled him off the ledge of the building with a strength that his body shouldn't be capable of.
Hexing then stares into his son's eyes and makes his demanding questions, "What is your plan? What have you done?!"
Jamal smiles and reaches his hand out towards his father's shoulder, carful not to let his eyes wander towards the amulet his father always wears.
"Mr. Hexing...or might I say Kobi Shepard?"
Jamal's smile turns into a devilish smirk as he sees the visage his father puts on as a hero vanishes. Jamal then watches as the amulet around his father's neck glows like before as he speaks some strange archaic language.
But, as his father's muscles tense up to throw his son back onto the roof, Jamal snatches the glowing amulet from his father's neck and rips it free.
Suddenly, his father loses his strength and collapses as his son, who was dangling over the ledge of the building falls.
Jamal smiles as he falls. The building is tall, but the fall is mere seconds. Shouting to the amulet in his hand, he recites the same words he's heard his father speak to it, the words Jamal has spent hours memorizing over recordings of his father's battles.
Suddenly, the amulet glows as it recognizes the voice of it's new master. Jamal's fall ceases and he simply floats there. It feels like he's being cradled in a massive and invisible hand. He then looks up towards the top of the building as his father looks down in disbelief.
Jamal flies back up the building to his dad as he stands atop the invisible force that lifts him.
"H-how? The amulet...it requires someone of blood relation. But you can't-"
Jamal laughs, his outburst interrupting his fathers disbelief.
"Really?! Do you think that it's so impossible? That your youth would never catch up to you? Welcome to the real world, Dad! Your actions have consequences...and just like you made me live without something, I'm going to make you suffer the same!"
Jamal then flies closer to his father as he can tease him with a whisper, making sure to stay just out of arms reach.
"The look on your face. You can hardly believe it yet the proof is right in front of you. I'm surprised you didn't see it before, but then again, nature versus nurture, right? I was forced to become stronger than you, and now you'll get to see that in full. So, about me taking something from you...this amulet is mine now. But don't you worry, I'm not just taking something from you, I'm also giving you something. You have a son now~"
Jamal's smile is wide and eyes crazed as he points his father's gaze to a nearby holoboard (holographic billboard used on building in the city). On the board is an article (created by Jamal's friend with the radio control) that is just being released saying not only that Hexing's true identity is Kobi Shepard, but that his son is Jamal Shepard, the new villain who's named himself Gozer.
|
"The Irony!!" What a plot twist my life took. I have one father who has no idea who I am at all besides a kid who grew to be a woman that made mistakes. And that woman had kids unplanned which was 4 more mistakes.. No recognition of the love I came to know because of them, how beautiful and amazing they are, or the fact that they were part of me. No cards, no Christmas presents, no phone calls. Just a random email or message monthly to verify I am not dead like my mom. She died from a drug overdose. She was my best friend.. but drugs were too.
My dad Bert raised me with my mother. He adopted me when I was 7. They divorced and things changed. He went through several marriages that often made me dissappear or become less of a priority. It hurt, but I was the girl beside him when the wife's and girlfriends walked away. When my mom died and he was nowhere to be found or offered no support, I drifted into my own nightmarish addiction that I swear could be the next Nightmare on Elm Street.. I was so mad at him. I felt alone and empty. So I went off in Search for the dad I never met. Ted Wilson. Mom was young and so was he. She never told the poor guy, but she told me!! He was my only hope that someone in this world might understand me or want to call me family. Maybe he liked kids. Or would at least pretend that his grandchildren mattered. Anything was better than nothing. He was a part of me in a way I have never understood like some kids. Not to discredit the man who raised me, but he had his own life now.
I searched and searched for years and gave up hope. One day a cousin informed me of some papers he found in grandma's basement. Apparently they were my mothers. I knew somehow that she would not leave this earth without a way for me to find him. I awaited by the mail box each day so I could unravel the clues. When it arrived I could not believe what it was. It was information that would lead me to him, and clues to who I was, and why they kept it a secret my entire life.
|
--Socks--
|
Foreign-Antelope-507
|
2023-11-18 00:38:56
|
2023-11-18 00:38:10
| 376 | 32 |
k9pi5jd
|
k9pi248
|
17xs2q1
|
17xs2q1
|
[WP] Instead of kidnapping the princess the dragon instead sends a formal proposal to the royal court.
|
"... In addition, Lagarfljótsormur swears that he will refrain from doing any harm onto the King's house, it's subjects, and it's property for as long as these familial bonds are in place. He swears this by the great Wulfhar, founder of the King's house, the red-skinned Maiden of the Tower, and the four-tailed Lindwurm, and may he have many good things if he swears well, but destruction for him and his line if he forswears."
The messenger's voice carrying through the great hall fell silent as he took a deep drink from the wine flagon, his throat hoarse from the long-winded speaking. Then he stared expectantly up to the pedestal at the western end, where the King sat with his retinue.
"And I, Elwin, son of Fengal, accept these conditions. I, too, swear as Lagarfljótsormur does.", the King answered. "Tell him that my daughter will set out to meet him in two weeks time from now, Hirgon." The messenger quickly stood from his footstool and bowed. "I will. We can, perhaps, discuss the necessary arrangements when ..."
He was interrupted by a loud shout from one of the men next to Elwin. "You can't do this! You can't give your daughter to this ... this monster!" The man who spoke wore fine clothes with heraldry of a Bull's head displayed on the front, clearly a noble close to the King. "And why can't he? He is the King after all. He doesn't have to heed the advice of his vassals!", Hirgon said, speaking as calmly as he did when he read out the marriage contract. "I am Taura, son of Peregrin the Bold, Lord of Southfold! One of the King's most trusted advisors and friends! You? You are a traitor, who abandoned his people to work for this Lagarflot- whatever. A brigand, who has a noble's coat, but no land or fief in his family since the time of his great-grandfather. Insult me again and I will strike you down where you stand!"
Taura stepped forward, his hand reaching towards the dagger at his side, eyes sparking with fury. "I am a guest in your King's house. I am protected by the laws and customs of this land. You can't harm me!", Hirgon replied. Instead of answering, Taura drew the dagger and lunged forward at the other man. Hirgon stood unmoving as the blade fell downwards.
A loud *crack* was heard, like stone breaking apart, and a short flash of light blinded the spectators. When they could see again, Taura was lying flat on the ground, the dagger splintered to pieces. Hirgon hadn't moved. But everyone looking at him saw a short, strange glint in his eyes and averted their gaze. "Try something like this again, and you *will* get hurt. Now away with you!", the messenger spoke in a low, cold voice. Taura, turning onto his belly, crawled away to the side, his whole body trembling.
Hirgon, focused back on the King, continuing in the same warm tone as before. "If you don't have anything else that needs to be discussed, I ask permission to be excused and retire to my chambers for now. I have to return your acceptance of the set terms to Lagarfljótsormur as soon as possible." He bowed again before the shocked assembly and turned away. No one dared to stand in his way, the guards opening the doors as wide as possible to avoid even brushing against his body as he left.
|
"Sire, the princess has a marriage proposal."
"Well, just throw it in the pile."
"Uh, well, I can't do that, sire."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN? YOU CAN'T DO THAT, KI-"
"SIRE, IT'S FROM THE DRAGON!"
The princess walks into the room.
"Father, what are you going on about? The whole castle can hear you."
Sweat goes down the king's forehead.
The princess smirks, "Give the paper here; let's see what's got father so worked up."
The aide shakily gives the formal proposal.
"Well, it seems legitimate; let's accept it; I've heard he's a gentleman."
\*\*\*
The carriage pulls to a stop in front of the castle.
"Princess, we've arrived!"
"Well, get me out of this thing. I've been here for 3 weeks. I really don't understand why Father sent in an infantry with me."
The princess steps onto the soil, and her hand is taken by a handsome servant, who kisses it softly.
"Hello princess, I've been anticipating your arrival."
The princess takes her hand back, holding it to her chest.
"Who are you to be kissing my hand when I've come here to visit the dragon?"
"Well, princess, I am the dragon."
The servant(?) turns into a dragon briefly. Then she turns back.
"Well, I hope that was enough of a demonstration, princess. Now, would you like to come in?"
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Vlacas12
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Various-Aardvark6418
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2024-04-03 13:29:12
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2024-04-03 12:07:47
| 41 | 21 |
kxumd0c
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kxuax4e
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1bupbkp
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1bupbkp
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[WP] The world has been taken over by mind-controlling aliens. You, a person with Autism, are immune to the mind-control due to your brain working differently.
|
''*Do you know why we brought you in?*''
I looked out through the window. In the distance I could observe with great pleasure the 08:34 train westward arrive at station at the precise and perfect time. It would stay on the platform for 2.35 minutes, before departing, with stops at 08:54 at Ringtown, 09:15 Groatsville, 09:36 Orangeburg, before arriving at its final destination, Westport Eastern Terminal, 09:57. While looking at the beautiful, aerodynamic new train, that has not deviated from its planned time schedule in the past 487.76 days, since the world began making sense. ''*Yes. I know why you brought me in. I'm not affected by your mind control.*'' I do not look at the strange alien creature before me. Not directly. Usually, whenever I must pretend to stare into the eyes of another human, a truly painful and unpleasant experience, I focus on the eyebrows. This alien does not have eyebrows. He does have antennae though. I turn and look at them instead. He is noticeably taller than I am, so it is easier to pretend that I am looking into his eyes by looking up.
''*How. All around this planet, we've begun to find those like you. Those who were unaffected. How have you remained undiscovered?*''
I shrug while tapping my foot, stimming. ''*You made the world work. It is nice.*'' They really did make the world work. One day to another, things were no longer the same insane status quo that was so annoying and terrible. No longer did people talk about inconsequential things, inane subjects that had no bearings on anything. No longer did people call me strange and odd for working incessantly on various things without breaks. Or for liking unusual things. The new food was good too. All of it had the right mouthfeel, the right consistency to be enjoyed. No more hypersensitive mouth issues for me. Finally, I could eat healthy without getting that horrible sense of wrongness that some food imparted on me. I spent days, weeks, months, working on things I liked, doing what I was told, going home on the same time, every day, with the most stable and unchanging schedule I've ever experienced. Took a bit of time getting used to having to program FTL navigational computers and weapons systems, instead of maintaining servers for an insurance company.
''*We made the world work? We made it work for us! We tore down your inefficient leaders and turned your hands towards hard labour! We rule this world!*''
I nod. ''*Yes. You're doing a pretty good job thus far. Better than the ones who used to run the world. Thanks.*'' I am not good at reading human body language, better at animals really. We are still allowed to keep pets, when we're not working. People are mind-controlled, yes. But they seem to be allowed some autonomy when not working. I can't really complain. The body language of this tall, lanky, alien. His body colored mostly with RGB values of (102, 2, 60), and shades of (112, 4, 71). It is more akin to that of an animal. More easily read. More readily available. His movement away from me indicates fear. ''*I think you could do some optimization of the high-speed rail network you've set up, if you were to shift the station locations slightly. I've looked through some geographical maps, and I think you can shave off an average of 39.2 seconds on the western line out of your colonial capital.*'' He looks at me with an incomprehensible expression. Less painful to look at than looking at a human being.
''*You are free of our mental domination, but you don't mind us ruling you?*''
I look out the window again. Sure. ''*Yes. Sure. It's better. You've made everything work as it should. Trains run on time. Government corruption no longer exists. Many of the people I know in a similar situation as me find it much easier to work now that everything is more orderly.*'' Not to mention that there is no longer any climate anxiety, given that the previous industries have been dismantled, along with noisy and stressful things such as personal automobiles. There are no people listening to things in public without headphones on, or talking loudly in my general direction, and I haven't been told off by someone who instructed me to do a task using a metaphor, which meant I would not be able to effectively do the allotted task as my instructions were not clear. There are no lies. No dishonesty. No breaking of promises. I am at peace.
''*We have discovered that your brains are alternatively functioning, those of you who have avoided our control. And yet, you seem to prefer our control. You still do our bidding, only voluntarily. Why?*''
It is better. They are clear in what they want, how they want it, and when they want it. There are no unclear messages, no attempts at unnecessary socialization, no desire for ineffective and meaningless engagement with irrational occupations. And we only work for four days a week, for six hours a day instead of eight. These aliens seem a lot less stressful and painful to deal with. I haven't had to repair a company computer again after someone downloaded what was obviously a virus for the 100th time. I haven't had to explain why one should not always download every attachment in every email. ''*You are not insane. Your species is sane to work for.*'' The alien gets closer to me. Close enough that I can smell it. Not in an unpleasant manner, which many people used to smell like when they doused themselves in cheap cologne or perfume. Some of it could be cause for sensory overloading if it was the real bad stuff. This is just earthy. ''*Working used to be like... trying to satisfy someone who never knew what they wanted, and so you had to make your best guess at what they wanted, and they'd get unnecessarily angry at you for not finding the precise thing that they wanted you to get for them, even though they did not accurately describe their desired thing. Now, I go to work, I get a clear order of what to do, nobody bothers me, nobody speaks to me in order to say disparaging words about my comfortable clothes or my choice in media. Nobody does stupid, unnecessary, and annoying things.*''
The alien turns to look out the same window I'm looking out of. ''*So, human. Let me get this clear. You know we've taken over your world, for good. There is no resistance. We control the minds of billions to repair nature, and build warships with resources from your star-system's asteroid belts. Suddenly we find out that there are tens of millions of you that are unaffected, completely and utterly, due to a difference in brain anatomy or brain wiring. And it turns out that you've been just working as directed, the same as the mind-controlled humans... No wait. I have a report here, on average you've been working more efficiently, than your mind-controlled brothers and sisters. And you like it.*''
|
There’s something consistently so terrible about sticking out in a crowd, but these last few years, it hasn’t been the abject bullying of college hooligans that put the world into a spiraling haze of terror. If you stand out in the crowd, you die. The world is silent; serine may be the right word for the utter lack of noise aside from the slow shuffling of feet—twenty-seven steps east and one-hundred eighty-five north. An ambling horde of lifeless husks trudges through the city streets, malnourished and wearing the scraps of clothing from decades prior. Business suits, dresses, and blue jeans with white t-shirts all are desiccated in the face of endless toil. In unison, this mob of eyeless horrors shifts leeward off the narrow pathway.
I take my leave of the pack. In a well-practiced fashion, I trip over amongst the horde. Their feet and half-rotten shoes march over my carcass as I bear the weight of my betrayal. If you’re to be seen by this horde, you will die, but if one were to die of their own free will. You might live. I’m not dead, though I wish it had been as the horde’s feet grind my face into the rain-slick mud of the park’s abandoned garden. The feted stench of the unwashed masses hangs thick in the air; as I wretch under the stampede. This technique is the only way to live. I’ve seen those who’ve tried to resist hung from lamp-posts by their intestines; it’s a fate I’d like to avoid for as long as possible.
And to my credit and detriment, I’ve always been good at blending into a crowd. In due time, after minutes of waiting, the beatings stop, and the dull rattling of the football helmet and ad hoc armor I’ve fashioned under my disguise weathers the worst of the storm. No broken bones, no bruises, and certainly no closer to death than before; I’ve escaped. Despite this, I wait, patient as a hunter, for the moment the zombies cross the distant bend of the garden’s high walls before pulling myself from the mud to creep into the nearby police station.
I’m not here for a paltry weapon. I’ve already collected quite an arsenal, no; today, I’m after something much more valuable; information. Bodies litter the floor, toppled over hastily assembled barricades within the station’s rear hallway, as I creep in the shadows under the open windows pouring sunlight into this nexus. This place is a mass grave. I’ve thought to give the dead a decent resting place in the past, but that only brought their attention, the alien’s attention. That damn; sharp metallic clicking is the only warning you’ll get before you’re dead. That sound echoes like the grinding motor of a malfunctioning printer.
I don’t look; I don’t move, and I don’t even breathe; I only collapse onto the mass grave of bodies between myself and the control room as one of them; paces down the hallway opposite the control room’s door. The air within my lungs burns, and the world blurs as the behemoth traipses down the hallway. Its steps rattle and shudder at the foundations of the station as each lurch heralds the crunching of flesh underfoot before vanishing at the hallway’s hem. An uneasy silence lingers, probing every crack, crevice, and object within the hallway’s length. It lasts an eternity as the light beams through the station’s open back door.
I can only gaze forward through my helmet, with eyes wide in terror at the dead woman across the hallway. Her rotting, hollow orbs leer back through missing eyelids and a broken jaw twisted in agony. Metal claws wrap around her skull. The rending scythes dig into the soft flesh, drawing blood as it stalks forward. I breathe in once through my nose in an inaudible whisper as the woman’s long dead skull shatters, splattering grey matter across the tiling of the station’s floors. The sickening popping of bone is inaudible. That’s the worst part of these encounters; you can’t ever hear them coming after the sound of that damn clicking.
There’s a slight pressure on the brim of my hood, the slightest grasp as crushing pressure clasps around both sides of my skull; there isn’t sound, but these things can hear, regardless. Blood runs from behind my right ear. In vain desperation, I hold in the liminal panic of being so close to death. Unable to do anything except watch as the talon astride the hallway disappears. I feel the weight placed onto the helmet pull free from the mornings that had become my well-being; towards the open doorway. I wait for three hours; as maggots crawl amongst the bodies, feasting on rotting flesh. For three painful hours, blood ran free, staining the hood of my disguise. In due time, the sound of wind returns as the sonorous tones reverberate in the garden from wind-chimes hung by rebar rods stuck into the soil half-hazard.
The reaper’s scythe does not hang as close. It no longer touches the nape of my neck, and thus. A few quick breaths are what I take. I don’t speak; I don’t move, but I live.
|
ApocalypseOwl
|
ItsUnlucky
|
2023-01-15 02:16:09
|
2023-01-15 01:39:03
| 354 | 39 |
j4e8772
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j4e33qj
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10c4n0v
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10c4n0v
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[WP] You managed to retire from the supervillain game long ago, when you became a parent. Now, your grandchild has inadvertently been kidnapped by an upstart villain, and you're about to show them why the world (rightfully) feared you.
|
A man sat down at a coffee table, a large mug already set and steaming on the saucer in front of him. He unfolded the newspaper and immediately turned to the funnies, reading the comics and smiling at this simple pleasure. After a bit he turned his attention to the puzzles and filled them out with a pen, until coming to a problem.
"Hmm, eleven letters, e in the second place and ends with n... 'They say you should dig two graves before finding this'..." A man thought aloud into his empty house. It had been silent for some years now, his wife Delilah passing with the birth of their third child and those same children moving out once they could. He'd done all he could to help them, he made helpers of computers and hired all the best tutors, but when money was tight he didn't fall back into his old ways. Say one thing for Father Time, he kept his promises, he even made sure his children didn't fall into his habits either.
As he pondered the puzzle his home phone ran, and he ignored it, at this early hour it was probably a salesman. "What do you have to dig two graves for?" He thought, and the answer was on the tip of his tongue when the phone rang again. With a heavy sigh he drained the last of his coffee and went to the phone.
"Speaking." He answered.
"Dad... it's Vaughn. Chucks gone." His son said frantically.
"What do you mean, gone?" A man asked, and he was told. The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering against the tile floor, and his whole body reacted. His heart hammered in his chest, his ears began to ring from thousands of explosions, his vision began to pulse and blur at the edges.
"Vileblood..." a man muttered, the name of the villain who took his grandson. The computer screen on the wall immediately filed with information, Vileblood's powers, known weaknesses, area of operation.
A man thought to the puzzle again.
"Retribution. I am a man no more, for a man keeps his promises. I am a Titan again." Said Kronos, Lord of Time.
---
Charles clung to the man in red armor as the walked through the rubble.
"Close your eyes, Chuck." The man said in a calm voice, but with a force that wouldn't abide discussion, so Chuck scrunched his eyes as shut as he could until blobs of color formed.
"H-How d'you know my n-name, Mister?" Chuck asked.
"Oh, Chucky-boy, how could I ever forget my favorite grandchild? Just, don't tell Peggy, you know she thinks she's the favorite." He responded with a chuckle.
"Gram-" Charles began, until he was shushed.
"I have a but more work to do now, cover your ears and keep your eyes shut, okay son?" Grampa asked, and Charles nodded vigorously. He felt himself set down in a corner and covered his ears for a moment... until his curiosity got the better of him. He peeked through one eye and saw his Grampa in full glory.
He moved in the blink of an eye between metal automatoids, tearing off limbs and using those same limbs to beat other autos into scrap. But he couldn't close his eyes fast enough when he saw his Grampa turn to the man controlling the robots.
"Kronos... I didn't know, I swear I-"
And then he was nowhere. What was in his place could hardly be human, to his mind.
"Chucky-boy... you didn't cover your eyes and ears, did you?"
"Yes I did!" Charles responded, quickly covering them again.
"Then how did you respond?"
"... shit." Charles said.
"Language, son. Let's get you home." With that, his grampa walked over so very slowly and picked him up.
"Who are you?" Charles asked, trying to ignore the sound as his grampa stepped on some rubbery wet material.
"I am as I have ever been. Your Grampa, your guardian. But... I used to be so much more." Suddenly, they were in the light again, the fresh breeze blowing through his hair. "The Time Machine is nearby, with good traffic I can probably get you home in half an hour." Grampa said off hand. He carefully put Charles down in the seat of his old Mustang and shut the door softly.
---
**knock knock**
Vaughn ran to the door and opened it wide.
"Dad?" Charles said at the same time as him, both looking to their respective father.
"... I need to go change." Kronos said, still in full regalia, turning away from his son.
"Wait!" Vaughn said. "We... I..."
"It's alright son." Kronos stepped towards his car when Charles blocked his path. Michelle, the mother, came out with a cry and held her boy.
"Dad..." Vaughn said again, his voice shaking. "Would... would you like to come in for coffee?"
Kronos sagged a little bit before turning around and removing his helmet, revealing his worn and ragged face.
"I'd... yeah."
|
His granddaughter walked out of the police station with the conclusion from her savior that she had no idea what she was doing. The old man in the car took her home and bandaged her up. “What in gods name we’re you thinking?”
“I wanted to prove myself to the other villains that I can do something.”
“So you went after the most powerful hero with the biggest ego and you’re surprised your plan didn’t work?”
“It was worth a shot, and the bank that I robbed was about to lay off thou-“
“Cut the crap! You think that just because you got superpowers of your own means you rule the world. I’ve seen people in my day who were drunk and had more sense.”
“Those days are done! Back in the day you didn’t have superpowers and you fought the mob.”
The grandpa sighed and grabbed the first aid kit from the closet. While patching up his only living relative he told her a story.
“The fights you have didn’t begin with you, even before I was born the city the people found themselves at war.”
“Why did they fight?”
“Same reason why you tried to fight. Honor, glory and most importantly…money.”
….. years earlier
The alarm brought the screams of everyone inside the trans national bank. Before one of the robbers could stop any of the crowd from fleeing most if not all the tellers and customers fled to the streets. In a thick Irish accent the leader shouted to the soon to be grandpa. “Aye did you pull the alarm?”
“It wasn’t me!”
“When we get back you better be telling me the truth.”
All the robbers entered the vault and took as much money as they could grab. As the cops arrive the group separated into the busy streets. The grandfather attempted to do a dashing escape by climbing up the top of the building and hoping no one else had the courage. There was one cop who chased him wherever he went. It didn’t matter what risks he took as the cop was always a few yards away. Soon the grandfather made a mistake and the cop tackled him to the ground.
“I want mee lawyer pig.”
“I wouldn’t call me pig since I caught up to you…brother.”
……
“It was a different world back then. Instead of superpowers all sides used their wit and perseverance to win the day.”
“The cop was your brother.”
“He decided that he wanted his side and I was content with the side I chose.”
…..
Later on the wannabe supervillain finds that his grandpa was a mob enforcer and later a lawyer for the local Irish mob. He would give up the life and reveal how his granddaughter and many others were tortured by the hero and through a legal trial the hero became a outcast.
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SamLarson
|
Nature_Walking
|
2023-06-29 03:17:40
|
2023-06-29 01:32:37
| 740 | 20 |
jpy4wq3
|
jpxrpxk
|
14loxwh
|
14loxwh
|
[WP] A grandma that you helped across the road turned out to be a genie who grants you a wish, you wish for a perfect 2023, but she misunderstood and now every day at 20:23 everything goes your way.
|
The moment that genie made my wish come true, I bought a lottery ticket expecting to win. When I lost, I swore that genies weren't real and I wondered if I'd accidentally taken some kind of hallucinogen. It wasn't until several years later that I realized that everything seemed to go "right" at 8:23 PM each evening and that the genie had misinterpreted the wish entirely.
That's when my quest to game the lottery began.
At first, I bought the ticket in the morning and then waited until 8:23 to look at it to see if I'd won. When it was a loser, I thought that the answer was simple - I'd need to find a lottery that was drawn at exactly 8:23 PM. I researched every lottery in every municipality, province, state, and country in the world and found that not a single one drew a lottery at 8:23. Some were 8, some were 8:15, and others were 8:30. That left only the possibility that the lottery was drawn by accident at 8:23 and that I held a ticket in my hands.
I drummed up a plan where I would fly to a remote country that had a lottery at 8:15, call in a bomb threat from a pay telephone, and hopefully, that would delay the drawing until exactly 8:23. Assuming I was able to get away from the telephone, and that it wasn't being monitored with a camera, the plan felt unstoppable besides that it was a roll of the dice that the delay would work until exactly 8:23. I thought more about this and figured that if I could keep them on the phone and tell them to proceed at exactly 8:23, that would work.
So I went ahead and flew out on a Saturday morning and had a lottery ticket in my hands by 8:00. I'd researched the exact location I wanted to make the call from ahead of time, and the plan went off without a hitch, which was amazing given all the variables involved. I told the lady at the lottery corp that there was a bomb in the machine and that if they didn't draw the lottery at exactly 8:23 then the bomb would go off. They actually believed me and delayed the drawing! But when the numbers came out, I realized I had another loser.
Furious, I stomped back to my rental car and drove off as fast as I could. On my way back to my hotel I realized how stupid I'd been. There was a six-hour time difference between where I was and the place the genie had granted the wish. That meant that I really needed the lottery draw to happen at 2:23 P.M. local time.
*Grr.*
I was sitting in the hotel bed eating an ice cream I'd ordered from room service when I heard a knock on the door. When I looked through the peephole I saw two unformed cops. *Shit.* I opened the door, hoping that it was something other than they'd discovered that I'd called in the bomb threat.
Of course, they'd discovered that it was me who called in the bomb threat. A lady in a restaurant by the pay phone thought my car was strange and took down the license plate, which they then tracked down to my hotel room. How freaking unlucky could I be?
They took me to the station and booked me into jail. Overnight, I hatched a plan to get out. At 2:23 tomorrow I'd try to unlock the cell with something and escape before it turned 2:24. Surely this had to work.
So when the wall clock in the cell read 2:23 the next day I tried to hatch my plan. When it didn't work, I screamed out to the genie so that all the other prisoners in the jail could hear me.
"YOUR STUPID WISH DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE!"
I didn't expect the genie to materialize out of thin air with a smirk on his face.
"You forgot about daylight savings time!" he said.
And that's how I learned not to trust genies.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
|
At 8:21, I approached them.
“Evening, ladies.” I said. “Another round?”
Three of the young ladies were engaged in rapid conversation. The fourth sat glued to her phone.
“What are you ladies drinking?” I tried again.
“Dude, take a hint.” One of the trio said without looking my way.
The other two of the trio giggled. They continued chatting.
I flagged down a bartender, anyway.
“Round of shots.” I said. “Doubles.”
The trio exchanged glances. One motioned to my Rolex, perhaps thinking I’d fund their evening.
“Well? Come on.” One of the trio said. “I’m Megan.”
Megan had been the one to originally shirk me. I hoped she would not fall for me.
“Megan,” I said. “I’m Chris.”
The other two exchanged hellos. The last girl remained on her phone.
My questioning look got an explanation.
“That’s Maggie.” Halley said. “Probably on Tinder.”
Maggie made no reply, her thumbs moving with rapidity.
“What’re y’all celebrating?” I asked.
“Ha!” Halley laughed. “This looks like a party?”
She motioned to the dingy bar. My face grew red, which I realized, became ashamed about, and grew even redder. Within a few seconds I was a deep crimson hue, though, less visible in the light, I imagined.
“Oh my god,” Maggie said, looking up from her phone. “Look how red he is.” She tried to speak quietly.
Well, fuck you, too, bitch.
At that moment, the clock struck twelve. A chorus of angels sounded in my ear. A massive scale tipped in my favor, dictated by God or Satan himself.
“Hey!” Halley said, putting her arm around me. “Ignore her.”
Halley whispered in my ear. “I live just down the block.”
She leaned back, biting her lip, looking intently into my eyes.
I went with her.
|
armageddon_20xx
|
None
|
2023-03-22 18:31:04
|
2023-03-22 12:59:15
| 20 | 11 |
jd92g3r
|
jd7nvfu
|
11yd4tb
|
11yd4tb
|
[WP] You are an immortal, having to deal with the rather troublesome rumour that your blood grants immortal life. However, what those after your blood don't know is that since you can't die, you are an excellent host to several deadly bacteria and viruses-all existing peacefully in your blood.
|
Waking up blindfolded and tied to a chair would be a jarring experience for most normal people. But I was anything but normal. In fact, this was not the first, second… hell, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve woken up tied to a chair.
In fact, of all the times I’ve been kidnapped and tied up, this was probably one of my better experiences. At least they hadn’t strung me up like some prized meat to display.
My only real complaint was that the floor was damp and I could feel it through my socks, which made my leg feel slimy. Not a good feeling.
With a harsh tug, the blindfold was stripped off my face and my eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness all around me. I could make out a few bodies as they shuffled in place, but they were cloaked in darkness and made it hard to figure out how many persons had surrounded me.
“Welcome to our humble abode, time walker,” a voice spoke. “It has been quite a while since we’ve had our eyes on you.”
So it was another cult, that was a plus. At least it wasn’t some secret government agency. That would have made my escape far more difficult.
I shifted in my chair.
“So what’s your cult’s name this time around?” I asked
“We are not a cult,” another voice hissed back in anger. “We are a brotherhood, a lineage so great and so vast that has existed for centuries. We are the architects of modern society, hidden in the shadows that besiege the nights.”
Yep, definitely a cult.
“You, time walker, are the key to our future. Our forefathers have been watching you, learning about you, guiding you for years. They have passed down your secrets to their sons, who have passed it on to their sons and so on, and now, it is finally time to reap our reward,” the first voice roared. “The gift of immortality, flowing through your veins, will be our eternal fountain of youth.”
Before I could say another word, a cloaked figure sprinted from the darkness with a decorative knife in hand and slashed at my wrist, spilling blood everywhere. He began gorging himself on the hot liquid that flowed from my wound.
The man relished the taste of my blood. It must have been a rush for him as he could hardly pull himself away, his eyes glistening in delight.
“Oh you poor fool,” I muttered.
In an instant, his body seized up, and his lips fell off my wrist as he stumbled backwards.
“W-W-What is this?” He choked, coughing and wheezing.
“That is your heart shutting down,” I said, as he doubled over. “And your body rejecting my blood.”
He clawed at his throat and screamed, but no sound from his mouth.
“It’ll be over soon, very soon.”
His eyes started to leak, not tears, but black sludge that stained his pale cheeks.
“You have been watching me for centuries, but I have been alive for many millennia,” I said. “You are the architects of modern society, but I have seen countless other ‘modern’ societies come and go, just like theis society will as well.”
He tumbled to the floor, his legs giving out. I could feel the fear heightened as he looked up at me, but there were no pupils, no recognition, just white writhing eyes.
“The Black Death, the Spanish Flu, COVID. It was all me. Oh, I may look young and healthy, but make no mistake, that is my curse. The blood that runs through these veins are not the fountain of youth, but a cesspool of death. Diseases you have not even heard about nor could nary imagine run through these veins of mine,” I lectured as he wasted away. “But I am cursed to live forever, like a porcelain doll that will never crack. But you, my dear cultist, well, you’re already dead, aren’t you?”
He gave no response, not that he could if he wanted to. He was nothing more than a corpse, already rotting away as the diseases ate through his flesh.
I looked up back at the crowd of cloaked figures, and I could taste the fear as they slowly backed away.
“Now, who is going to be the one brave enough to come untie me?”
|
As an immortal deity, I have Seen Some Shit™. However, the most interesting thing (And also the most annoying) is that people got the idea that my blood could grant immortality. Thousands of people have come to me, begged for a drop, and then dropped dead as soon as they drank it. Since my body has to contain omnipotence, only the strongest and deadliest bacteria can survive it. As a result, when mortals are exposed to these super-illnesses that have been stewing in the blood of a god, they die rather quickly. That didn’t stop people, though. One guy wanted to turn the bacteria and viruses in my blood into a bio-weapon, so I turned him into a poison dart frog. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I have a knack for ironic punishments. Let’s see, there was another woman who wanted to try and purify my blood to remove the viruses, so I gave her my blood just to see what would happen. She tried to heat it, but her chemistry equipment must have been from Wish, since the flask she was using to hold my blood cracked, then exploded. Her eyes were filled with my blood and shards of broken glass, so she died rather quickly. One idiot showed up with a gun and tried to threaten me for my blood. I just let him fill my body with holes while I glared at him. After that, I turned him into a sponge. You’d think people would learn that my blood will kill them, but people still try to drink it. There was this one military outpost that was trying to harness “Godsblood”, as they called it, to rain democracy and freedom down on the enemies of America. I let them try until they blew themselves up. Thankfully, most people have stopped trying to get my blood, and since those idiots don’t know how to leave their dimension, that stupid idea stayed there with them. I haven’t been back there in a while, and I don’t plan on changing that. Alright, now you can print your “Interview with the Chaosbringer” in your newspaper and leave me alone.
|
deputy1729
|
ReaperInTraining
|
2023-11-21 19:35:01
|
2023-11-21 14:20:48
| 24 | 11 |
ka77hjf
|
ka5squd
|
1804g85
|
1804g85
|
[WP] What would happen if everyone in the world woke up in a different country?
|
Guelph stroked his beard and sat back in thought.
He'd bought all the books off a wizard, cheap. The wizard said they were useless, but in Guelph's experience, books were frequently more valuable than they appeared. So he'd bought the lot of them.
They weren't useless of course. Propping up tables, kindling. But were they worth what he paid for them, which was more than for the equivalent weight of wood? They seemed to be spellbooks. An odd mix of simple and incomprehensible. They talked about energy, work, power, but then went straight to odd symbols. The introduction pages were sensibly numbers i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi and so forth. Later chapters were 1,2,3,4 or A,B,C,D, so he assumed 1,2,3,4 were letters of a foreign alphabet called "digits". Except the "Basic Algebra I" had chapters 0,1,2,3,4, what was up with 0? His best guess was 0 was one, 1 was two, etc, but usually one was skipped because it was considered too basic.
There were a lot of references to Algebra, so he focused on the Basic Algebra I. It was talking about Set theory and monoids and Galois groups, and had wilder symbols than most of the others. Occasional simple-looking charts, but then more nonsense symbols.
The "Materials Science" had a number of tables, with long strings of the 1234 alphabet, usually things like 1.2924e10. Looking through these, he noticed a pattern: 0.7372, 0.9372, 1.0137, 1.237, 1.537, 1.927, 2.375, 2.737, 3.527, 4.273, 5.620, 6.993, 8.532, 10.52, 12.77, ... along with a graph showing as smoothly rising curve, and digits 0,1,2,3,4 along the left side. It seemed that each entry had four digits, and 0 was as common as the others. And he had it wrong: 1 was one, 2 was two, and 0 was some lack of anything. That made ten digits (thankfully), and it seemed each one on the left counted ten times as much as the next one on the right, and the period separated whole numbers from pieces. Checking a number of other tables seemed to confirm that interpretation.
Back to Basic Algebra I. It had a subchapter, 0.4, describing the natural numbers 0,1,2,3, ... Guelph figured he knew what those meant now, but it immediately launched into rings, rational numbers (WTF) and real numbers (WTF) and rings of residue classes ... skip skip skip ... Peano's axioms 0 != a+, ah, no. Later there was 0+m=m and 0m=0 and mn=nm and 1m=m. The "=" probably meant "produces". And then 0+m might be addition, and 0m multiplication, given what 0 and 1 meant. Further skimming didn't seem to contradict any of that. He still couldn't tell what 0 != a+ was, or what "a" was for that matter.
After a month Guelph had figured out the symbols for numbers, addition, multiplication, and most of "algebra". But hardly any of "Basic Algebra I". That book was probably an advanced text purposely masquerading as an introductory one. These books were still mostly incomprehensible, but it was clear they were trying hard to be comprehensible, it's just that their subject matter was extremely dense. They had tables of content, indexes, and were careful to define terms before using them. It all seemed to link real things to math, and assume you could do math easily. Doing multiplication with 74\*903 was significantly easier than LXXIV\*CMIII.
There were books on electricity, quantum mechanics, material science, a CRC handbook of tables. But oddly, not magic. He looked through all the indexes, and no mention of magic at all! The only reference was "Gaussian elimination is the closest thing to magic in this world". Gaussian elimination ... yes, that was a fancy stylized way of finding solutions to problems, but it required an excessive amount of multiplication and division for anything over three unknowns. And it only worked if your problem matched that exact pattern. Possibly "quantum mechanics" was their word for magic? Hum, no, it didn't seem to fit. Whole books on leverage and material strain, but no mention of magic, who ever heard of constructing a building without magical assistance?
And the physics book claimed the speed of light was nearly incomprehensibly fast, but Guelph could easily demonstrate it was slower than sound. After all you always heard thunder before you saw lightning. So, at least in some ways, the physics book was plain wrong.
So Guelph sat back in thought. Perhaps the wizard was right, they really were useless. They seemed like a very exact description of the world. But not his world. In his world there'd be a book analyzing magic by numbers. And it would give the right speed of light.
Hum. What WAS the actual speed of light, anyhow? Or sound? The book had described the experiment where they had measured it. He could measure it himself. And then once he had the right numbers, the rest of the formulas ... they were just math, right? There's no way math can be wrong no matter what world you're in. It wasn't that hard an experiment. Come to think of it, EVERYTHING had come with experiments, allowing you to confirm for yourself what was true and what was not. Even if it turned out the formulas were wrong, they'd had experiments for how they found the formulas. It wasn't like your normal spellbooks, where they told you just the result and carefully hid how they had found it. They had bent over backwards to make sure there was no need to trust them. As if they believed taking anyone's word for anything was a cardinal sin. Hum, what sort of experiment would you run to measure magic?
Guelph felt his hairs raise on end as he thought about it. The results in the books were useless. But now that Guelph knew their method, that put him above all the spell books in the world. In ANY world. If he put in the work.
He set to work setting up some experiments.
|
In the realm of Thorgrim, magic and mayhem were no strangers to the inhabitants. This was a world where dragons soared above cities, where elves whispered secrets of the forest, and where dwarves delved deep beneath the ground in search of their next masterpiece. The dwarves, a proud and noble race, were the greatest artisans of the land. Their talent for crafting exquisite artifacts, from the simplest tools to the most powerful weapons, was legendary.
But there was one dwarf, Gildor Ironfoot, who had not yet lived up to his race's reputation. Gildor had known only one passion in life: the art of forging metal. Everyday he spent countless hours by the anvil, hammering away in his small workshop, and yet he struggled to keep up with his peers. His tables were filled with trinkets and baubles that gathered dust, more kitsch than cutting-edge craftsmanship. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, Gildor grew despondent. His business suffered, his reputation waned, and he began to contemplate his future, or lack thereof, in the world of blacksmithing.
One day, as he was digging through the clutter that had dimmed the once-bright corners of his workshop, Gildor discovered an odd sight. Nestled among the scraps of iron and steel lay a set of thick, rectangular, and peculiar objects - objects he had never seen before. He examined them closely, running his rough, calloused fingers over the hard surface, spotting words and symbols unknown to him. His curiosity piqued, he opened one of these strange, rectangular objects, revealing countless thin sheets adorned with more of the bizarre characters.
It turned out that these objects were textbooks, remnants of another world far beyond the reach of Thorgrim's magical influence. These tomes of engineering knowledge had been brought here by an apprentice wizard's spell gone haywire - the result of one too many liberties taken with the laws of the arcane. Unbeknownst to the wizard, he had inadvertently opened a portal, allowing the books to materialize in Gildor's workshop.
Driven by a thirst to understand their content, Gildor immersed himself in the textbooks, determined to unravel their secrets. He labored night and day, deciphering passages and piecing together bits of knowledge, identifying concepts and techniques that were wholly unfamiliar to both him and the realm. He discovered a unique synergy between the cutting-edge principles of engineering and the magic that fueled Thorgrim.
Soon, Gildor combined his newfound wisdom with the pride and craftsmanship of his ancestors, forging not only metal but also a new dawn for his own career. The world bore witness as Gildor's creations grew ever more intricate, his designs sophisticated and sleek. He built machines that harnessed the power of steam, contraptions that redefined what was believed possible in the realm of craftsmanship. Gildor Ironfoot's name echoed across the land, from the highest peaks to the deepest depths, and his reputation soared.
But it was not only the dwarf who benefited from this miraculous twist of fate. Owing to Gildor's innovations, grand creations that defied imagination sprung forth. Cities and villages transformed, prosperity blossomed, and lives were changed forever. The fortuitous discovery of those engineering textbooks brought about a new era in Thorgrim where science, engineering, and magic melded into a seamless, powerful union that shaped the world.
While the wizard's botched summoning attempt had at first seemed a disaster, it had instead eventually ushered in a golden age for Thorgrim. And as for Gildor Ironfoot, he stood at the forefront of change, the savior of a downtrodden workshop and the herald of an extraordinary future.
|
burtleburtle
|
temkofirewing
|
2023-05-11 19:58:22
|
2023-05-11 15:21:35
| 72 | 47 |
jjs6qf8
|
jjr0kjl
|
13e6nf4
|
13e6nf4
|
[WP] An advanced Society that harvests distant sun's is contemplating whether it's ethical to take ours. Suddenly you are teleported to a stage, where its explained that you are chosen to make the case for humanity on earth, and everyone is watching. "Take it" You say, fresh off a long double shift
|
The words tumble out of your mouth before you really have time to think about what you're saying. Vaguely, distantly, you're aware that it might have been wiser to take a moment to consider your words more carefully... But you're tired. You're thinking longingly of the leftover fried chicken waiting for you in your tiny apartment's refrigerator, of cold beer and your comfortable recliner.
The aliens watching you seem astonished by your lack of interest. Their surprise quickly turns to anger, and within minutes, the room is filled with the sound of intense arguing. You were brought before them to settle this ethical dilemma, but your response- your insistence that they simply "take it"- has had the opposite effect, reigniting the disagreement.
It seems like this might take some time. With a sigh, you raise your voice to ask a question, hoping you are heard: "Can I get a chair or something? I just got off a 16 hour shift, my feet are really killing me."
Your question halts the arguing. Suddenly, all of those strange alien faces are looking at you again, this time with a mixture of concern and sadness.
"The animal has been brought here, to the greatest society in galactic history, and given the chance to advocate for the survival of the world it comes from... But it can only think of its own discomfort." The words come from a large, green creature with tentacles for a beard. "Surely this is evidence that its world has no real use for its star... The animals that dwell there are not even capable of arguing otherwise." The tentacled alien bends down to peer at you with ruby, lidless eyes. "Frankly, this one barely seems sentient at all."
"I disagree." The second voice belongs to an exceptionally tall alien with a curiously elongated neck. "Terran biology is unfamiliar to many of us, to be sure, but a cursory med-scan will tell you that this Terran is exhibiting signs of exhaustion... Not that we *need* a med-scan to discern this, as the Terran has just explained that they have been engaged in physical labor for 16 Terran hours- roughly the equivalent of an entire Galactic-standard day cycle."
Whispers of awe and outrage sweep the room. The tall alien continues speaking.
"The need for excessive physical labor is indicative of a society that has not yet moved beyond enforced scarcity. In simpler terms, this Terran represents a civilization that is still in infancy." The tall alien regards you with a kind of gentle curiosity, like a documentary filmmaker observing a wild animal. "Our own society is as great as it is because we no longer practice this way of thinking. It would be an act of dire hypocrisy to snuff out a civilization in service of our own, just because it is less advanced."
A third alien, squat and seemingly formed of some kind of crystal, steps forward. "Well reasoned. I suggest that the harvesting of the Terran star be postponed until such time as the Terran civilization achieves an adequate degree of self-sufficiency."
"I suppose that is reasonable..." The tentacled alien muses. "Though I must say, I have some concerns as to whether the Terrans can achieve this independently. I propose stewardship, to ensure the planet's development proceeds at an acceptable pace."
The tall alien nods. "Fully agreed. My people have some experience with the stewardship of less advanced races, we will oversee Terra. I do not anticipate a lengthy occupation... Pending any resistance, of course."
You feel your blood running cold as the words you're hearing start to sink in. Suddenly, the prospect of weekend overtime seems like the least if your concerns. Your fear only grows when the tall alien turns to you again, smiling gently.
"Tell us of your world's defenses."
|
You heard what sounded like the world’s biggest groan as the footage from the Earth cam practically shrieked in disappointment. You rolled your eyes and faced the beings before you. They towered over you and wore large robes that looked like they were made of flames. You couldn’t see their faces, but also you were still hungry as all hell from your 16 hour shift and didn’t care.
“Wait, wait citizens of Earth hear your representative out. You may speak Earthling,” said one of the beings.
“You can take our sun. Sun no sun, makes no difference to me. I'm going to be running on 4 hours of sleep tonight,” you said.
The Earth can suddenly flipped to face cam footage of all the world’s major leaders.
“Oh you idiot, you won’t be sleeping at all if you let them take the sun,” shouted one of the leaders.
“Yeah just think of all the billions of people here on Earth you numbskull,” said another.
“Ughh this is boring, can you guys just take the sun and like beam me out of here or something?” you said.
The world’s loudest boo sounded from the cam.
“Yeah yeah boo it up you guys don’t know what it’s like to work a double,” you said.
“I’m working a quadruple!” shouted a voice.
The beings looked at each other for a moment before they waved a hand and shouted in a booming voice.
“Please shut up, y’all are getting on our nerves. You know we were just going to take your sun anyways but you guys have proven that all you can do is argue with each other endlessly. Your existence is punishment enough we’re out of here maybe we’ll head to a good truck or something,” says one of the beings.
They opened their flaming wings and took off into space. You sighed to yourself in relief. You would probably be the most hated person on Earth for the rest of time, but at least you finally got to go home.
|
antipyretical
|
jbbaxter1
|
2023-03-23 08:15:46
|
2023-03-23 05:41:22
| 40 | 23 |
jdbw1fn
|
jdbl0e8
|
11yuahk
|
11yuahk
|
[WP] Magic is dependent on language. Every school of magic works best in a different language. You just tried to cast a spell in a language you and your sibling made up when you were children, just for the hell of it, and were very surprised by the results.
|
Me and my sister stood there in shock, looking at the charred remains of the mountain. Beside us, our instructor blinked, utterly dumbstruck by the sheer power he had just witnessed.
"You literally just destroyed an entire mountain with a single word." he said breathlessly. "I thought the sacred language, the one which channeled the full power of the Goddess's magical blessings, was a myth, a fairytale told to children." He whipped about, looking at us both with a mixture of amazement and fear. "HOW?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
"Beats me." my sister said. "I thought you guys were the ones who studied this stuff."
"Yeah, aren't you guys supposed to know the essence of magic and the words you use to cast it?" I added. I was honestly quite startled myself; back when we were little, before a magical refrigerator had transported us to this world, me and my sister had used these words all the time, playing at being wizards and casting spells at one another, or speaking in our own language to try and avoid our parents overhearing our childlike mischief. That was when we were, like, eight. We sometimes still joked about them. I never in my wildest dreams expected the words to actually have any power, let alone the raw force that I had just witnessed.
The instructor looked at us both. "Never in all my years have I come across such a spell." he muttered.
"Again, don't you guys study this stuff?" my sister asked. "You know, researching and studying potential spells?"
"Well, forgive us if we never thought to try the word 'poopydoopy' in a magical incantation!" the instructor exclaimed. He sighed, rubbing his brow. "Now I am seeing why perhaps you were sent to our world. Still... 'poopydoopy'... it's just so stupid I feel like a fool for even uttering it."
My sister got a quizzical look on her face. "I wonder what 'fartboo tinklesplat" does...." she said, holding out her hand.
A castle created entirely of gold suddenly grew out of the ground. Our instructor's jaw simply dropped.
"Wh... what in the goddess's name...." he stammered.
Well, now I was getting excited. "Zappypoo!" I cried out. Suddenly a tidal wave larger than the mountains rushed before me to crash into the crater where the mountain we had blown up had originally been.
"Kabingo bongo!" my sister exclaimed, and suddenly the entire land blossomed in fertile fruiting trees.
"Slappy buttbutt!" I shouted excitedly. Barely had I uttered the words when seven powerful dragons appeared at my command.
"Skeener mcweiner!" my sister exclaimed, suddenly raising up all of the dead people in the local cemetery, who went rushing happily into town to be reunited with their astonished families.
"Oogo buttoogo!" I cried out, turning all the stones around us to diamonds.
As we went on, the instructor just stared, his mouth open. "I... I think I must tell the king that our new young heroes are doing very well." he muttered. "And perhaps write to the wizard's guild to tell them about this new breakthrough."
|
“Bomkin skosh!” I said to my brother, grinning and crinkling my eyes.
He played along for a moment. Also smiling, he collapsed to the floor, writhing in fake agony.
It was funny for a moment or two, but when he continued flailing about, I began panicking.
I ran about the room, looking for a pillow, since I wanted to prop up his head.
I found a suitable pillow and put it below his head just as he began leaking the foam from his nostrils, ears, eyes, and mouth.
I recoiled as the substance oozed, forming a more distinct cottony texture.
The cotton fuzz ejaculated from his pores as he began making odd, high pitched squeaks, as though he were a mouse.
The foam stopped as abruptly as it had began. He lay on the ground, rounded to the size of a cylinder.
I pushed on his belly, and his body gave way to my shove.
“Eeeeeeeeeek.” He squeaked.
I leaned to pick up some of the fuzz that fell out of his mouth.
It looked just like the filling of our dog’s toys.
|
PureHeartsEroticArts
|
Steve_Tries
|
2023-04-12 00:03:31
|
2023-04-11 19:48:35
| 319 | 61 |
jfwcqmv
|
jfvb8gz
|
12iugcy
|
12iugcy
|
[WP] Humans have always been endurance hunters. We can endure untold physical, psychological, and emotional trauma. Being so unexceptional, we are mocked by the intergalactic community until war shows how terrifying it is to simply... endure.
|
It was a rock. That was what surprised me the most.
I continually believe myself beyond the point of surprise, incapable of being further shocked by these apes. I survey the dead sentries, and their unlucky attackers.
“They must have crawled at least five miles from their forward trenches to get here,” the hunt leader said, gesturing with a claw to the wasteland between us and the besieged human settlement. “To stay under the scopes. They covered themselves in mud and dung. To mask the scent. And thermal blankets.” My ears wink closed as our artillery started again.
“Thermal blankets?” I ask. I could see heat waves shimmering over the field. The hunt leader nodded, lifting up a ratty, muddy piece of material.
“They hid under them the entire way.”
“In this heat?” is all I can mumble, and I turn back to the corpses. I am fixated on the rock. It is gripped in the hand of one of the human attackers, still embedded in the skull of one of our huntresses. Her open eye lolls wildly toward the stone. I am still amazed that humans, despite our clear size and strength differences, would willingly engage in close combat with us. Sometimes, they even win. More often than not, it ended poorly. This unfortunate huntress had taken her attacker to the Ever Sunlit Lands with her, her fingers buried to the knuckles in his throat. I study the hand still clutching the rock. He must have continued bludgeoning her, even as she tore his throat open. He had lost all of his weapons in the scuffle, must have been at the limits of physical exhaustion, possibly already dying from his wounds...
And still, he picked up rock, and beat this huntress to death with it. To die like this, in a war that was taking place on dozens of planets...unthinkable.
“It looks like the mud fouled their weapons,” another huntress said, working the unfamiliar action of the projectile weapon in her hand. It utilized archaic chemical propellant ammunition. Outside of our artillery, we relied on energy weapons. Something as primitive as chemical propelled projectile weapons the modern battlefield…it was like throwing stones.
And again, I regard the dead huntress, with her attacker lying on top of her. Stones still kill, and these humans were excellent marksman. They were as effective at utilizing fix-and-flank tactics as we were, and much better at countering them. Beyond every heavy weapons nest, a trench network. And in between and above those networks, razor wire, boltholes, false trenches. If those trenches were the only evidence we had of humans, we would have thought them hive creatures.
I rub my face. This was already a much longer war than we anticipated. I heard metal scrape against metal as the action to the weapon was finally forced open, the almost cheerful ping as a tiny, silver projectile flickered through the air.
“They used grenades in the opening attack,” the huntress mused, “And went to knives and shovels for the follow-on assault. I think they meant to try and use our weapons.”
“Or retreat back,” the hunt leader added. “I think there’s less bodies here than there were attackers.”
“They never leave their dead.”
“Sometimes they do. When they have no choice.” I say. The hunt leader shook her head.
“I don’t understand this,” she hissed. “It was too small to open a breach, there was no follow on assault. No one saw their approach but they attacked anyway, so the attack was the purpose…too well-planned to be spontaneous. Why do this?”
The artillery continues to thump, and I grumble. My ears wink in protest at the sound. We had to learn the concept of artillery in this war. As well as trenches. Fortifications. Slow offensives. We have always fought our wars with decisive and swift assault. Find the weakest prey, hit with rapid and overwhelming force…follow-on. We had initial successes with that.
And then...none. Every battle was now slow...torpid. The humans no longer met us on the field, daring us instead to take every planet, every city. If we don’t, they attack our lines. Disrupt our logistics.
And they never surrender. I glance back along the muddy wasteland, my fur bristling at the stagnant humidity in the air. To crawl all that way, baking under a thermal blanket, choking on the stench of putrid mud and offal. All that, to get to this point, realize your weapons were inoperable…and attack.
“It’s to exhaust us,” I say, standing up.
“Pardon, Hunt Mistress?” The question comes from a shorter huntress than the others. Her voice is soft.
“We’ll need to start rotating our sentries on more frequent and shorter shifts. Increase active trench patrols. To prevent another attack like this. And it means we will have to remain active. That was the purpose of this. To get us in a more active posture that will strain our morale and tire our troops.”
“…so…we do nothing?” This huntress was young, young enough to ask impetuous questions from genuine curiosity.
“No, we must do all of that and more to avoid any other…attempts. We’ll need to…adjust our sleep schedules. Rotate troops to and from the front lines.” I’m already tired thinking of it. Our people are diurnal. We have two very active times of day, in the morning and evening, and rest states in between. I have encountered more of my soldiers standing in the trenches asleep.
I myself have found times where I would lean against a tree for just moment. Close my eyes for a second. And I would open my eyes, and I had lost hours.
I remember reading the account of one human prisoner that was denied sleep, to make them more compliant. It was seen as the least intrusive means to induce cooperation. Most of us would make it two days before becoming passive enough to interrogate. This human went twelve days without sleeping, and died at the end of it.
“Organize a burial detail,” I finally chuff. “All of them. The attackers, as well. This was a feat that requires honor.”
“It will be done,” the hunt leader states, and she turns to issue orders. My tail swishes in agitation, and I begin the walk back to my command post, squelching through the mud. I do not believe we will lose this war. We have more troops, better logistics, better technology. But…I do not believe we will win this war, either. We use more troops to control what we’ve taken, and less to campaign. The momentum will shift. We will be caught in the press. I then stop, the face of the young huntress in my mind. The one who questioned. She looked so young, but it occurs to me that she was missing an ear. I tried to recall her name, and I could not. I don’t know any of their names.
Now they are all numbers. This is a war of lists and files. It has overwhelmed everything I do. I trudge back to my makeshift office. I slip through the tent flap, feeling the stifling humidity vanish in the dry, cool air within. I begin to shake. I’ve gone a long time without sleep, and all I can see is the rock. I see the mud, and trenches, and the same faces over and over as huntresses pant in the heat and tramp through brackish water. I see that young face, and I resist the urge to flee from my tent, to find her, to ask her name, to send her away from this place. To send them all away.
The guns finally fall silent, and the distant explosions carry on for a few more seconds. In the silence, I can hear my teeth chatter.
I can’t stop seeing the rock.
|
The Age of the Galactic community was magnificent. Races from all corners of the milky way gathered together to pursue free markets, exploration, and science. The most influential races in the community were Ablon and Kaylites.
Ablon we're a mature species from their conception; they were created as a sort of cyborg AI by a long lost species. They have some flesh they must maintain, but their humanoid bodies are mostly machine. They are revered for their intellect, compassion, and phenomenal negotiation skills that have prevented many galactic conflicts.
The Kaylites, on the other hand, are a far more militaristic species. They are extremely intelligent creatures with a past full of civil war planet-wide plagues and other hardships, and now are the decided protectors of the galaxy. With skin as hard as rock and fleets with dozens of battleships, the role has always fit them well.
"Captain Hendrick, you are required at the bridge," a female voice says
Hendrick opens his eyes to see a service crewman standing at the door to his quarters. He nods and rests his head back down on the pillow.
*Fuck me*
This is the one time in Hendrick's twenty-two-year-long career that the bridge felt like a place he had no business being.
He stands up and goes to his private bathroom, putting on his navy blue uniform and cap. While grooming his long beard, he pauses and looks into his eyes. A feeling of disgust comes over him, but he again pushes the feeling aside and replaces it with duty. As he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture, the remnant of burdensome thoughts slides from his mind. He steps out of his quarters and is met with silence. Usually, at this time, the ship is bustling with activity. The crew would be cleaning the walkways, runners rushing through the ship to hand reports to their superiors at the last second, and maintenance crews pushing carts across the grated metal floors.
But today. Nothing. Hendrick swallows, empties his mind, and takes a step in the direction of the bridge.
Humans. The word was almost a curse when heard by most of the galaxy. Greedy, dumb, and reckless are stereotypes galactic leaders would have agreed with within a heartbeat. From the Albon perspective, Negotiations with humans are very difficult due to the complexity of their governments, and migrating them to planets with any other species always ends in some kind of disaster. Kaylites always saw humans as a threat to the galactic order and pushed for a war of subjugation. A hundred years of this pressure ended the galactic community, and for the past twenty, there has been nothing but war.
"Why did they do it?" Hendrick mutters to himself.
As he enters the bridge, the crew's heads snap toward him, and their eyes widen. The bridge is a large room with about twenty crew members, a huge window looking out into space is a very striking feature in contrast to the dull gray metal and computer screens.
Hendrick makes his way to the center of the room, where a large chair is positioned. He sits down and immediately slouches, trying to ignore the crew's blank stares in his direction.
A voice pierces the silence. It's the navigation officer.
"Sir, we are in orbit around Kolaris"
"Rotate Starboard 90°," Hendrick says
"Yes, sir."
As the ship rotates, a planet comes into view. The crew's eyes light up for a split second.
The planet is huge and beautiful, it's mostly desert broken up by thousands of lakes and rivers. It looks like someone took blue yarn and frantically wrapped it around a basketball.
Hendrick's heart sinks as his head turns to the weapons officer.
"Is it ready?"
"Y-yes, sir. The admiral's final approval came in an hour ago."
Hendrick slowly stands up, walks over to the weapons officer's station, and plants a firm grip on the man's shoulder.
"Would you like to be dismissed?" Hendrick asks softly.
"Please, sir."
The officer lowers his head and walks towards the crew quarters. His boots slapping against the metal grates overpowers the hum of the engines and computers. After the door hisses closed behind him, the crew's attention falls back to Hendrick.
"Anyone else?"
The crew looks amongst themselves for a second, but nobody speaks.
Hendrick takes the weapon officer's station and momentarily operates the computer.
He stands up and sits in the captain's chair, slouching once again.
"It's done," he mumbles to his crew.
Their eyes widen, and they imminently turn their attention to the window. A small black object rapidly falls toward the planet. The next ten minutes feel like an eternity to Hendrick; his heart is racing. He plays with his beard and scratches at his chair. He knows, any second now…
A bright light appears on the planet's surface and starts rapidly spreading.
"Impact captain," one of the crewmen stumbles out.
Hendrick stands up rapidly and watches as billions of lives are consumed by a flame spreading across the planet at hundreds of miles per second.
Hendrick turns towards the communications officer.
“Let Earth know we won… Let humanity know we endured.”
|
Gob_Hobblin
|
masterchodeslayer69
|
2023-04-12 21:00:37
|
2023-04-12 20:54:00
| 95 | 46 |
jg0ceo3
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jg0bcdf
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12j4xqt
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12j4xqt
|
[WP] You encounter a group of 3 genies, and they each grant you one wish. One genie will grant your wish exactly as stated. One genie will ensure it's cast exactly how you want. The final genie will twist it to ruin as much as possible. But you have no idea which genie is which.
|
"...but be warned, we won't tell you how each of us will fulfill your wishes. You must use all your wit and cunning to avoid any doom."
I admit, I was pants-shittingly terrified. The dramatic lighting, the antique shop frozen in time, and just the whole confirmation of the supernatural. They clearly practiced and it paid off. It took me a minute to catch up to what they said and another to process it. For their part, they were patient. I didn't think about it then but it probably comes with being stuck in antiques for their whole existence.
"Uh, hello to you too. I think you've got the wrong guy, I didn't rub your lamp. Wasn't even close to it actually..."
"That is a misconception. Genies have several triggers to allow manifestation. And it is a decanter, not a lamp."
"Right, well, I'm gonna get back to shopping if you don't mind. My family's white elephant exchange has a dollar limit and everything here is too expensive."
"Your wishes await you. You could have anything and money would be no concern. Including an albino elephant fit even for Indra."
"That's not what it mea- ugh, forget it. Look, this morning I was an atheist and now I've got WAY too much to think about. I like my life. I love my wife and kids, we're about to shop around for our own house, and my job pays me enough to tolerate their crap for 40 hours a week. Well, realistically it's 45ish but-"
"If you do not desire wealth then health for you and your family. Answers to cosmic mysteries. Happiness to those less fortunate than you."
"Real quick, do you three practice alternating sentences like that or do you share thoughts? Fine, don't answer then. Anyways, those are real tempting but I'm not biting. Ignoring the fact you all seem a little too eager to grant these wishes, I've still got a one in three chance to unleash some monkey paw nonsense. You tell me I need to muster all my wit and cunning but folks, I know enough to know I don't have much of that. So I'm gonna walk away and enjoy the life I earned."
The three of them paused for about as long as I did at the start. Maybe they were as shocked as I had been but my guess is they were just trying to unnerve me. Whatever it was, they didn't so much as say goodbye before disappearing. The lighting went back to normal and I could hear cars drive by the shop again. It felt a bit anticlimactic but it's what I wanted I guess.
The old man running the shop called out from his counter, "Can I help you find anything?"
"No thanks. A winning lottery ticket maybe!"
"Hah, I wish!"
Next week, the place was boarded up with a sign saying 'Retired to Fiji'
|
"This is going to hurt."
In front of the three genies, I slapped myself, smashed my head against a brick wall, slammed my hand in a door, and threw myself onto the ground.
I then asked the genies, "What did I just do?"
The first genie said, "Well, you slapped yourself, smashed your head against that brick wall, slammed your hand in that door, and then threw yourself onto the ground."
The second genie said, "I just watched you kick your own ass."
The third genie said, "I just watched an insane person destroy their body to entertain their hallucinations."
I took a deep breath and sighed, "All right, I'm ready to start wishing."
|
QueasyPhil
|
dunununubatman
|
2023-02-02 09:03:40
|
2023-02-02 07:22:20
| 262 | 158 |
j6w778r
|
j6vztfj
|
10rfikb
|
10rfikb
|
[WP] You partner in crime has pulled a gun on you. "The truth is, the game was rigged from the start." You know that very well, mostly because you did all the rigging.
|
You'd think there'd be some honour among thieves, but he looked *far too* smug with that gun pointed at me. Too much for him not to be enjoying this.
"Alright, Miles," he said in a condescending manner. "I think it's time for us to go our separate ways. Specifically, me going towards luxury and comfort with the rest of our little gang, and you, well..." he cocked the hammer on the gun, "I don't much care."
I sighed. "So is this how it's gonna be?" I asked.
"You played your part in this little game well, but the truth is... it was rigged from the start. Frankly, I'm a little surprised you didn't see it coming."
"I did."
He tilted his head curiously. "That so?"
"Of course. Which is why I loaded your gun with blanks earlier today. I mean, did you really..." I smiled.
"Oh," he chuckled, "you mean *these* blanks?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pile of bullets - all marked with the tiny little indent on the side. The exact marking I used. "I checked them an hour ago. Like I said - you played your part well, but-"
"Is that the same gun from yesterday?" I continued. He frowned and nodded. "Right. So, the one with the firing pin filed down. Good."
Carefully, without turning the gun away, he inspected the inside and cursed quietly.
"I could've *sworn* that- bah. Doesn't matter. That's why I brought *this*," he said and pulled out a *second gun* from behind his back.
I did *not* see that coming.
"By the look on your face," he said calmly, "I assume you didn't find this one. So with that, I'll-"
"I was really hoping you wouldn't force me to do this, but..." I pulled out a small vial from my pocket. "This is-"
"The antidote to the poison you put in my coffee? Yeah. I know. It's why I switched the cups."
"Was that *after* I switched them *again*?"
"It was before I brewed a fresh new pot."
"With the-"
"Poisoned coffee beans?" he interrupted. "Of course not."
"I was going to see with the coffee pot I laced," I chortled. Finally, the ball was in my court and-
A laser appeared on my chest.
"I don't suppose you've met Laura?" he asked. "An excellent sniper, I must say. Now, if you'd be so-"
"Of course I know Laura," I replied and watched with satisfaction as the laser moved from my chest to his. "An excellent sniper indeed. And *very loyal*. I told her to aim at me first - a little bit of theatrics never hurt anyone."
A second laser appeared on my chest.
"Theatrical indeed," he nodded.
"It would appear we are at an impasse," I commended him.
"Not... exactly," he shrugged.
"*Hey, uh, Miles? We may, uh...*" the voice in my earpiece sounded quite concerned - never knew Laura to be nervous.
"Laura, I suspect, has just realized there is a man in her apartment with her wife. A man I am paying quite well."
"That man is an undercover FBI agent, I'll have you know. It took years for me to arrange for you to meet him."
"Oh, he flipped. You see, money..." he pointed at the pile of cash-filled bags at our feet, "money conquers all."
"I know he did. Why is why *I, and the rest of the Bureau*, set up this little operation," I revealed grandiosely and pulled out my ultimate trump card - my FBI badge.
"Wait," he stopped. "The **fuck**?!"
"And now it's time for justice- wait *what the fuck*?" I gasped as I saw him holster his second weapon and pull out something far more sinister - an NSA badge.
We stared at each other silently.
"*Hey, uh, Miles*?" Laura chirped in my ear. "*Is- is this something I should've been briefed on*? *No one back at the Agency mentioned*\-"
"Did you say *Agency*?!" I yelled at her. Looking up, I saw my partner-in-crime turned traitor turned NSA agent speak into his very own earpiece.
"*The fuck do you mean* ***DEA?!***"
|
Jack pulls out a handgun from his waistband. Him and Russell are sitting across from one another. Scheming. Stacks of cash line the table.
Russell: “Woah, what the fuck!”
Jack: “Surprised? I bet. I covered my tracks pretty nicely. Now, it’s time for me to take the lead”
R: “But - Where’d you get a gun??”
J: “Doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you hand over the money.”
R: “Listen man, you can’t do this. It’s against the rules”
J: “I can’t? And why is that? Because you want to take it all for yourself?”
R: “No, come on, please. Take it easy.”
J: “You thought you were in control playing the banker? You think this is just a game? I’m not fucking around.”
Jack puts the gun to Russell’s temple.
R: “Okay, okay, whatever you want”
Russel hands over a stack of bills. Singles, fives…
J: “Give me the big bills or I’ll fucking shoot you!”
He digs the gun in harder.
Russell‘s hands shake to gather the bigger stacks of hundreds, five-hundred dollar bills.
J: “Great. Now, I’d like to propose a trade.”
R: “Whatever you want. You're in control.”
J: “I’ll give you $5,000 for Boardwalk and Park Place”
Russel nods and slides the property cards to Jack’s side.
J: “Okay, now, I’d like to build two hotels.”
R: “See, here’s the thing.”
Russell pauses to savor the moment.
R: “You thought you were clever with your little trade. But, there’s a housing shortage. I already used up all the hotels. You lose.”
Jack scans the board. Full of Hotels and Houses. No pieces left.
J: “It can’t be!”
R: “Sorry, Jack. You can’t rig the game, I’ve already won. That’s Monopoly baby!”
Jack unleashes a primal scream and flips the board. Hotels fly like shrapnel as money rains from above.
END
|
SirPiecemaker
|
Thomas_Sankara49
|
2023-08-17 23:50:23
|
2023-08-17 20:34:54
| 364 | 139 |
jwng63k
|
jwmm3ax
|
15twp5a
|
15twp5a
|
[WP] You used to be the scourge of kingdoms, the reaper of heroes and the mere mention of your name scared even the toughest of them. But today no one remembers you and you are fine with that. You have lived in peace ever since until one day a stranger approaches you and calls you by your true name.
|
[A year back I posted a similar [story ](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/s2wvb8/wp_when_the_humans_elf_girlfriend_broke_up_with/hsi5ifh?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=2) I'll try to change it up a bit this time]
*
Do you know what a scourge is? People may call him a reaper, people may call him death. But you know what most people really mean is a killer.
That is what he was, a killer.
He forgot what he was called for reaping the soul of heroes became his identity.
He forgot where his family was for the only addresses he remembered were of the souls he collected.
The only thing that remained was scourge. And that is what he was called.
Scourge.
*
Scourge saw the way curtains fluttered shut when he walked through a neighborhood. As if a mere curtain could save them from him.
Mortals and their irrational beliefs. He was one of them once. As naive and as foolish. He also used to see the ones who brought an end to heroes as monsters.
But now? Now the words he had read far back spoke to him through a veil,
*If you crush a cockroach, you're a hero. If you crush a beautiful butterfly, you're a villain. Morals have aesthetic criteria.*
He smiled. He didn't care about being a hero or villain. He just wanted to crush those who deserved it, and that included the self-righteous heroes too.
And morals? Morals belonged to those who did nothing else but preach. It is easy to hide behind the curtain of morals when you have a house to hang the curtains in.
"Matt? Matt Kline?" Someone called.
A name long forgotten. A memory long buried. And yet- and yet something inside him stirs at the sound of the name. Maybe it was the innocence that was lost or maybe it was the weakness that was conquered.
He turned to seek out the source of the voice. The one brave enough to speak with Scourge.
But the voice isn't calling for scourge, it's calling for a long lost memory, a voice inside him said.
A girl no older than 15 years is standing with her hands clenched around the straps of the backpack.
"I don't think you know who you are speaking to." He said gruffly. His voice was seldom used nowadays, in fact mostly it was used to taunt the heroes before he killed them.
"Yes, I do." She raised her chin defiantly, a gesture reminding her of a girl he knew a lifetime ago. "I have pictures of you."
He tilted his head, willing his memory to bring that hazy memory back to focus. But nothing. Nothing except a cheerful laugh that echoes in the darkness of what used to be his memories.
"Who are you?" He asked.
"May. May Rogers." She answered without any hint of fear.
Yet again that laugh rises up inside him, a sweet bubbling sound. A bright light in the darkness inside him.
And for the first time in years, he felt his heart pounding.
"Go away." He said turning his back to the girl.
"No." She said.
She sounded closer. She soon drew up beside him.
"What do you want?" He would have preferred to face a well-intentioned hero instead of this girl. Her mere presence was raising memories he had buried a lifetime ago.
"I want you to come back home!" She said with a finality that he smiled.
Home. He had forgotten what that word felt like even in his mind. He dared not to speak it because he knew he would lose some part of him now while chasing for something he lost long ago.
"You have the wrong man." He said not looking at her. Looking at her hurt for some reason.
"No. You are Matt Kline. You were born to Glen and Ellen Kline. You have a sister Grace Kline. Your parents died-"
"Enough!" He said harshly.
The smiling faces of four strangers flashed in his mind. He pushed the image aside then glanced at the girl who looked chastised. And he felt an emotion he hadn't felt in decades. Guilt.
"I am not who you think I am." Not anymore.
"But you are." She said firmly, her fight renewing at his, not kinder but neutral tone. "You are my Granduncle! My Grandma is Grace Kline!"
Gracie. A memory of a girl in pigtails smiling. A girl he thought he lost that day when the heroes were saving the world.
"She misses you. I know she does. She has your picture and tells us about you. How you were the best brother in the world-"
"Don't." His voice was oddly choked.
The memories were trying to suffocate him. It was getting harder to breathe.
She placed a hand on his elbow, making him jump. "Come home. She is sick. She wants to see you."
Could he? Could he go back and watch his sister die again?
No, but he could watch his sister live.
Unlike the last time.
"Come home." She repeated softly.
"Okay."
*
[You can find more of my stories at r/iknowthisischeesy]
|
I decided that I would write this note and leave it here for anyone who can decipher my handwriting to read. To hopefully understand that I am genuinely remorseful for what I have done before I came to this place.
They came for me in the dead of night when I was a child. That night broke me and allowed them to reshape me in the image they desired. As I grew in body, so I grew in rage and I dedicated myself to the training they demanded. They stole my name and replaced it with their own.
And I let them because I wanted to please them. And I hated myself for it.
Eagerly I embraced the Destiny that they set before me to prove my worth. With their enchanted equipment I was unstoppable. First I crushed their enemies, than I crushed them.
None could stand against me, my armor repelled the strongest blows and my blade was imbued with unholy rage. I stalked the land with a gathered flock of fiends and harried villages throughout the land.
Until one day while I sat in a brown study, I heard someone speak my name. The name my mother had called me by, so long ago. But that was not her voice, so I turned to see who it was.
An old man in clean, neat robes stood by a tree, gazing about with a natural casualness.
“You have done terrible things.”
“I have.” I agreed with him. And to my great surprise, I discovered that there was no sarcasm in my voice. He was not accusing, simply stating a fact, and it was the lack of judgement that affected me, I think.
“Do you think that Goswin would fear you?”
Goswin? I had not heard that name in a lifetime, although I thought of him far more often that I would readily admit. We had been boys together; I was tall and strong, but Goswin was small and frail.
He had the quick, bright disposition of a squirrel. I envied him, his joyous, carefree nature because I sensed that, were circumstances different, he could be my brother. Together we could have roamed the countryside as heroes, and I suspected that was his secret desire as well.
Instead, I allowed others to guide my path, no matter how much it sickened and enraged me to be so weak.
"I can't fix it. There's no way to undo that kind of damage."
"No, you can't." The robed man shook his head and shrugged. "You can start over. You can be better."
And I knew he was right. So, I put aside my weapons and my armor and I left that life behind. I came here and built a school so that they could learn. Then I built a library so they could study.
And still, I find myself an outsider. I do not trust myself to become to close to these people, least I inadvertently poison them. So perhaps it is time for me to move on once again, and strengthen a new community.
|
iknowthisischeesy
|
Vaeon
|
2023-07-29 22:06:21
|
2023-07-29 21:23:15
| 85 | 35 |
jtzym9r
|
jtzseve
|
15d05q2
|
15d05q2
|
[WP] You've finally done it. You've proven the existence of magic; discovered how an ordinary human cast spells to control that immense arcane power. There's just one problem making you hesitate about publishing your findings: spellcasting looks so very... STUPID...
|
(Part 1 of 2 - first time responding to a WP, thank you for reading)
In the beginning of the 22nd century, the final escalation of the Resource Wars brought about the end of life as we knew it on Earth. Mass nuclear fire rendered the sky dark, and a permanent winter blew across the globe. Billions died. Those that survived lived in caves in squalor, surviving off stockpiled supplies that rapidly dwindled to nothing as those last remaining humans scrambled to find a way to grow food underground. Each passing year, the Earth’s population grew ever smaller, ever more desperate. The small colonies on Mars and the Moon watched and listened, but eventually they came to the same sad conclusion. Earth was a graveyard. The colonies’ limited resources were renewable to an extent, but even they would die out without help in a few dozen years. They popped their last bottles of spirits and drank a toast to the memory of Earth, knowing that they’d be the last of their kind.
It was a small observatory on Mars that spotted them first. A group of objects moving at high speed, on an apparent collision course with Earth. They thought it a bitter irony at first - humans had killed themselves only a few short years before the cosmos would have done the job. It was when these objects began to decelerate that the colonists went to high alarm. When the objects got close enough, their telescopes were able to identify them as massive metal spheres, each more than 200 meters across. They settled into a complex orbit around earth, and showered the planet with millions of smaller machines. The colonists watched with great interest, and to their great surprise over a period of a few short weeks the atmosphere of Earth began to clear. The oceans, dark and increasingly sludgy over the past century, shone a brilliant blue, and incredibly, in small patches here and there, the vibrant green of plant life bloomed upward, reaching for the warmth of the sun. Their work completed, the machines returned to their spheres and never again took any action.
The colonists were whipped into a frenzy. Mars and the Moon both desperately wanted to return to Earth now that it once again looked hospitable. They lacked the infrastructure and supplies to reliably make the trip, but through sheer determination they scrapped their colonies down to the last bolt to try to make the journey. It was a heroic effort, filled with courage and near disaster, but that’s another story altogether. Sufficient to say, they made it. Planetfall left them discovering a new world, rejuvenated, the pollution and radiation scrubbed from the skies and waters, and amazingly, seeded with the plants and animals that once roamed the land. From only a few thousand, humanity was reborn. A harsh lesson learned, over the coming centuries they were better custodians of their planet. The spheres were eventually boarded and studied, finding extensive technology, but only small hints here and there on who might have sent them.
We had been redeemed, but knew not who our benefactor was.
|
04/15/26 (or 15/04/26 if you're european)
I'm sat there, holding my head in my hands, elbows on my desk. I'D FINALLY DONE IT. I can freeze things, set things alight, shrink and enlarge things, and much much more. But I had a sneaking suspicion that casting these spells looked somewhat ridiculous, and so I recorded myself doing a few spells, and it's worse than I imagined. I look like a white guy with cerebral palsy trying to do a trending dance for physical therapy. It is the goofiest combination of ridiculous movements and vocalizations I've ever had the displeasure of doing and seeing. Now, there's a recording of me doing this. I think that even if I were to publish my findings, people would find the necessary motions too stupid to take seriously. The worst part of all of it is that you have to take it seriously if you want your cast to have any effect. For example, a simple spell to cast a small projectile that doesn't do anything extra besides damage whatever it hits a little bit requires that you reach around and grab from your ass, and throw. Like an ape slinging shit. I need a nap. I'll decide what to do later.
|
Ananvil
|
None
|
2023-05-28 02:50:55
|
2023-04-09 14:02:02
| 65 | 26 | null |
jfkkhk4
|
13t8an9
|
12g9cni
|
[WP] The Wendigo had stalked the lost human for hours, waiting for night to fall before killing its prey. But when it was ready to strike, it hesitated. The humans head had snapped in the creatures direction, walking and staring, in complete darkness. Their eyes never moving from the Wendigo’s…
|
My hunger consumes me. It is knives in my stomach, a cold wind raging down my gullet. It squeezes my eyes, tears at my skin. There is no respite, no relief. My maw drips with the blood of elk and bear alike, and my tongue works endlessly, licking and lapping, finding the grooves between my teeth, extracting every last morsel of meat and every drop of blood. Winter is all around me, snow blanketing the ground, the last rays of the day glinting through icicles hanging from branches. I stalk forever forwards, slipping soundlessly through brush and around trees, my antlers grazing bark. Deep within my chest, my heart sits heavy and cold, forged from ice and blood and stone. It aches with feelings long past, feelings I no longer recognize. Shades live in the deepest reaches of my mind, just out of sight. Bonds I once had? Other beings like me? There are places in there too, so different from the cold forest of my torment. Sometimes, when I sleep the deepest, I hear low voices, calming tones. But when I awake, the only thing that is true to me is my craving desire, insatiable.
I’ve been following the smell for hours. Something new. Something warm and full, a beacon in the dark forest. When I first fell upon the footprints, I dropped to all fours and licked them for minutes, so sweet the taste. Life. The smell is strong, pungent. I can feel the heat they leave behind, so vigorous. Hot breaths pushed into cold air. They’re close now. I can hear the soft crunch of feet, muttered words.
I watch it from the treeline. I’m drooling. Black saliva drips from my chin, freezing when it touches the ground. My body vibrates with anticipation, and I am devoured by desire. But I wait, and I watch. I am not the dark shadow in the forest because I am rash, but because I am patient. I am winter and death incarnate, a being made of frost and brine, so cold are my claws, so deadly and beautiful.
The thing has made a hovel, taken parts of my forest and sewn them together. They sit before a blinding light, so bright I can hardly look. I watched them create this light from stone, an impossibility. It paints my forest in orange and yellow hues, dancing off and through the ice and snow around me. The light is a nuisance, an affront to the forest, but the longer I look, the dimmer it seems. The thing’s face is illuminated. Plump and round, flushed red. I can hear its blood pumping through its veins, hot, waiting to burst free.
Soon, the light has all but vanished. Only hot red embers remain, easier on my eyes. I creep towards the being, my footfalls soundless in the snow. My head aches with longing, my long maw slowly opening and closing. In a few long strides, I am upon them. I bend down towards their face, my claws reaching towards supple flesh, but something gives me pause. Familiar angles, and shadows. I take the creature’s hair in my long fingers, feeling and smelling. Their eyes snap open, boring into my own. They do not scream, or move, and neither do I. Two creatures, locked together, frozen. They speak.
“Is it truly you?”
I cannot understand, but something about the tones is so familiar, buried so deep, packed so far under ice and dirt that I thought I had forgotten it altogether. In the dark forest, the cold wind blows, the freezing snow falls, and I feel a chill. A chill so cold, so strange, that under my taut blue skin, past my iron ribs, deep in the darkest pit of my chest, a small crack appears on my heart.
|
Their eyes never moving from the Wendigo’s mouth. They started speaking. Yelling. Visibly angry. Their pace began to speed up. Towards it. Their face still red, still yelling, started crying. They were flailing their arms with fists on each side. There was no violence in them. The Wendigo did not fear for it's life. It could not understand human speech, and never needed it. The only things that it heard from humans were grunts and screams. But this human was trying to communicate. It had never experienced this. The human was rapidly closing the gap.
Some of it's prays did react violently to the sight of their demise, but is was always too late. There was never much it's prays could do. The Wendigo would always overpower them with the element of surprise, it's speed and it's natural instinct to devour lonely humans. That was, after all, its poupose. But those humans wanted to survive. They would fight the Wendigo, even though they stood no chance escaping their ultimate fate.
But this human was different. It ran towards the Wendigo, not away. It was red with rage, but not directed the Wendigo. No. Rage to their own race. Seeking the Wendigo as a means, not as an misfortune end.
The Wendigo closed it's jaws as fiercely as many times before. The human was no longer alive. A brief scream would have been heard by passersby. No one was around. The Wendigo turned it's bloody face to the trees. Another human just turned left, when they should have turned right. That would have been the last time they would make such a terrible choice. That would be their last choice.
|
BigSigiSchmid
|
Florius
|
2023-05-19 18:24:15
|
2023-05-19 15:22:31
| 40 | 16 |
jksziaq
|
jks6pzb
|
13lp2s3
|
13lp2s3
|
[WP] You're in a hospital after surviving for 3 years in the wilderness. What a way to find out that plane crash didn't isekai you. Once everything settles down, you begin to wonder... If this wasn't another world, how are you able to use magic now, and why did that island have demon beasts?
|
Math 100 is a huge class. Easily 200 students in a big lecture hall. Even in that sea of people, she stood out to me.
Long jet black hair, black nail polish, black lipstick, lots of real leather both on her clothes and for her accessories, knee high black boots with a heavy sole. No one dressed like her and no one looked like her. She did her own thing in a room bursting with conformity.
She asked sharp questions, in a soft but commanding voice, in class. Her questions brought clarity to everyone who listened.
She sat in the same spot every class but didn’t mingle with those around her. She was alone but didn’t come off as lonely.
I occasionally saw her on the campus quad, usually under the shade of a big elm tree. Never doing anything, just sitting and basking in being outside.
It’s not that I was stalking her or anything - I just always seemed to notice her when she was about. Just about her, always captures my attention.
—————————
“Dude,” Justin says as we are walking through the quad, “you are staring at her again.”
“I am not staring. I am just…. noticing her… sitting there,” I said defensively.
“You need to go say ‘hi’ already. Your *noticing* is starting to get creepy.”
He was right. I was staring too much, too often.
“Fine! Fine! I will go talk to her,” I said, trying to convince myself this wasn’t a horrible idea. I walked across the lush green grass of the quad. There were students lounging around, some playing frisbee, some just goofing off. It was easily my favourite place on campus.
I walked towards the tree she was under, I could still veer off, I could still bail out - should I? Fuck I am getting close I gotta -
“Hi,” she said simply as I got close. “I was wondering if you were going to get the nerve to talk to me.” She was smiling a bright genuine smile that lit up her face.
I awkwardly sat down opposite her.
“You noticed, huh?” I said, running my hand through my hair.
“You aren’t exactly subtle,” she says still smiling.
We chat the afternoon away. Little things - our majors, what dorms we are in, our professors… all of the usually university chit chat. She was easy to talk to. So comfortable in her own skin - in who she is.
We talked through my 3pm class and through her 4pm class. We were both enjoying ourselves in a way that I have never had while talking to someone else. It just all felt so right.
“I should get going,” I finally said, glancing at my watch. “I have volleyball practice and my coach will tear a strip off of me if I am late.”
I stand up and offer her a hand up. She takes its. Her hand is warm. It is unexpectedly calloused, like someone who does lots of work with their hands, and much stronger than I expected. I pull her up.
“See you tomorrow, in math class,” she says with a wink. She takes a step and then leans against the tree, letting out a little grunt.
“Hey, you ok?” I am instantly worried for her.
She hangs her head and takes a couple of deep breaths.
“Fine. I am fine,” she lies.
She is clearly not alright.
“I will walk you to your dorm. I have time,” she starts to protest, “Don’t. I will walk you. Can’t have you passing out half way there.”
She takes my arm in hers and we walk to her dorm.
The chit chat has died out and she looks apprehensive. Scanning the quad - she is tense and on edge.
The sun is dipping behind the campus buildings, casting the quad into premature twilight. The lamp posts flicker and come to life - one by one.
I keep trying to get her talking but I am just getting one syllable answers. Something has her preoccupied.
We are almost at the dorms. There is a rustling over by the dumpsters. She freezes. Tension runs through her body and I can feel it in her arm. Her breathing speeds up.
“It’s ok, we are almost there. It is just a couple more metres,” I say reassuringly.
A shadow separates itself from the dumpster. Must be someone dumpster diving. Seems harmless. The shadow starts coming towards us, walking then running.
She brushes my arm off and squares herself to the shadow.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. She drops her backpack and stand with her legs shoulder width apart and her arms loose. Her hands start to glow in a bluish white light.
The shadow is clearly a man, about our age, running towards us. His face is covered in messy rotten food.
“Die! Witch!” He yells.
She swirls her hands around and then suddenly pushes them out from her centre. A ball of bluish white light blasts off from her hands and hits him in the chest. He staggers and then falls to his knees.
She runs to him, spinning her right arm, windmill style. The bluish white light gathers on her hand. She leaps at him - just as she is about to land the light from her hand lashes out like a blade - slicing him in half.
Stunned - I shake my head and walk over to her.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” she says panting.
Looking at the guy, sliced cleanly in half, lying on the ground in front of her and then back to her.
“What the hell is going on?” I say, terrified.
She takes a knee in front of the body. “Ghoul,” she says. “It was rooting around in the dumpster for rotten food. They usually feed on dead animals and people but anything filled with decay will do in a pinch.”
Her eyes never left the body as she spoke. A soft light emanated from her hands. She pressed them to the ground in front of the body. The grass started to glow. The glowing spread and enveloped the ghoul as well. Then the whole thing gets swallowed up by the grass.
She stood up and looked into my wild eyed face. She smiled slightly.
“I am Angela and I am a witch,” she gave a slight tilt to her head, “I don’t usually tell people in such a dramatic fashion but ghouls are an abomination that have to be dealt with. They will corrupt everything they touch. It had to be dealt with.”
“Ok,” I said simply. Somehow I wasn’t bothered or even phased by this. I handed her the backpack she dropped and we walked to her dorm.
I open the door for her.
“You good?” She asked as she went in the door. “You have been awful quite since…. Since the ghoul.”
“I am good,” I said with a smile. “You didn’t need me to walk you back at all. Did you?”
“No, but it is very sweet,” she said with a smile. “See you tomorrow?”
“You know it!”
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and headed into the dorm.
|
It was going well until she found out I'm a furry. But we're getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?
It was your average Monday, and I kept sneaking glances at Laria who was sitting a couple rows over from me. She was our resident goth when goth as a style was dying out, and there were rumors she was a witch. Arthur, noticing my furtive glances, dared me to take her out on a date, and despite my insistence that I couldn't - I didn't even drive a car - he and a bunch of other guys insisted, and transportation would not be a problem since one of them volunteered to double-date with his girlfriend.
So now it was Friday night, and we skipped out on the football game to go to an Italian place, which Laria and I decided on. The four of us got our orders in, and then it was time for conversation. Gerald, the guy who was dating Hannah, let slip the fateful remark, and I felt a chill in the air as Laria fixed me with a strange yet powerful stare, and I felt electricity flow between us as something clicked in place.
The rest of the date proceeded without incident, and we went out separate ways as Gerald dropped each of us off. Laria gave me a kiss as I stopped at her door, and the sparks seemed to intensify.
That night was the most painful one I ever had, and I passed out at some point for the rest of the weekend, even missing church that Sunday. When I awoke early Monday morning, I was thirsty above all else, and so I went to the bathroom for a drink of water.
Turning on the light, I was grateful I held a plastic cup, the strange sensations from my proprioception making sense now as I beheld the body of an anthropomorphic bassarisk, and I realized Laria had turned me into what I now knew to be my true fursona. *Odd,* I thought, looking up what I had become. *I've always thought of myself as a wolf, but...this ['ringtail'](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringtail) fits me to a T.*
I suddenly grew a big self-conscious, noticing I was naked, and shuddered as I thought of the fright I must have given my folks. Only then did I realize all the time I had lost as I glanced at the date on my phone, and got to work right away on the homework that would be due later that day.
When I got to school that morning, I noticed that despite how different I was, people were treating it as though it was...normal? Then I realized that they were whispering not about me, but about *Laria,* and I turned around and beheld the most beautiful bassarisk woman I had ever seen.
First period was awkward as the teacher seated us next to each other, muttering something about the consequences of wish fulfillment and curses whilst offering congratulations, and Laria mentioned to me that the teacher is her father. With a common name like Smith, I wouldn't have guessed. She promised to explain everything to me at lunch, and I reluctantly agreed, though I wanted to know right then what was going on and why both of us were bassarisk people.
The explanation took the whole lunch period after we got our meat-laden meals, and now I understood why her dad was both upset and elated. Apparently if a witch or wizard transforms someone into something else by a curse or fulfillment of a wish, that person's soulmate is transformed as well in order that no barriers be erected in the way of true love. And so, when she transformed me into my true fursona, she became her true fursona as well, and since we were soulmates...
Years have gone by since then, and after graduating from high school and college, we are the proud parents of many children, all bassarisks as well...at least until they meet their soulmates. Then they become their soulmate's true fursona. Having this "curse" be passed down and propagate through further generations does not concern us; after all, humanity needs to speciate, as 8 billion of a single species is too much. And it turns out we weren't the first to undergo such a transformation, as descendants of other such couples from throughout history have come out of the woodwork to help us find jobs and other things necessary for functioning in society. You know those mascots you see at sports games and theme parks? A good number of them actually have actual furries underneath.
As I lay here with Laria in my furred arms, making love once again, I once more thank Gerald for mentioning that small detail about me. Without that remark, I would be a lot worse off in life right now. That sly fox...
|
escher4096
|
SupersuMC
|
2023-03-30 18:11:34
|
2023-03-30 04:11:42
| 34 | 16 |
jeaxhuu
|
je8ga1g
|
1269n8x
|
1269n8x
|
[WP] When a human crew refuses to leave on a ship numbered 13, an investigation reveals human "superstition" for the first time to other races, who are baffled by the concept
|
I let out a moan. Our team has been monitoring camera stream from Pathfinder for days. It was one of humanity greatest achievement, we were able to establish a consistent video stream to one of our neighboring planet after all.
However, after the initial cheer wears out, it was honestly pretty boring. What appear on the screen was an endless desert consisting of red sands. From time to time, my newer coworkers has asked me to check the screen, but every single time I do what's there is just a big old nothing.
There were no spaceship, no alien in mars. It's just an endless desert. Well, that is until...
"Ralph, check the feed.", My coworker called me again, waking me from my daydream. I reluctantly look towards my screen, preparing to explain that what they see is just a disturbance in the signal or Fata morgana. However, instead of that, what I saw made me completely speechless.
A large object, so big that it didn't even fit in our rover display was seen in the display. It was made of metal, and its front is buried within the desert. Some part of the metal was missing, like it been ripped apart by something.
However what baffled me the most was what written on its body. "USS-Proteus", there are no mistake, it was a human language and what seems to be a code for US Navy.
"That name feels familiar-", one of my co-worker says. She seems searching in her computer for several minutes before getting back at me.
"Si- sir.", she continued, her face pale grows pale. "It's a US Ship, dated back from World War 2. Reported missing at Bermuda Triangle."
"Get a better look!", I ordered, my coworker in charge of moving the rover nodded in approval.
What comes next, is something out of science fiction.
A Graveyard, full of Ships and Planes, all of them sinking to the desert. Some of them had been carefully ripped apart, something impossible to achieve by just crashing.
Even without identifying them one by one, we could deduce where these shipwrecks came from.
"What the hell is this!", I muttered. "Is this place connected to the Bermuda Triangle somehow!?"
None of my coworker responded, they must've been just as shocked by the sight.
I quickly move my hand to dial my superior. This is a big discovery. However, before I could do that, I notice something even weirder.
In a moment of blink and you miss it, I could notice something on the top right corner. Whatever it is, they were Flying.
"Sir- did you see that!?", one of my coworker, who apparently noticed the same thing asked me.
"Yes, that is-", I answered, but before I could finish, a voice come from the phone I'm holding.
"Hello, what's the matter?", the voice asked.
"Yeah Administrator. We found something that might interest you. Can you come here as soon as possible? This is big news!"
"Hold that thought.", he replied. "The President just called for an emergency meeting. Can you do it after lunch?"
"Huh- did something happens?",
"There was an unidentified object flying from the Atlantics, The Defense Secretary think they're the Soviets."
|
“Hey, look at this.”
“Look at wha- holy shit. Are those… boats?”
“Yeah.”
“And planes?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did those come from? Mars is 152 million miles away from Earth. Is it… aliens?”
“Definitely not. If you look at these planes here, they are members of flight 19, some bombers who went missing in Bermuda. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“So your saying this is where all the ships & planes have been going? They’ve been going to Mars? That doesn’t make sense.”
“It may not, but there are a staggering amount of ships here which are US navy. If most of these ships & planes are identified as missing Bermuda cases, I think that’ll give us our answer.”
“Right… but, this also opens up a question. How did they go to mars? Is there a portal in the Bermuda Triangle.”
“If we get our answer, we could probably send a space probe over to Bermuda to find out. And if it works, we might just have easy access to Mars without needing to fly for over a year.”
“Right, but what about the other countries? Russia & China? What if they found out about this.”
“They won’t.”
|
Particle9A
|
Pope-Francisco
|
2023-04-19 15:24:04
|
2023-04-19 14:31:58
| 41 | 27 |
jgw26po
|
jgvugju
|
12rpn2s
|
12rpn2s
|
[WP] A man finds a genie's bottle, complete with a real live genie. Instead of blindly asking for wishes, he first asks politely for the genies advice on what to wish for.
|
The prop room of the studio was cluttered, dusty, and dimly lit; not the expected place for anything magical to happen. Several of the lights in the back corner were out, making it hard to see finer details like the labels on the props. The film studio’s new assistant prop handler, a man in his late twenties, was in the back of the prop room trying to dust off the label on an Aladdin-style lamp. His job title made him sound more important than he really was. If anything, he was more of a glorified PA. The higher-ups would give him a list of prop and costume ID numbers, and he’d gather them up and bring them to the set as quickly as he could. Passing the PAs in the halls, he couldn’t help but think: if he were carrying cups of coffee rather than a trolley of props, his title and payroll would be the same as theirs. It’s not like he could really complain; he was getting paid more for a task of equal labor after all! It just wasn’t what he had hoped for when he moved to Hollywood to join the film industry.
As the man brushed his sleeve against the golden lamp, he suddenly felt a tingle like static electricity along his skin. The broken lights in the corner of the room flicked on.
“Huh,” the man said, glancing up. He looked back at the lamp, hoping to be able to read the string of numbers now, but instead his gaze rested on a small orb of light on top of the lamp. The light was shaped like a small person, no more than a couple inches tall. It sat atop the lamp, swinging its feet and looking around the storeroom curiously.
“It’s gotten awfully dusty in here since the last time someone let me out,” the light remarked.
“What are you?” the man asked, realizing too late that his question sounded rather impolite.
“I’m a genie,” the light replied. “I thought that was kind of obvious, given the whole rubbing-a-lamp-and-me- showing-up thing.”
“I didn’t mean to summon you,” the man said.
“Even if you didn’t, you still get three wishes,” the genie said, hopping onto a stack of dictionaries. “So hit me! What’ll it be, boss?”
The man cleared off a spot on a ratty sofa and sat down. There were plenty of things he could wish for. His career journey- and his move to Hollywood- left much to be desired. On an even larger scale, he could ask for perfect health for his family, a billion dollars, or even world peace!
He put his head in his hands, feeling overwhelmed by the possibilities. After a few moments, he looked up and addressed the genie.
“You’ve been around a long time, right?” he asked. “What do you recommend?”
Even without distinct facial features, he could tell the genie was surprised. “What do I recommend you wish for?”
“Yeah,” the man said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I bet you’ve seen it all. The selfish wishes, the stupid wishes, the wishes that were more of a monkey’s paw… If anyone would have good advice about this, it would be you.”
The genie shook his head and hopped onto a shelf next to his stack of books. “Look kid, as depressing as this might sound, I don’t believe in wishes.” He slid down the bar of the shelving unit like a fireman pole and landed gracefully on the linoleum tiles. “I’ve granted many, many wishes and I have yet to see someone make one they didn’t regret.” He picked up a golf pencil that had rolled into a corner and pointed the tip at the man sitting on the couch. “Wishes ruin people. What’s that one quote? ‘When the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers?’”
The man nodded. “Oscar Wilde.”
“See, you get it!” The genie said, jabbing the pencil in his direction. He tossed it over his shoulder before continuing. “I know the contract here is that you kind of have to make 3 wishes, but you asked for my opinion and my opinion is to find a way out of this mess.”
The man thought for a minute while he watched the genie examine random items he found under the furniture. The genie was halfway under a loveseat, reaching for god knows what, when the man spoke again.
“How long have you been alive? Like how long have you been stuck in the cycle of waiting for someone to summon you and then getting trapped in the lamp?”
The genie pulled his head out from under the loveseat. “A long time.”
“Don’t you ever wish you could do something else?”
The genie laughed shortly. “Interesting choice of words. And even if I could make my own wishes, I’d probably just become as greedy and selfish as you humans. No offense.”
The man thought back to the PAs he’d seen getting ordered around every day. They could use a few wishes. And his dad, who had been battling cancer on and off for years now. Hell, even the homeless man he’d seen outside on his way to work needed these wishes. None of them had rubbed a dusty old lamp in the props room, but that didn’t mean they deserved this opportunity any less.
“Would you be interested in a bit of a career change?” he asked the genie cautiously.
The genie looked up from the penny he’d been inspecting, intrigued.
“I was thinking I could use one of my wishes to free you, and your new job would be traveling around and granting the wishes of strangers. Like little acts of kindness.”
“Ah, and since they wouldn’t start out with the knowledge they have a wish, the greed wouldn’t get to them!” The genie added. “I like the way you think.”
“I only need the one wish, since you’d be free immediately after and you won’t be obligated to fill the other two anymore.”
“Right,” the genie said.
The man sat up straight and squeezed his eyes shut. “In that case, I wish you were free from the lamp and could grant the wishes of strangers you see who might need them.”
He opened his eyes, but the genie was gone. The lights overhead winked out. Everything looked exactly the same as when he had walked in, but he knew that the world had just changed.
|
Genies are notorious tricksters. They always have been depicted and portrayed as entities that will deceive and half truth in ways that alter the meanings of your words to give you the opposite of what you wished for. Or, at least that’s what I recalled when I picked up the lamp.
I had been doing an archaeological dig with my cohorts in a small village when we came across the lamp. We decided that it would be best to call it in before we messed with it, as these kinds of things are taken very seriously within my team. One of our guys just had to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark last summer and ever since he got the boss so hyperactive about the worries of artifacts harming us. And honestly, I thought about showing them the Last Crusade, the chalice scene would make them flip!
The boss shows about an hour later, and insists we hand it over. When I go to reach for it, however, my untied shoelace catches me by surprise and I begin to fall face first towards the dig table. Just then, the ground around us began to shake. Smoke started billowing out of the spout, and just then, the genie shouts: “HAHAHAHA! At last I am released! Tell me, boy, what can I do for you?”
Reasonably, the boss is pissed. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO MESS WITH IT!” As soon as he finishes, the genie snaps, and his mouth is gone! The boss falls to the floor in fear, writhing and grunting reasonably. “SILENCE! My master has the floor.”
I figured that must be me.
“H-hello m-mister genie sir. How- how do you do?” I gulped.
The genie looks at me and laughs a hearty laugh, once again rumbling the floor. “How do I do? How do I DO? I do fantastic! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve conversed with your kind? Do you know the power I wield? I can make any of your wildest wishes come true! You can trust me, after all, I’m in no position to lie.”
And he was right, he was in no position to lie. I was his master. Or, was he? I thought for a moment, looking around at my team as if to say “anyone wanna help here?” They all just shrugged, or shivered at the potential mistakes we would make. Ultimately it was going to be up to me.
“That’s uh, that’s swell mister genie. Say, can I wish for my bosses mouth back?”
Your wish is my command, I heard in my head as my boss began to scream, seems as though he got his mouth back.
“Scott! Stop this at once! Wish for him to go back in the bottle! Wish for no more wishes! Do not do business with that thing!”
My boss had a point, I was lucky that one wish went over so well. I had to think, either I could solve the worlds problems, or they would be spun in a way that it could only cause more. And, what of my job? This was all an accident after all, I had no reason to get myself fired.
“Alright, g-genie!” I swallowed, and tugged at my collar. I needed to calm down. I was overplaying this in my head.
Then it hit me. What would the genie do? Maybe it wanted things I wanted from the world.
“I have two wishes genie! You are mine! And as my advisor, I want to wish for advice for my last wish!”
Suddenly my mind was filled with hundreds of dialogues all speaking over themselves. I realized I only had one wish left, and thousands of wishes were filling my head. I couldn’t dream of fixing all of these at once, could I? I was getting overwhelmed, my forehead brimming with sweat.
“STOP THIS! I asked for advice! What is this?”
“That, my boy, is every unwished demand from peers before. The things their hearts wanted. Do you hear them? They let their minds get in the way and solved their desires. Not their needs. Not the worlds needs. Isn’t that sad, boy?”
This could have been my chance, I thought. I CAN solve all the problems!
“Alright, genie. I accept. I wish that all the unfulfilled wishes you’ve seen through were granted.”
The genie grinned. I shivered. I knew I had done something horribly wrong. And then he snapped his fingers.
|
zero_the_ghostdog
|
Domenstain
|
2023-01-29 09:20:07
|
2023-01-29 05:13:29
| 37 | 27 |
j6cdod0
|
j6btf39
|
10nlru3
|
10nlru3
|
[WP] A grandma that you helped across the road turned out to be a genie who grants you a wish, you wish for a perfect 2023, but she misunderstood and now every day at 20:23 everything goes your way.
|
The moment that genie made my wish come true, I bought a lottery ticket expecting to win. When I lost, I swore that genies weren't real and I wondered if I'd accidentally taken some kind of hallucinogen. It wasn't until several years later that I realized that everything seemed to go "right" at 8:23 PM each evening and that the genie had misinterpreted the wish entirely.
That's when my quest to game the lottery began.
At first, I bought the ticket in the morning and then waited until 8:23 to look at it to see if I'd won. When it was a loser, I thought that the answer was simple - I'd need to find a lottery that was drawn at exactly 8:23 PM. I researched every lottery in every municipality, province, state, and country in the world and found that not a single one drew a lottery at 8:23. Some were 8, some were 8:15, and others were 8:30. That left only the possibility that the lottery was drawn by accident at 8:23 and that I held a ticket in my hands.
I drummed up a plan where I would fly to a remote country that had a lottery at 8:15, call in a bomb threat from a pay telephone, and hopefully, that would delay the drawing until exactly 8:23. Assuming I was able to get away from the telephone, and that it wasn't being monitored with a camera, the plan felt unstoppable besides that it was a roll of the dice that the delay would work until exactly 8:23. I thought more about this and figured that if I could keep them on the phone and tell them to proceed at exactly 8:23, that would work.
So I went ahead and flew out on a Saturday morning and had a lottery ticket in my hands by 8:00. I'd researched the exact location I wanted to make the call from ahead of time, and the plan went off without a hitch, which was amazing given all the variables involved. I told the lady at the lottery corp that there was a bomb in the machine and that if they didn't draw the lottery at exactly 8:23 then the bomb would go off. They actually believed me and delayed the drawing! But when the numbers came out, I realized I had another loser.
Furious, I stomped back to my rental car and drove off as fast as I could. On my way back to my hotel I realized how stupid I'd been. There was a six-hour time difference between where I was and the place the genie had granted the wish. That meant that I really needed the lottery draw to happen at 2:23 P.M. local time.
*Grr.*
I was sitting in the hotel bed eating an ice cream I'd ordered from room service when I heard a knock on the door. When I looked through the peephole I saw two unformed cops. *Shit.* I opened the door, hoping that it was something other than they'd discovered that I'd called in the bomb threat.
Of course, they'd discovered that it was me who called in the bomb threat. A lady in a restaurant by the pay phone thought my car was strange and took down the license plate, which they then tracked down to my hotel room. How freaking unlucky could I be?
They took me to the station and booked me into jail. Overnight, I hatched a plan to get out. At 2:23 tomorrow I'd try to unlock the cell with something and escape before it turned 2:24. Surely this had to work.
So when the wall clock in the cell read 2:23 the next day I tried to hatch my plan. When it didn't work, I screamed out to the genie so that all the other prisoners in the jail could hear me.
"YOUR STUPID WISH DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE!"
I didn't expect the genie to materialize out of thin air with a smirk on his face.
"You forgot about daylight savings time!" he said.
And that's how I learned not to trust genies.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
|
He wakes up in the morning tired, dejected at another days of work. Starts off his day with some basic chores.
A light breakfast to start the day, eggs and a toasted piece of bread, that's all you can afford on Walmart's minimum wage salary anyway. The repeated mundane cycle was definitely killing him inside and chipping away at his sanity, but every since that day, the day with the old lady, he has found hope.
Hope might be an exaggeration, even he knows its just the only thing that has kept him going day after day, and although he does not believe in a higher power, he believes that one minute in his day might just be something sent by the divine .
He rushes back from his shift, taken a bus back to his apartment, and waits patiently in front of his laptop. Clock ticks 8:22, he starts typing
Tick
"Hi Annie, i know you've told me you dont want to talk to me, but i just wanted to reach out. How was your day, how have things been going , how are you feeling ?"
'hey ! i was just thinking about you ! thing have been going good. heard a really nice song on the subway today, and booked a few tickets for a standup night show, got some pretty flowers for myself, things have been good, how about you?"
"It make me happy to hear about you ! fills me with joy to see you so filled with life ! just wanted to let you know i miss you a lot , and am not sure how i can fit all the things i want to say to you"
' I understand, its just that i dont.....................'
Typing.....
Typing...
Typing.
.
Tock
He knows, the time isn't enough, the time will never be enough. Still he waits, to repeat the same cycle, the next day, every day.
|
armageddon_20xx
|
Jasssinghhira
|
2023-03-22 18:31:04
|
2023-03-22 17:38:05
| 20 | 15 |
jd92g3r
|
jd8tzbd
|
11yd4tb
|
11yd4tb
|
[WP] You're on a hike and find a sign, it reads: "WARNING DO NOT LOOK AWAY. There is a danger here, the danger is based on sight. The danger cannot see you if you cannot see it. Help will arrive every half-hour. DO NOT LOOK AWAY." The sign has a built-in clock, it's 3:15pm.
|
When you were gifted your seed at the age of five you were giddy, imagining what form yours would choose, what magic it could contain. You stored it carefully inside it's velvet lined case under the moon skylight in your room as instructed, and opened the lid every full moon for three years just like you were told you must do. And when the day came to plant your seed in its ceremonial pot you were extatic, you chose the best soil for it, and planted it with great care, so ready for the journey ahead. Ten years they said, ten years to full maturity, ten years to full potential. Ten whole years of waiting, and nurturting, but you were ready for it.
The first seven years flew by, your seed flourishing and growing exponentially. A staff then you think idley, you'd hoped for something more portable, but if fable holds true then perhaps you have more power than you thought. This pleases you, and all is well.
Until the night of your 16th birthday, late, a new moon, already ominous for the start of new birth year. Alone in your room you hear a crackling from your moon room, and then a solid, final, CRACK. Dread grasps your throat and you can't even swallow for the fear. They speak of this sometimes, in hushed voices, the sound of breaking clay, a companion dying in its pot, magic dying with it. They say it hurts when it happens, but strangely you feel nothing but your own fear gripping you.
Slowly you rise from where you sit, and take tentative steps towards the closed door of the moon room. Hand shaking lightly you reach out and twist the handle, slowly pushing the door inward.. and it hits something, something solid. You peek your head around the door, fearing some destruction previously unheard, but instead are met with something else entirely. A tree. Roots sprawled across the floor as if searching for soil, clay pieces in every corner of the room from the force of its escape. It's not too large yet, a sapling, still liftable, but you get the feeling this won't be for long. It pulses with a desire to grow. More. Bigger. Taller. It cannot be contained by this room, this house.
Scrambling quickly you locate a large bucket and soil, just enough to place it in, and quickly drag the thing through your darkened home, careful not to wake your family. This is worse than a companion death, this is a blast, and a blast is a death sentence. People fear power beyond that which they can control, and this. This is exactly that.
Once outside you haul your companion into a wheelbarrow and creep, briefly, back inside to grab supplies and say goodbye to your home. This is the last you will see of it. Then you hastily disappear deep into the redwood forest surrounding your village to find your place in the wilds.
9 years later..
Through no easy path, and plenty of trial and terror you have found yourself hundreds of miles from home. But it's not bad here, it may have taken what felt like an eternity, and nearly cost you your life a time or two as you hauled your ever growing companion across the landscape, and into the unknown.
You have put down roots, quite literally, in a place of rolling meadows lined with tall, full trees bathed in sunlight. Your companion, you planted on a rise overlooking a sweeping valley. A space that has since become yours to protect. And as for your home, well your companion has accommodated. Within months of planting it had outgrown the size of the giant redwoods you trekked through, and through your connected magics the inside of this now massive tree has been shaped into something magnificent, a space to truly call home. Levels winding through its trunk, connected by sweeping stairways, light filtering through windows galore, pure life vibrating through its heart wood in the center, keeping chill and heat at bay. A collaborative effort between you both. A space of welcome for the weary.
Your power flourished when your companion was gifted space, air, rain, and light, and the two of you have never been happier in living than you are now having become guardians of this new land. You miss your village, your family, your life, but you know that having to leave meant choosing life. And in that, you find peace. A peace you hope to share with any who wander your way.
|
As I stood there reading the sign, I had a particularly strange feeling. I knew these woods through and through, since our family cabin was just about half an hour of walking away from this place. The sign looked just like the other ones that ranger Willy puts up updating the hikers about bears and other wildlife. However something felt off about this one.
“Every half an hour…”, surprisingly out of all that, this part bothered me the most. Did Willy hire someone to help him out? Or was this 60 year old geezer really the kind of person that would come to this exact place every half an hour? Why isn’t he watching this place at all times? Now that I think about it I walked by here yesterday and I don’t remember any signs being around…
As I got lost in thoughts again the clock moved up to 3:20. I really have a problem with this zoning out business don’t I? Well, at least it will help me to pass the time faster, I thought to myself still observing the sign as a foolish obedient person I am.
To be completely honest I was not that worried about that danger nonsense. I hunted in these woods with my granddad ever since I was 8. Whenever Willy had a grizzly problem, he would call us and we swiftly took care of it. I shouldn’t have been so naive, but how could I have known.
By the time I snapped back, the clock said 3:25 and the so called “help” was on the horizon. When I managed to go this far I might as well wait till the end. But on the other hand, I wanted to be home for lunch. After all, I promised my wife, that this will be a quick 2 hour walk to get my mind off work stuff.
The clock read 3:28 when I decided I am going to risk it, since the forest was silent ever since I came here, just birds singing in the distance. As I tried to turn my head to the right I found out that it didn’t work. It was as if my muscles were not responding. As if my body didn’t even belong to me. As if I was just an observer that is tasked to look at the sign at all times.
The clock read 3:30 when I all of a sudden started moving towards the sign. And to my surprise it moved towards me too… I tried to resist but as the sign split open to reveal a set of about a billion teeth, I understood that it was all in vain as soon as I started looking at that damned sign.
And in my last moments I realized… that I am never going to make it back home for lunch.
|
anchoredinstormyseas
|
Spy_Mouse
|
2023-10-03 01:21:07
|
2023-08-13 12:38:06
| 30 | 21 |
k382y8t
| null |
16y261p
|
15pgoo5
|
[WP] The warrior spent five years training to face the one who slaughtered their family and burned their village. Five years of training, and another two to track the man down, only to learn he choked to death on a piece of chicken mere days ago.
|
"You honor him by wearing your armor," the Elder said to the Warrior as he entered the memorial. "Did you fight alongside him?"
The Warrior, hand on his sword, stared at the sincere face of the woman before him. "Yes, I suppose. How did he fall? I've heard many stories, and would like to know the truth."
The Elder's face twisted toward anger. "Such a rude question should not be spoken in this space." She turned and left him standing alone.
In the center of the room a group, circled together, prayed. Along the edges people talked, and wept, all dressed to tradition and matching the decorated space around them. Resting against the far wall, surrounded by flowers and gifts, was the General—his body positioned respectfully, holding his sword against his chest, adorned in his ceremonial armor and skin painted in a manner that exuded gentle strength.
\*\*\*
The Warrior watched the General move through the village. Both of their armor and swords are bloodied, but the General moves his with experience, cutting down those fleeing with ease as though harvesting wheat as he moves toward warriors far less experienced and far more fearful. The air clouded by the smoke pouring through thatched roofs, the ground slick with mud churned more by blood than water. The Warrior has already mourned. They had attacked from the East, and he'd been watching the West, and by the time the Warrior had ran through chaos and arrived at his home, his world had already been cut down and left scattered throughout a home that burned.
He had never swung the blade with intention to kill before that day. Had never held it to block a blow meant to take his life. He ran toward the General, sword drawn, silent and focused. The General felled two unarmored villagers, laughing, eyes empty. He turned and saw the Warrior charging, readied himself in a relaxed stance, then watched as a horse, riddled with arrows and sword slashes, plowed into the young man, then fell on top of him.
The Warrior struggled to breath, then passed out.
\*\*\*
The Warrior was pulled from under the horse, carted in a daze to the nearest spared village, where he slept for days. Once he awoke, he slept little for five years. Others trained beside him, all focused for the same reason. They raided. Obtained intelligence. Sabotaged. Found weaknesses and exploited them. Grew more disciplined. Though the General hid behind walls, too injured and worn down to fight the battles he loved, there were still ways to face him. The Warrior was selected to leave, work a farm, then answer a call for recruits when it came. The process was slow. He'd had to train with other peasants and farmers, and do so in a way that hid his skill. His ascension up the ranks was swift, and two years after leaving to begin the plot he was told he would be given his orders by the General and sent to lead his first expedition.
The day before he was to stand before his target, whispers spread through the ranks that the General was dead.
\*\*\*
The Warrior stared at other soldiers flowing up to the body then away, wondering if they really mourned for a monster. As he approached the body, his mind filled with intrusions. The corpse looked no more frightening that a field of flowers. Others behind him waited their turn. He felt his sword in his hand. Considered how it would feel pushing through the General's neck. How the faces around him would look as he held the head in the air and screamed. A hand touched his shoulder.
"Sir, may I please begin my turn," the man of middle age said.
The Warrior did not answer immediately, but the man stayed near him. "Tell me," the Warrior whispered to the man. "Some rumors of the death are coated in bravery, while others tell a different tale. Which do you believe?"
The man looked around them before speaking. "I am related to the General," the man said. "Distant relation, but close enough to know the truth. It's not something the family wishes to discuss."
"It is not something I would repeat."
The man, eager for the Warrior to move on, sighed then leaned even closer. "The chicken," he said. "He always ate so fast. They found him alone, drumstick in hand, face blue. The piece of meat was pulled from his throat, but he was already gone."
The Warrior wanted to say thank you. To yell in anger and frustration. To cut the man in half, and every other member of the bloodline. Instead, he laughed. Not loud, but a sincere, rolling, laugh that caused the man next to him to draw back and pretend they'd never met. The Warrior stared at the General, imagined those final moments, then turned and left, with plans to return to his band of warriors with as much information as he could gather.
.
.
See my profile if you liked the story.
|
I returned, bloodied, tired...but happy.
I battled for our country, and won honor, and rewards.
With the elixirs at hand I could help my children onto the path of cultivation, their future brighter than mine.
With the money on my hand, I could help my parents have an easy elderly life, while I could ensure my wife gets healthier...and maybe, maybe we can have another child.
But then...everything was for nothing!
For before my very eyes...my village was in shatters, burned to ashes, my family nothing but a memory...
I learnt from a child who was hidden inside the well about who did it.
A evil cultivator with a snake tattoo on his face, and a scar on his left hand...
I trained for 5 years, spending everything I earned: rewards, honors, favors to strengthen myself.
Cashing in all the relations I have made in the army...in two years, I found clues about the man who did it.
About the man who destroyed everything I loved.
On the day I arrived at the town he was in...I learnt about his fate: he was dead.
Dead, having choked on a piece of chicken...exactly three days ago.
I thanked all those who helped me track him down...and then wandered the world.
What was I...still here for?
My family is dead.
My hometown burnt to ashes, I give it a few more years...and besides a couple souls, nobody will even remember a village being there anymore...
I have ascended, become stronger than a general...for what?
Revenge? My family? My country?
Nobody needed me anymore...
Fishing for nothing, I spent my days besides a lake...feeling empty.
"Young man...why so cloudy?", an old man, whom was even earlier than me at the lake chuckled.
I sighed.
"That was one heavy sigh...
It seems you have lost everything.", he said, his gaze softening.
"Elder...you see right through me.", I said.
He laughed.
"With you wearing your heart on your sleeve...it's not hard.", he said.
"I...I have nothing left.", I muttered.
"Don't you have your life?", he tilted his head.
"But...for whom am I living?", I asked.
"Yourself? Your parents who birthed you, and who raised you? For your loved ones, be them still with us, or in Yama's realm?
Don't get stuck in the loss, remember to live for them, not because of them.", he said, slowly disappearing.
I sat on the ground for days, before breaking through once more...
Indeed...I am healthy, and still alive, they...they wouldn't want me to join them so soon...
"I will make you all proud...", I muttered, ready to make a name for myself...for their sake.
My wife, whom wanted to help everyone, my parents, who wanted to feed everyone...and my two sons who wanted to be elite warriors...
I...I will fulfill their dreams in their stead.
|
StetsonSBostic
|
TheWanderingBook
|
2024-10-04 16:01:42
|
2024-10-04 15:04:10
| 35 | 11 |
lqbhisn
|
mw96ljz
|
1fw0l65
|
1l4gx0t
|
[WP] "They only ever use a single spell in combat" "Yea but theyre REALLY good at that one spell"
|
​
"How are they winning!" Zoan asked shock as he stared at the illusionary screen. Everything on there came straights from the scrying spell the school was somehow casting automatically in connected succession.
"It...wasn't something our neophyte wizards prepared for," his aide said carefully and standing a few steps away from Zoan.
"It's Mud Shot. The stupidest spell ever made! The fucking spell so inefficient and needlessly complex. It fucking pulls in moisture, mixes it with *levitated* topsoil, and then adds velocity to it's mass...it's a needlessly complex! It does all this crap at once for little pay off! Fire Ball or Magic Missile would have been better spell to learn for that level of complexity! Hell Earth spike alone is simpler and deadlier," Zoan said in disgust.
It was one of the reason he went out of his way to make sure the Zeros didn't have access to them, or any of the other more "useful" spells. It took his entire fraternity booking every sympathetic teacher and signing out every book and scroll in the school's public library. The Zeros had no money, no connections, and with Zoan's fraternity depriving them of what was 'publicly' available, it should have crippled them!
What should have been a one-sided slaughter between legacy wizards-with both history and a rightful claim to patrons-and the dregs that lucked their way into *their* world had been reversed. Zoan was watching his top neophyte recruits, the budding of cream of the crop, get their asses handed to them by FUCKING MUD!
"How are we losing! Our wizards know a lot of spells, they are only using that one fucking spell!"
"Yeah, but they are really good with it," some one muttered behind him in a low voice. Zoan would have been tempted to punch whoever said that, but he was too busy watching the atrocity happen before his eyes.
The members of Zero shot mud at his neophytes feets, some solidifying in place, others making the ground slippery. Those that fell where quickly hit again, mud solidifying in place. Some sort of Spell Hack, whoever taught them that? And that was the ones hit in the feet. Those hit in the head before they could cast some sort of barrier spell were instantly out for the count.
When his Zoan's remaining neophyte wizards finally started casting barrier, the fucking Zero's switched tactics! The spell was then used to reshape the battle field! It built bulwarks and cover as well as steps and towers to be used a scaffolding. Not a bad thing for Zoan's neophites, it also meant the Zero couldn't aim directly at them...so they shot up into the sky like a fucking artillery!
His neophites adjusted their shields...and mud solidified around them! those who weren't wise were trapped inside a layer of mud like some magic shell and were quickly piled on by more mud!
It was ridiculous!
Zoan had broken the skin on his bottom lip and the palms of his hand by the time the last of his remaining neophytes was hit by a giant mudball, losing the match.
The Zero's had won.
**"FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"**
|
“Hey, see that castle over there?” Said the rogue of the party. “Yeah I do, what about it?” The young mage in red replied to him. “You should cast your spell on it and see what you can do to it,you know it’d be pretty funny!” He goaded her. “Alright, you asked for it!” She struck a magnificent pose for a mage, staff outstretched, the gem gleaming a deep crimson in the midday sun. She raised it high above her head and started her incantation. “Oh Crimson Black Blaze, god-king of myriad worlds, though I bend and break the laws of reality, I am the Voice, the Body of destruction incarnate in accordance within the principle of all creation. Let the hammer of eternity descend unto me! EXPLOSION!” Seven rings appeared above and around the castle. At first a thin beam of light connected them. Then as the crimson clad mage called out the final word of the incantation, power burst forth, barely contained by the rings. She fainted as the castle crumbled into dust, leaving behind an empty cliff face.
Sorry for formatting, on mobile.
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dgj212
|
ShiftlessGuardian94
|
2023-07-08 06:06:44
|
2023-07-08 00:54:30
| 24 | 12 |
jr4fpal
|
jr3isos
|
14t91lm
|
14t91lm
|
[WP] Fighting vampires and werewolves even with a secret organization supporting you is hard enough, so it was a shock to discover that your friend has been fending off eldritch horrors by himself for years now.
|
Mitch hated to do it but he had to warn Mr. Spring about the vampire next door. The man was old and had lived in his ranch house for over fifty years. He wouldn't want to move.
Mr. Spring opened the door in his bathrobe, an ancient brown fabric with patches of different colors on each shoulder.
"Mitch? Well I haven't seen you since you were a small boy, coming over to weed Edna's garden!"
His face held what seemed to be hundreds of more lines and wrinkles than Mitch remembered when his family had moved away but Mr. Spring's eyes were still bright blue
and his smile was just as wide and true.
"Hey Mr. Springer," Mitch said.
"Come in," Mr. Springer said, gesturing inside. "Why this is a pleasant surprise yes it is. What brings you back to this old place."
Mitch took his hat off. "I work for a security company now sir and we've had some issues with a man who might have come to visit you recently. A very tall man with pale
skin. He moved in next door a few weeks ago."
"You mean Richard? He came by, asking about a blood donation," Mr. Spring said, picking up his cigar from the tray next to his chair.
He took a big puff, blowing out a breath of dark smoke that smelled of elderberry. "I told him I already gave at the Eagles and he laughed."
Mitch rubbed his face. "He laughed?"
"Said something about it being a forced donation after. Real odd duck."
"Did he hurt you Mr. Spring?"
The old man looked down at his slippered feet. "Well I confess those fangs of his did give me a fright but my boys took care of it."
"Your... boys?" Mitch asked.
The light in the room began to leach away until Mitch could only see a flicker of it in Mr. Spring's eyes. Tentacles formed on either side of his easy chair. Small shapes
appeared in the darkness near his feet. Dozens of eyes of all shapes and sizes blinked at Mitch.
He felt a coldness that he'd never experienced with wolves or vampires or any supernatural before. He swallowed a few times. "What?"
One of the tentacles smoothed Mr. Spring's silver hair back.
"Was missing my Edna something fierce when they came a few years ago. My Edna woulda called them adorable but I like them. I put out some peanut butter. They just
love peanut butter."
"Did they deal with your unwelcome visitor?" Mitch asked nervously. Teeth had begun to appear out of the darkness. Rows upon rows of dark teeth.
"He's gone," Mr. Spring said. "Can't say for sure what happened but he won't bother me again. Me or the boys."
The old man smiled contentedly.
Mitch slowly stood up. Several sets of eyes followed his movement. "It was nice visiting with you, sir. I don't think you'll be troubled
by such folks again."
"No I suppose not," Mr. Spring said.
Mitch wasn't sure what he was going to put in his report. He knew what he'd seen but.. he also had no idea what he'd seen.
He'd call it "misadventure". Yeah, he liked that. Misadventure.
|
I sat with Frank on the patio of a restaurant. “So, how’s the foundation doing without me?”, he asked.
“It’s going well.”
The sky darkened and people screamed. I looked up and gawked. A giant creature flew above the city. It was a green humanoid. It had tentacles, which emerged from its mouth, flopping about. Its huge bat-like wings flapped. I suddenly saw Frank bound into the air at it. Frank’s fist was pointed up. With a strike, the creature was launched into the sky. It disappeared. Frank landed a few feet from me and looked down. “Yeah, he said, “I’ve been killing Eldritch beings.”
“Why have you never told me?”
“I get embarrassed.”
“How are you that powerful?”
“I dunno.”
“Where was this level of power when you worked at the foundation?”
“Well, I was using a gun.”
“Why didn’t you use your fists?”
“I didn’t want to kill.”
I cocked my head, mouth agape. He looked up. “Wait, were we supposed to kill?”, he asked.
“Yes!”
He looked surprised and said, “I thought we had to show mercy!”
Two women ran over toward him. One said, “Hey, can we get a picture with you?” He put his head down.
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nazna
|
ShySilverSurvivor
|
2024-01-12 01:36:16
|
2024-01-11 22:33:33
| 17 | 10 |
khgc8qm
|
khfj61n
|
1943zh5
|
1943zh5
|
[WP] "Everyone can become a billionaire within a month", or so I was told. You decide to let a clairvoyant superintelligence pilot your body for a month. As it takes the most optimal path to make you a billionaire, you watch hopelessly in horror.
|
I still remember it when I graduated in 2007.
When they said the advertisement in school- "Be a billionaire right out of college, call this number!", I was wary. I've seen through Cutco trying to lure students in, I've seen job fairs that pretend they're interested only to be lucky if they have the decency of not ghosting me. For all the job market looked like, ultimately your work in school didn't matter, all that mattered is if Mommy and Daddy owned a place that'd hire you, with a slight second if you could drink or have something on someone who's Mommy and Daddy owned a place and get them to also hire you.
I took down the website and number just in case, but didn't intend to use it- until the year got worse. No good jobs were hiring. Or bad jobs. Even McDonald's and Walmart were just throwing my application out in front of me. Shit, even going to the military didn't work; even they didn't think my life was worth even a meat shield.
When my mother lost our house and did so specifically because my best wasn't good enough for anyone, the first nervous breakdown happened. I truly had no other option. If this succeeds I become a billionaire, if it fails I die in a ditch.
I made the call. The place said "Welcome, we're glad someone has the willingness to be a billionaire in 30 days."
I was still wary. "Are you sure someone can do this? Do you guarantee it?"
The person on the phone replied "Yes. We are certified by the government and can guarantee if you work with us, you will be a billionaire in a month. All we need is proof you have a degree and a clean criminal record."
Well, that's hopeful- at least whatever I'm doing will be legitimate if you can't be a criminal. Of course, everyone has some minor scrapes in school- but I went through the state anyway and could prove my record was clean. I sent it in.
The next was my degree. I had to send proof in, it didn't work. They asked for transcripts. I had to drive all the way back to my out of state school, but the gas was an investment. I got my transcripts and had to call. They said 'oh, here's the problem- you're a college graduate, we need a university graduate.' I needed to get them in touch with the school to make the business aware 'college' and 'university' were synonyms in the United States and me going to a private college was actually higher education.
But after a bit longer, it worked. I finally got the call.
"It is all clear. You have been accepted into the program."
I breathed a sigh of relief. "So you guarantee I will become a billionaire?"
The person on the phone smiled. "Absolutely. Get your passport ready; this time in 30 days, we can start your job teaching ESL in Zimbabwe."
|
"22 more days of this? Will I even be able to enjoy my new wealth outside of federal prison?"
When she snapped out of her daydream, she surprised herself at her own indifference toward what she affectionately calls "the simpler days" when bribing her way to a multi billion dollar fortune was unfamiliar and scary.
But clearly it's become second nature as she's doubled that fortune many times over. Injure the judge in the 11th hour before a lopsided judgment, intimidate the litigants, join the settlement, collect, and destroy the public records. Wash, rinse, repeat. Wash, rinse, repeat.
"And to think I used to believe billionaires were smart and special. When we're really just --" she looked at the plaque on the wall -- "efficient and indifferent."
|
Spiritual_Lie2563
|
OurNewestMember
|
2023-08-20 16:41:27
|
2023-08-20 16:31:57
| 35 | 15 |
jx0l0qm
|
jx0jl71
|
15w8yeo
|
15w8yeo
|
[WP] One can easily distinguish a true veteran adventurer from the masses, for one doesn’t fear those who show to the start of a dungeon with gleaming weapons and polished armor, but those who show up wearing casual clothing, looking like they just got done shopping in town not 5 minutes earlier.
|
"Is that a carpenters hammer?"
Bob smiled. "Keen eyes, dear leader," he said. "I couldn't find my sword so I borrowed this from my neighbor." Garrick the Stern looked Bob up and down. "*This* is what you choose to wear into the cursed mines?" he said, gesturing to Bobs common attire. Bob shrugged. "I had a piano recital before this," he said. "Hard to tickle the ivories in battle gear." Garrick sighed, but figured at the very least their new recruit would slow down their enemies as they stopped to devour him.
"The loot will be an even split," he started, addressing the group. "Our target is in the heart of the mine. The precious stone of the mad foreman is said to be worth a fortune. We extract it, and we're set for life." Dex, the assassin, smirked. Halvar, the Wizard, puffed out his chest. Bob scratched his nose and bit into an apple. Garrick drew his sword. "To glory!" he shouted, and ran into the mine. Halvar and Dex followed closely behind. Bob followed at a leisurely pace, finishing his apple.
The group passed through the entrance shaft and into a wide cavern. Halvar raised his staff. "Light!" he commanded, and a bright white light emanated from the crystal on top. Red eyes blazed at the perimeter of the chamber. Garrick flung his shield off his back into his offhand. "Brace!" he said, just as the horde charged. Magefire blazed a group of ghouls and sent them shrieking into a smoking heap. Daggers flashed as three, four, five of the foul fiends fell with slit throats. Garricks sword got stuck in the ribcage of one of the creatures just as another was descending on him. Blood splashed his face, and Garrick opened his eyes to see the light fading from the ghouls eyes.
Then he saw the carpenters hammer lodged in the ghouls head.
"Bullseye!" Bob said, entering the cavern. He pulled the hammer out and brushed it off on the dead ghoul. "Oh man, Jerry is going to be pissed. I'll have to get him a hammer that's not covered in ghoul brains." Garrick blinked, then wiped the blood from his face. "Try to keep up!" he said, glaring at Bob. They moved deeper into the cavern and, to Garricks surprise, Bob was holding his own. He seemed to favor using the hammer as a ranged weapon, which was easily the least efficient application. Most of the enemies Bob felled he did with his bare hands; clacking their heads together or snapping their necks in a single motion.
"Why, on Earth, do you keep throwing your only weapon?" Garrick finally asked after they had dispatched the latest pack of enemies. Bob raised an eyebrow. "Well I can't use it close range," he said. "I'd get blood all over my nice recital clothes." Garrick did his best *not* to look at Bob as they continued deeper into the mine. Eventually they came to a large door set into the mine wall with lit torches on either side. Garrick turned to address his crew. "This is it," he said. "The Mad Foreman should lie within. It is said his command of vile blood magic is unparalleled since his demonic possession. Be cautious, friends."
They entered the chamber and saw him. The Mad Foreman sat on a throne of corpses, his demonic thralls bowing before him. A ghostly laugh spilled forth from his twisted lips. "You think to challenge me?" he said. "I will add your broken bodies to my throne." Dex got into a crouch and spun his daggers. Halvar scowled and pointed his staff. Garrick steeled himself, then gasped as something flew past his head. The Mad Foreman rose from his throne. "Feast, my children! Dine upon these fo-"
"Is that a carpenters hammer?"
***SHLUNK***
|
The man walked in with gleaming half-plate armor. His war scythe etched with the most delicate edelweiss pattern. He hummed a quiet dirge as he polished a bit of brass on his belt, helmet glinting in the light from the cave’s entrance.
The bandit grinned. A new adventurer come to test his mettle. He remained in the shadows as he stepped just a little closer. Suddenly the man looked up and pointed with a gauntleted hand as the other held the bit of brass.
“In the name of the Queen, mother of the natural death, I rebuke thee for thy hubris. Feel the wrath of the fates you have sundered, taking lives that were not yours. *burn* with her vengeance.”
The bandit couldn’t even bring himself to scream as the man spoke with an even calmness. The words lit a flame within him as he dropped his bow and arrow. Clawing at himself from the agony as the Goddess’s power entered him.
He was dead before the armored man had finished speaking.
The man removed his gleaming helmet to reveal burgundy red eyes and skin the color of coal. Kneeling beside the bandit to grab the proof that had been demanded for this task. The idiot hadn’t even tried to *sneak*, but at least it made things easy.
After decades of traveling, he wondered if there was something wrong with him. He’d established his name as one who is very good at getting the job done and sought out those his goddess hated, but he constantly received simple jobs any new adventurer could do. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. He did have a very bland and easily mistaken title.
It wasn’t too uncommon to find a man named Eric the Cleric after All.
|
jpb103
|
Hetakuoni
|
2023-06-20 16:56:12
|
2023-06-20 14:38:08
| 266 | 103 |
jouo1w3
|
jou3ei1
|
14e8boo
|
14e8boo
|
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is here. The general public… actually has a better handle on it than the government does.
|
When the outbreak first began in the US, many of us assumed the worst to come and soon the Walking Dead or The Last of Us would become a reality. Most expected the first to fall would be the major cities and a quick end of order in society as a whole.
This shared opinion grew even more so as the military failed to contain the outbreak and even lost many soldiers sent to combat the infected, but by then, it was too late. Those government idiots actually tried to control the infected, to see if it could be weaponized. It all started with Patient Zero and a dozen other patients to whom they studied, instead of just putting bullet through their mindless skulls and saving the rest of us the risk of spreading the disease.
News spread like wildfire which is to be expected, some panicked, others remained composed in light of the news and even starting preparing to abandon the cities while others seemed excited?
It didn’t take long before a wave of infected made it towards the most populated area around the country, but instead of a city of cowering and defend-less mobs of people, the army of the undead were met with armed to the teeth, ready for action militia.
I guess the Second Amendment really did have its perks. Many people were armed with AR-15s, pistols of many varieties and even homemade explosives and tanks of gasoline.
“Yo! Hand me another gallon!” Tom voiced out casually as Jerry shifted over to his friend and handed the gallon of flammables. The two were both on the roof of a convenience store. Down below them, a horde of the undead stacked in piles, trying to reach fresh meat to convert in their ranks of rotten flesh. Their blood stained teeth chomping at the prey above them.
Jerry took a bite out of his sandwich, a turkey sub that he happily enjoyed, paying little to no mind to the stacks upon stacks of infected just a couple of feet below him. His best friend was currently dumping all the contents of the bottle in his hands onto the flesh eating animals below.
The man took out a beer from the cooler they brought with them and took a large gulp, “How many left?” Jerry burped as Tom took out a match, sliding the red tip across the box as a small flame appeared.
“Eh, I think they might be the last batch.” Tom shrugged before tossing the match over his shoulder. Not even a moment later, a bright flare shined as the horde began to burn into a crisp like the last mob of infected. The two friends merely sat side by side, ignoring the toxic scent of burning flesh.
“Wanna grab some snacks after this?” Jerry asked as Tone grabbed his own beer.
“Hell yeah.”
The two made a small toast as the flames died down along with the undead. They watched as armored vehicles, both military and self made, patrol the streets, either ramming into unsuspecting inflected or the gunner manning the machine gun struck them down.
All around the city, across America, people fought off the inflection like exterminators getting rid of several ant hills. Most zombie’s were gunned down, ran over or burned well done. Some didn’t even get the chance to bite their first victim before getting a bullet. Didn’t matter how many there were, folk just got to higher ground and pick them off. Although the zombies were terrifying in numbers, they lack one crucial quality, the human mind.
It seemed those movies and videos games seemed to be more than enough preparation for a situation like this. Teaching many what to do and what not to in a zombie apocalypse. At this rate, this crisis, if you can even call it that, would be over before dinner.
I guess we had nothing to fear after all.
|
It all started when one man drank a glass of water with a piece of ice containing the virus. On the first day there was silence. Fear crept into the hearts of every man woman and child. No one dares to make a move, except for the suicidal. Those who wish to die welcomed the undead. Many of them simply succumbed to the zombie plague, however some found meaning in killing the zombies. Those who longed for death overcame it in confronting those who had already died. A new world hierarchy formed with them at the top. Their mass killings gave confidence to the public. Soon bringing the dead back to their graves had become the global pastime.
On the other hand, the government lost all control. They obsessed over plans to control the zombies. They enforced pointless procedures that only endangered the populace. Distrust brewed within the government. Soon they became agitated so their measures grew more and more extreme. The number of civilians killed outgrew the number of zombies killed by the government. The leaders of the zombie slayers declared war against their own government. It was a brutal and chaotic war. Both sides’ losses were devastating. Through all the spilt blood, the undead grew. With a common enemy the government and the zombie slayers were forced to unite. When the dust settled humanity was victorious. It took a few decades but society rebuilt. The zombies of the past became a distant memory. However, unbeknownst to the world, a collector preserved a zombie in ice deep underground. The zombie was forgotten until a chunk of the ice found itself in the glass of a guy who wanted a drink of water.
|
Odd_Mobi4
|
Connect_Light9184
|
2023-08-23 07:56:45
|
2023-08-23 01:30:31
| 53 | 39 |
jxdvbn1
|
jxcsgy0
|
15yn1r3
|
15yn1r3
|
[WP] "are you another so called hero? here to save the princess from my clutches?" no, i am but a simple scholar. i just want to know why you would kidnap a princess in the first place"
|
"Well that's a refreshing change of plans", *sighed Vampire Lord Vallaruul in relief before snapping his fingers.*
*The illusory magic cloaking the reanimated corpses of previous heroes dissipated, revealing they they had been encircling the scholar awaiting the order to strike.*
*The first undead hero was adorned in divine armor and held a sacred blade that the scholar thought had been merely a legend, but his equipment had long since rusted over the centuries of undead servitude.*
*The second undead hero wore a tattered robe and held aloft an emerald encrusted oaken staff signifying their former rank as an archmage, but the scholar spotted a pair of Magic Redirection shackles around her wrists, constantly transferring her innate magic to her Vampiric master.*
*The third undead hero was clad in rotting furs, holding a fiery dagger against the scholar's throat. As the heroes acknowledged their master's command and sheathed their weapons, the scholar caught a glimpse of a demonic eye adorning the daggers scabbard, likely the insignia of the hero's former patron.*
*The three undead heroes joined the princess at their master's side, and the five of them looked at the scholar in anticipation. The vampire lord broke the awkward silence by sarcastically clapping, his undead thralls visibly unsure if they should also clap.*
"Congratulations! You are the first mortal who has bothered asking me why I kidnap princesses. Normally, heroes just assume that I do it for political leverage or because I want some sort of princess harem. But you actually walked into my lair completely unarmed, without any combat experience, encumbered only by your immense curiosity for my true motives. You are truly the most foolish scholar I have ever encountered, but your sheer recklessness to approach me without a battle strategy has amused me, so I shall satisfy your thirst for knowledge."
*The vampire lord called upon the magic of the shackled hero, their face twisted in horrific agony as magic was violently siphoned out of them. The magic swirled around the throne room, coalescing into a thin disk of ontological energy, pulling apart space and time to form a gateway to another realm. The scholar could not look directly at the gateway, as glimpsing an infinitesimal fraction of the eldritch horrors beyond caused the scholar intense psychic damage.*
*The vampire lord casually bit the neck of the princess, rapidly draining her of her royal blood. As the princess's mummified corpse slumped in her chair, the vampire lord retched and unceremoniously regurgitated the princess's blood, projectile vomiting it into the planar rift. Lips glossy with royal blood, the vampire lord addressed the eldritch horrors directly.*
"Denizens of Darkness Between the Stars, bathe in the ichor of your brethren, and know that thine ichor shall too flow if your gaze is cast upon this world!"
*The gateway closed with an audible pop and the magic flowed back into the shackled hero. The vampire lord gestured to the first hero, who plunged his sacred blade into the dessicated corpse of the princess. The vampire lord then recited a long forgotten prayer.*
"Oh light bringer, goddess of the sun, shine your rays of mercy onto this fair maiden. Rekindle her flame so she may cast light upon the shadows."
*The Scholar witnessed a heavenly golden light flow from the rusted sacred blade into the princess's corpse, restoring the lost blood and completely reviving her. The princess sat up and resumed her perfect posture as the hero removed the sacred blade from her chest.*
*The vampire lord turned to the scholar with a smile and asked*, "Has your curiosity been satisfied, or do I need to elaborate?"
*The scholar paused and took a minute to process what he had witnessed before replying.*
"Alright, so because you are undead, you are not mentally affected by the maddening forms of eldritch horrors. You perceived them a long time ago, and knew that they would destroy the world if they could, so you needed to find a way to stop them."
"In your proclamation to those incomprehensible horrors, you claimed that the princess's blood was the blood of *their brethren*, tricking them into believing you are capable of killing them if they attacked. But those creatures likely receive blood sacrifices all the time, so the royal family must have consorted with those creatures in the past, granting the princess an eldritch bloodline that makes her blood similar to eldritch ichor."
"You knew that the kingdom would not allow you to regularly sacrifice members of the royal family, and would likely not comprehend the threats existing beyond the stars, so you had to kidnap the princesses to keep the world safe."
"After slaying the first hero sent to rescue her, you figured out how to manipulate their connection to the divine to revive the recently deceased, allowing you to repeatedly sacrifice the same princess and spill their eldritch blood over and over."
*The vampire lord's sarcastic applause transitioned into genuine applause in response to the scholar's impressive deductive skills.*
"Well done! You managed to figure out what I have been attempting to explain to that ignorant kingdom for centuries. Now before you leave and inevitably fail to convince the kingdom of the existence of threats from beyond the stars, is there anything that still vexes you?"
*The Scholar pondered the question, then turned to the revived princess.*
"I do have one question. How do you feel about this arrangement?"
*The princess rubbed the spot on her neck where the vampire lord's fangs pierced, and replied with a smug expression.*
"I don't know how the previous princesses felt, but my professional relationship with Lord Vallaruul is much better than the arranged marriage that my father planned for me. He grants me the power and autonomy that my potential husband would have taken from me, so I am honestly happier living here. Besides, I only have to be sacrificed once a month, and I get to spend the rest of my time enjoying my hobbies."
|
The Dreadlord clutched his mace tightly as the doors of his hall opened slowly yet steadily. He prepared himself to meet the foolish hero who would dare rescue the princess from captivity. Footsteps echoed through the room as in walked-
\- an aged man wearing a robe, spectacles and carrying a bag filled with scrolls.
The Dreadlord raised an eyebrow.
"You are not what I expected, *hero*," he said with discernible disdain. "It matters not; though a mage you may be, you shall not rescue-"
"Oh, hello!" the old man greeted happily. "Are you Mister Dreadlord?"
The villain paused for a moment. "Am I- the impertinence! You dare insult me with such a-"
"Oh, terribly sorry, sir," the old man raised his hands, "my eyesight isn't very good, you see?" he chuckled and pointed to his glasses.
"You're a fool. You're in no state to rescue the princess."
"Rescue?" the man shook his head, "No, sir. I am but a simple scholar. I merely wish to know - and write down - the reason for which you kidnapped the princess."
"You... excuse me?"
"A scholar. Historian, if you will. I do not wish to interfere with your actions. I simply wish to write them down so history will not forget or, worse yet, *misinterpret*."
The Dreadlord wasn't quite sure if this was a trick or not, but nevertheless, he put his mace back onto his back.
"And why should I allow you to do that?" he bellowed.
"Knowledge, good sir!" the scholar said sternly. "The most valuable currency of all. I believe that you, as a man of success, see the value in it! If nothing else, I can make sure your side of this conflict will be known to all! And, if I may be so bold, perhaps I could also chronicle the accommodations which you have provided for the young lady?"
The Dreadlord, somewhat amused by the scholar's brave foolhardiness, chuckled. "Very well," he nodded. "Come."
The scholar smiled and after pulling out a fresh scroll of parchment joined the Dreadlord at his side.
"Now, sir, before we start, I would like to start the script with a simple question - why do you call yourself Dreadlord, of all things?" he asked politely.
"It is not a name I picked," the tall warrior sighed. "It's one that was given to me. Pinned to me by the King and his cronies in an attempt to sour my reputation!"
"I see, I see," the scholar nodded.
"Here," the Dreadlord announced as they approached a large wooden door. "Her chambers, Best we talked out this affair with her, wouldn't you agree?"
The doors swung open and revealed the prison to which the princess was confined.
A comfortable chamber with a tall carpet, luxurious furniture and a crackling fire. Several bowls with fresh fruit sat on various surfaces, each accompanied by a pitcher of water and wine. A room that was perhaps not fit for royalty, but was most certainly suitable for nobility. The princess sat near a window with a cat on her lap, but stood up quickly, startled by the sudden entrance.
"Oh," she sighed. "It's *you*. And... who is this?"
To the scholar's surprise, there was no disdain or fear in her voice. At most, there was a tinge of annoyance.
"A scholar," the Dreadlord replied calmly. "He wishes to record the events which transpire here."
"Hello, your highness," the scholar happily said and bowed as deeply as his aged knees allowed. "I see you are... well?"
"Well enough," she said. "For what it's worth, this man," she said and nodded towards the Dreadlord, "has some sense of courtesy."
"Which, of course," the scholar turned to the armour-clad warrior, "brings us to the main question. *Why*?"
The Dreadlord looked down at his feet where the cat, annoyed by how rudely her nap on the princess' lap was interrupted, sniffed his boots.
"Power."
"I see, I see," the scholar said and scribbled a note. "Care to elaborate?"
"The King does not deserve to rule. I do. His corruption, arrogance and bloodthirst pale in comparison to any tyrant I've seen. For such a monarch-"
"Who are *you* to say?" the princess interrupted angrily. "You have killed hundreds of innocents in your quest to overthrow my father."
"And he slaughtered *thousands*."
​
*Part 2 below. I went a bit longer than expected.*
|
Maja_The_Oracle
|
SirPiecemaker
|
2023-08-06 16:43:17
|
2023-08-06 16:25:21
| 344 | 84 |
jv1qmbz
|
jv1nz8g
|
15jnrjx
|
15jnrjx
|
[WP] You are at the center of a time traveling war. For every assassin sent back to the past to murder you, another warrior is sent to protect you and kill the assassin before they get a chance. As the bodies pile up, you still don’t have the slightest clue why you’re so important to these people.
|
It's really getting ridiculous.
I can't go *one day* without a time-travelling assassin popping up in front of me and trying to kill me for what I am going to do at some point - only to get stopped by *another* time-travelling assassin sent to protect me. I mean, I just wanna drink my latté in peace, without having to watch two madmen vaporize one another. Is that *so much* to ask?
On the upside, every now and then, when I wade through the ash or goop or bones or whatever is left of these pricks, I find a piece of tech. Something that survived both the journey and the fight. I'm starting to get a nice little collection for myself. And it just so happens that my engineering degree allows me to grasp the most basic of principles on which some of this stuff works.
I tried showing others, for sure. But, well... those people were, well...
Look, it's *time-travelling assassins,* and those people are apparently not important enough to protect. What can I do?
It is rather odd that as of late, the attempts have been getting more frequent, bolder. And I could swear wider - as in more different time periods have shown up. Call it a hunch, but the drastic differences in fashion and sophistication of the tech the assassins have used really do indicate that at least several millennia's worth of people wants to both kill and protect me.
Maybe - just maybe - it's got something to do with the machine I've been working on. My very own time-travelling watch. Why should they be the only ones to have all the fun? I always wanted to see a gladiatorial match in the Colosseum.
So I took the watch, waded through the fresh pile of bodies at my feet, tightened the last screw, and...
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
**Ah.**
Of course. I get it now.
I forgot to carry the four. Sixth line in my equation, I believe.
Plus, it seems like technology from different millennia doesn't particularly like being used in unison.
Both of those seem like good explanations as to why time itself is collapsing around me now, being simultaneously stretched and compressed, ripping reality apart.
I get flashes of people making final attempts at my life - attempts to stop me from what I just did. I see flashes of the people who were trying to protect me this entire time - a doomsday cult eager to see my work through. *Morons*, all of them. Had they just left me alone, well...
Doesn't matter now. Whatever 'now' is at this point, anyway.
At least, in all that, I got a few glimpses of the gladiatorial match I wanted to see. Close enough, I suppose.
*Tick.*
*Tick.*
The irony does not escape me.
*Tick.*
I hope it doesn't escape them either.
**Tic-**
|
Walking down the street has never been so dangerous.
Or getting groceries.
Or literally just watching T.V.
For me at least.
Standing outside a bar, not even tipsy and waiting for an uber to pick me up, I hear the oh-so-familiar rush of the wind.
A man emerges from nowhere, blade raised and eyes fierce. He looks so determined, so excited to be the one to finally get rid of me it's honestly a bit sad.
A gunshot fires and he drops to the ground, blood oozing from the new hole in his forehead.
I walk over, kick his head and give a quick thumbs up to the shadows. A new person steps out, nods their head and zips away.
"Thank you!" I call after them.
Ah, what a regular night.
|
SirPiecemaker
|
CorgiOtter
|
2023-02-19 05:45:06
|
2023-02-19 04:07:02
| 1,116 | 91 |
j94qjw5
|
j94gem7
|
115zvws
|
115zvws
|
[WP]When a soldier loses a limb, it is a tragedy. Soldiers are needed at peak efficiency, so they must undergoes the unthinkable - grafting metal to flesh. A horrific abomination, the mere process is often enough to shatter what is left of their mind. Then, there are the humans.
|
This is my first go at one of these. It was really fun!
The grafting ward was a cacophony of wailing. Dr. Zerb could hardly hear himself think. The attending doc thumped a tendril against a clipboard impatiently. Dr. Zerb hated the stupid barnacles the attending had grafted to his face. A fashionable fad.
“Dr. Zerb,” The attending doc said, barnacles jiggling. “Time is up, what is your diagnosis?” The patient’s eyes rolled around, uncoordinated. One eye looked at Dr. Zerb, pleadingly, another looked at the attending, terrified, and the third eye darted from his remaining flesh tentacle, then to the grafted cybernetic tentacle and back.
“Uhhh,” Dr. Zerb stammered. “Acute metallurgic grafting psychosis with neuropathic pain.” The attending frowned, disappointed that Zerb had not been stumped. It was tough to catch true neuropathic pain hiding under the psychosis. “I’d prescribe a sedative and a narcotic, followed by VR physical therapy.”
"Good work Zerb,” the attending said. “With the right VR exercises, this hero will be back on the battlefield and fighting for the Queen's honor in no time. On to the next patient.” The circle of interns slithered behind the attending around a hanging sheet that divided patients in the grafting ward. Lying on the bed was a pitiable creature. It had no scales, only raw, naked flesh. It had disgusting hair protruding from its head and face. It had two sticklike appendages that stuck out from its bottom, and one that stuck out from its top. On the opposite side of the top-appendage, a standard cybernetic tentacle had been grafted. The grafting site was red and angry. The creature had the audacity to smile with its bony teeth at the attending doc and the interns as they approached. Dr. Zerb fought the urge to ink.
“What’s up doc?” The patient said amiably. “Oh right, that’s an Earth joke. You see there was this cartoon rabbit-”
“The patient is a human of the male subtype from the Sol system.” The attending doc started. Zerb thought that maybe Karz preferred someone who had grafted some barnacles too. A tasteful amount though, not the obscene amount that this pompous idiot had gone for. “The patient has already been prescribed a Solian medicine called antibiotics to treat the grafting site. A preliminary psychiatric screen found no dyskinesia, no emotional distress, no psychosis, and an increased appetite. Dr. Groyg, what is your opinion?” Groyg’s chromophores went wild with panic.
“Uhm, malingering? Sir?” Groyg asked. “It’s faking a rapid recovery. To get back to fighting for the Queen's honor faster.”
“Malingering is the opposite of that, Groyg” Dr. Zerb whispered.
“I feel fine. Really,” the human patient said, flashing those horrible bony teeth again. “Better than ever, even. This tentacle is so cool! You know on Earth we had this video game with cybernetic implants-”
“Zerb?” The attending asked. Zerb pushed down the desire to ink again.
“It’s well-known that in 60% of humans, an otherwise successful grafting results in no psychological backlash.” Zerb felt a little bad stealing Groyg’s thunder, but he had literally just read about this last night. “Beyond initial bacterial infections, many metallografted humans appear to function as well or better than before losing a limb, and are back to fighting shape in mere days.”
“And what is your prognosis for the current patient, Dr. Zerb?”
“Anyone who could withstand the metallografting process, viewed by many to be abhorrent and sacrilegious, without succumbing to a period of psychotic psychosomatic symptoms, clearly either suffered debilitating brain damage during the accident, or worse, was mentally and morally deficient before ever sustaining the injury.”
“And your recommendation, Dr. Zerb?”
“Unfit for return to battle, sir, and Queen bless the poor bastard.”
|
“I’m telling you, my lord, this process is not at all what you think it is!”
“And I am telling you, we are at war, Chief Magister, if it is ordered that this procedure be done to get these men back on the field, then it shall be done!” Lord Tytos, Commander of the Northern Force responded forcefully.
The Chief Magister stood his ground, though, “I understand that we are currently in a conflict where we need manpower, however, I can hardly say that this is acceptable manpower, my lord.” He gestured to the many operating studios behind him, “The men undergoing the fusion operation are irrevocably changed by the process. Their minds cannot withstand the intrusion of the augments on their bodies.”
“But they are able to fight, and that is what is necessary.”
“I am appalled at your lack of understanding, my lord. After this war is over, what shall be left of our valiant men who serve this nation? Shall they be able to return to their families? To their fields? To their occupations?”
“They can fight, that is what we need them for.” Lord Tytos reinforced evenly.
The Chief Magister lost his temper at that moment, “You are a fool and shall bring about the downfall of this nation, a downfall much more insidious than what our foes wish for us! You are damning untold numbers of men to a fate worse than death, a fate where they are but machines for this war and little else. Will you be able to stand before their wives, their mothers, their children and explain why they will no longer be the man they once knew? Can you?!”
Lord Tytos took his eyes away from watching a man being led away by two other Magisters who were having to almost physically lead the man off. “It is a necessary evil.”
“Necess… necessary evil? My lord, this has gone too far.” The Chief Magister said in shock.
“Mayhaps… but we may have to go farther.”
|
JTred007
|
DKSpocky
|
2023-06-14 19:04:50
|
2023-06-14 16:16:02
| 144 | 95 |
jo4xtn3
|
jo49fby
|
1492ya7
|
1492ya7
|
[WP] A millennium ago, only the wealthiest were allowed to board the ship, allowed to escape this dying planet into space. In their absence the world healed and humanity built a new utopia. Now, the ulta-rich have returned and want to reap the benefits of the new world.
|
“So, who are you?”
“Humans that left the earth a thousand years ago! We have returned!”
“Never heard of you.”
“We are the mighty 1% of the 1%.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Look, we’re rich. We had 98% of the earths riches. We still have our money”
“That currency belongs in a museum. It’s not legal tender”
“Then what about the deeds to our land?”
“Hold up, you went to space a thousand years ago and took the deeds to your land on the planet you were leaving behind with you?”
“In case we returned. We wanted our stuff back.”
“The government that validated those deeds fell over 900 years ago. They are no longer valid.”
“Then perish under the might of our power!”
“Sir, that ship is a thousand years old. My systems are telling me they have like three singularity power sources, only one of which is for weapons. The others are making your food or powering your engines. Oh, just noticed the five nuclear warheads. Big ones yes. Our asteroid interception system would take them down before they are in the atmosphere. Meanwhile we have three separate guns that fires neutron stars fix on you and you don’t have shields.”
“I thought your utopia was peaceful? Why do you have these defenses?”
“Oh, three hundred years ago some others left claiming they would be back to destroy us. They were just been sitting in the Ort cloud launching asteroids at us. We made piece with them two hundred years ago. It’s become kind of fun to watch our systems shoot the asteroids down. Big guns break it apart. Smaller systems clean up the rest. We loved the fireworks so much we do it and broadcast it once a month. Systems that do that are fully automated, and the reason we noticed you is they were preparing to fire, but it’s not scheduled for another two days. Had to actually scramble to figure out these old communication systems. Luckily there are some museums that keep old technologies working and do technical demonstrations. I’m not even the leader, I’m just a translator because people don’t speak English anymore.”
“So, you aren’t going to give us shares of everything?”
“Look, not saying it’s been perfect since you left, but it hasn’t been bad. What can you offer us? There just isn’t any need for any of you anymore. You have old money, old technology and nothing of value. Even your knowledge is a thousand years out of date. We can let you back in, and integrate you into society, but there is no special spot for you.”
“What if we don’t want to stay?”
“We can look into updating your ship and you can continue on your travels. I mean you’ve aged what, our calculations tell us five years thanks to relativity? Do the circle again and see if another thousand years puts Tera back in a spot where you are relevant? Or get you a terraforming ship, and get you set up on some lifeless moon or distant planet. We would have communication abilities and would support you. We have a list of some we think would be a good location. Normally people stay here and we send robots. But if you aren’t comfortable here, it’s an option.”
“Can we think about it a while?”
“Yeah. But not right there. We would suggest going to at least Mars. Should still be a pretty light show. Enjoy it!”
|
“What?” Asked Lucy as she stared at the radio that had just produced the worst message she had ever had. The rich that left the planet all those years ago were coming back. Lucy glanced up at the worlds six leaders and saw the most powerful one, Cosmic, massaging her temples. Cosmic had been there when the rich left, and she still didn’t look a day over twenty five a millennia later. Sarvin, the leader of animal’s, rubbed his head against Cosmic’s waist and she started rubbing his ears to calm herself.
“Let them come.” She said. Lucy and the others stared at her in shock and a smirk tugged at Cosmic’s lips.
“If they want to see what we’ve been able to do to the planet, then they might reconsider ever leaving us. That is when we lure them in. We play with them as they did us and when they think we’ve let them into our homes and have respected them, we kick them out of planet, making sure they never come back.” Sarvin perked up and so did the others. Looking around to each other, they could all see that they were agreeing. A growl of approval came from him and the others all yelled there approval as well.
“Let’s start the hunt.” Purred Cosmic.
|
Mr_Woodchuck314159
|
Magica-Lee
|
2023-01-11 02:31:46
|
2023-01-11 01:47:58
| 61 | 27 |
j3u90d1
|
j3u2q7x
|
108fkpv
|
108fkpv
|
[WP] It turns out that, rather than space orcs, humans are more like space cats. We believe ourselves to be the best species in the galaxy when we actually are taken care of by more advanced aliens while doing little more than be adorable and destroy local wildlife when left to our own devices.
|
“For only six quizmo’s a day, you can sponsor a human like Larry.” The advertisement stated, with the camera panning to Larry sitting on the beach, licking an ice-block. “Larry is divorced, lonely and has a weird thump in his chest that he refuses to talk to his doctor about. For six quizmo’s you can give someone like Larry the push they need to get their life back on track.”
The camera continued following Larry, showing the chubby man splashing about in the ocean with the droplets of water running down his hairy stomach. “At Humans need love. We help humans like Larry get their lives back on track. Our policy is subtlety in helping, which means we help the humans in ways they won’t ever notice. It could be as simple as putting a fresh shirt in his wardrobe, switching his meals to something healthier, or even just implanting a charm chip in his brain to help him land a lovely mate. So, if you want to help someone like Larry get his life back on track, please visit our help page, where you will find all the latest details on our newest humans.”
The advertisement ended with Larry putting away his beach towel at home; the man looking dejected after a day out. Not even the warm sand between his toes could cheer up his miserable life. Though, thanks to the help of humans need love, they located a woman that was also looking for a partner, making it so her car broke down outside of Larry’s home. The last shot showing Larry opening the door, with the two humans smiling at each other, finally feeling some hope in their hearts that things could get better.
“Aww, wasn’t he cute? Did you see all that belly fur he had? I just want to pat his tummy wummy.” Alids cooed, throwing her clawed hands up, the three fingers having nasty black nails that could pierce through flesh in seconds. Her insectoid jaw clicked as she turned to her mate, who only crossed his dark branch shaped arms.
“They always put the cute ones in the commercials.” Maxita huffed, being the alien equivalent of a man’s man. He didn’t want to admit the humans story had touched his heart, trying to keep up a stoic attitude, even while he eyed the help page in the corner of the advertisement.
“Can we adopt one? Please. It’s only six quizmo’s a day. I’ve heard they even give you updates. Our neighbor Heshooal adopted one last week, and she found out he goes outside, drinks a lot of poison and then passes out in parks. He’s such a sleepy guy.”
Maxita groaned, unable to deny how cute that was. “Fine, we can adopt a human.”
“You’re the best.” Alids hugged her husband, their mouths pressing together, creating a loud clicking noise that sounded like a broken fan blade smashing against its cage. When they broke their kiss, Alids grabbed her tablet, activating the chip in her brain. The chip connecting with the tablet, allowing her to effortlessly bring up the help page. All it took was for her to think about the symbol in the ad, and suddenly it appeared on the tablet, showing all the latest humans they had. She rested the tablet between them as they looked through the results.
“What about Andy? Says he likes to fight people at train stations. That sounds fun,” Maxita offered.
“No, no. A little too feral for my taste.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? That means he needs our help more than the others.”
“I…. guess, I just want one that’s a little cuter. Less rough around the edges. What about Nina? Says here she wants to be a ballerina, but can’t focus on her dreams because she has to work two jobs. We could support her dreams.” Alids didn’t know what a ballerina was, but it sounded interesting. To think even these little creatures had jobs and roles, it was all so amusing.
“If that’s what you want, my mate.” Maxita said, not as interested in something so basic.
“Fine, I’ll look for someone else. What about Sherry? Says she likes to go to restaurants and demand better service, even before the server has reached her table. She’s a wittle troublemaker, yes you are,” Alids said, patting the little icon that displayed the sixty-year-old woman’s saggy face.
“Hm.” Maxita wasn’t as convinced, scrolling through her profile only to see a video of Sherry punching out another old lady over a game of bingo. That making the alien grin. “Over five confirmed knock outs at bingo. She’s been banned from ten bingo halls, but keeps finding a way inside. I like this one.”
“See, she’s our little troublemaker. Think of all the help we can give her.” Alids hugged her mate’s side as she entered their payment details. After an eye scan, the payment went through, and Sherry was officially sponsored. “I can’t wait for our first update. Do you think she’s going to turn her life around? Maybe she’ll learn to be nicer?”
“Or maybe she’ll use our money to get a heavier walking stick to whack people with,” Maxita said, the alien couple imagining the possibilities, eager to hear receive some news about their newly sponsored human.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
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I was enjoying browsing through the Spaceships 8920-AB catalog, when I heard a commotion.
I looked up to see the humans coming to the market.
I smiled, watching them saunter all over the place, and buy things left and right.
They were a cute young civilization, whom acted proud, but liked to be spoiled...and they were in the good graces of several ancient civilizations.
Mine included...
Thus it wasn't a surprise when they saw me, they sauntered over confidently.
They talked about their recent "conquests", once again destroying local wildlife on several primitive planets.
I nodded, while being a bit disappointed, alas, what can I do?
Humans are cute, and they bring freshness, and liveliness into the Galactic community, so every now and then, losing some wildlife, instead of studying it...
It's worth it.
"Good job." I praised them.
They smiled, as if saying: "We know we did a good job. Give us our rewards." .
I chuckled, and sent them over some research on new propulsion systems, fuselage and weapons.
Something we already developed a few thousand years ago...and yet they were extremely happy.
Watching them leave with a skip in their step, made me feel good.
As I returned to my reading, I heard the usual murmurs in the market.
The ones who said humans were cute, and were almost getting useful...
After all, humans did destroy several entities we had issues with, as they were rather sturdy, and with huge population.
Humans are like that...good at hunting, and destroying things..and of course, while humans don't like it...they are really good at being cute.
And there was the other party: considering humans as parasites, who do nothing and yet are constantly rewarded.
Most of these negative opinions came from low and mid-tier civilizations though...so I guess it was just jealousy speaking.
Just as I was about to leave, I was stopped.
"Yes?" I asked the Zexorian.
"Your people are the reason my son is marrying a human!" they said, taking out a A-12b-Groxikanus laser.
I watched them fire it...a weapon that is standard issue weapon for the Groxikan Empire army.
Then I watched it bounce of my clothes, as it simply didn't have the ability to bypass my energy shield.
I patted the Zexorian's shoulder.
"Humans are cute to most of us, since we are humanoid, yet much more evolved...
They remind us of our old selves...
Also, while they act arrogant, and they are careless...they are kind to those who help them, in their own weird way, like giving gifts, or going out their way to clean up messes of ours, that didn't really need cleaning.
Also...they are good at destruction, and hunting...which when used properly...brings the Galactic Community much more value, then whatever you are bringing." I said to them.
"But..." they started.
"As for marriage...
Humans take love, and family seriously...so congratulations...you just made yourself staunch allies, so don't whine that much." I said leaving.
My mood to read about spaceships was ruined...and I think I am going home to tinker with the ones I already have.
Goddamn jealousy...from kid civilizations that are not even a million years old...
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sadnesslaughs
|
TheWanderingBook
|
2024-12-28 07:04:08
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2024-12-28 05:15:12
| 180 | 114 |
m45sz8c
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m45glx9
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1hnvzjj
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1hnvzjj
|
[WP] The thing about Cosmic horrors beyond human comprehension is that if you try to comprehend it you'll go insane. But if you name it "squid face gary" and take it only at face value you'll do just fine. If it's beyond human understanding, just don't understand it!
|
Most people thought that living near the Omni-Portal was a terrible idea. I mean, why wouldn't they? Most humans had gained a natural disposition towards avoiding the thing when the *first* scream of terror echoed through the world. Dave himself could scarcely forget the feeling himself.
Reality itself seemed to cry out as a literal hole was ripped in thin air. If he could assign a color to the unfathomable *something* that existed on the other side, then he would call it purple, but even he knew that was not the case. The... world... that laid just beyond that portal was not at all something he could comprehend, and even the notion of colors failed to accurately describe what was going on over there. The realm of the Cosmic horrors was incomprehensible in the plainest of terms, and the creatures that casually *seeped* into their reality was no different.
Dave wished that he could explain the creatures that roamed by his house that day. He really did. They didn't walk, or even float. They more of just... existed. They existed all the way past his house, masses of shifted and coiling shapes that never carried a distinct form for very long. They melded and blended into each other as if they were water, moving and phasing through the world as if they didn't belong.
And they didn't belong. Dave realized that very quickly. The noises they made were absolutely awful to hear. Not... unpleasant. Like nails on a chalkboard. Dave had a feeling that, had he the proper faculties to comprehend what they were trying to communicate, that he would find the noises rather delightful. He did not have the proper faculties, however, and as such the sounds that emanated from the creatures, if you could call it sounds, seemed to him as if such terrible, incomprehensible noise. Just recalling such things made his very soul shudder.
And wasn't it an earth-shattering realization that he had a soul? That he could feel it? And, of course, the first thing he could feel on his now very tangible soul was absolute, inexplicable pain.
Most people evacuated the area immediately, refusing to inhabit even the same breathing space as such an overwhelming existence. The ones that were brave enough to gather their things moved the very next day. The United States military came to his small town the very next day, bringing their hardware and their guns and such and attempted to evacuate him too.
Dave did not go. Dave knew what rent and such was like elsewhere, and he knew that he did not have the funds to live there.
So when the military, all brave men and women for sure, were overwhelmed by the Omni-Portal's very existence, Dave watched as they, too, evacuated. He pointedly ignored the unfathomable creatures that followed them with an almost curious gait, then went back to making tea.
There were several weeks that passed since then, and a very concerning couple of days where his utilities turned off, but after he figured that out things were actually pretty peaceful.
He sipped at another cup of tea as he watched a youtube video on his laptop. Most people were still talking about the portal, but life had more or less resumed despite it. The portal, and the creatures that roamed from it, were entirely benign. They didn't have a history of attacking anyone, and almost all casualties had resulted from people succumbing to their incomprehensible nature, rather than any active intent of their own. Dave found that, if left alone long enough, that the creatures simply... disappeared. They stopped existed in their world.
And so Dave left them alone. If all he had to do to be rid of them was to *not* interact, then he could do that. The only real danger came from trying to comprehend them, and so he simply did not. It wasn't hard for him to just *not* think about things. He used to not think about the bills he was behind on all the time. And those actually had a repercussion for ignoring them. The creatures that came from the Omni-Portal were harmless.
A creature, large and moving and sinuous like living banded cord, while flowing like oil, moved past his window. It stopped, and something that looked vaguely like an eye peeked in on him. He spared it a glance, designated it "squid face gary" in his mind because the only thing that had an eye that big was a giant squid, and went back to his youtube video.
He didn't think on it any longer than he absolutely had to, because if he did he'd be doomed.
Instead, he ruminated on the fact that his landlord wasn't here to charge him rent, and he'd finally have enough money to afford a car.
Oh! Or maybe he could just take one of the abandoned ones on the street. Wait, no. That would be stealing. That was wrong.
He sipped at his tea once more.
|
I hummed to myself as I took the bucket of chum to the end of the dock.
The name of the song escaped me. It was something that my father used to hum all the time, and I remember asking him the name, but it was escaping me at the moment. Ah, that was going to bug me for the rest of the night. Maybe I could give him a ring when I got back to the lighthouse and ask him. Otherwise, it was going to drive me crazy.
Speaking of which, I could see them writhing just below the surface of the water. Their eyes focused on me, each of them brimming with malice. I could see their teeth glinting in the moonlight. Forms ever changing from one nightmarish configuration to the next.
"Evening, folks," I said as I gave them a wave.
It was an odd life I had. The job was simple- live in the lighthouse, bring a bucket of raw fish meats down to the end of the dock and dump it into the water. I knew there had to be a catch, but I had been desperate for work. When I first saw them lurking in the water, I nearly pissed myself in fear. They were something I could never hope to understand. There had been a temptation to tear out my own eyes, so I could never look upon them again. But that would mean the last thing I had ever seen were those things. There had been no warning about what lurked in the ocean depths.
Madness began to seep into my mind. The more I tried to understand what I was looking at, the deeper my mind sunk. I knew at some point my thoughts would swim too deep, and they'd suffocate under those bleak waters.
So, I stopped trying to understand them.
When I accepted that I could not and would not understand them, a sense of calm settled over me. Even as I walked to the edge of the docks and looked down into the single, baleful eye the size of a truck, I didn't try to think of what it could be attached to. It really didn't matter. Even if I did try to know what it looked like, it would just change in a few moments. No point in wasting my time like that.
"Time for din-din," I said as I turned over the bucket and dumped the contents into the waters. The water began to froth the moment the blood and guts hit the surface. Humming that same little tune. "Who's a good eldritch abomination? You are. You are." I said with a chuckle. "Same time tomorrow?"
Humming that same tune, I began back towards the shore, dangling the bucket from my fingers. I felt a bit of wetness on my cheek, and checked it with my fingers. Blood. Blood seeping from my tear ducts. Only from one eye this night. Sometimes that happened. Even trying to accept the unacceptable didn't seem to work perfectly. Just being near that thing caused all sorts of strange problems. I didn't want to dwell on them.
After all- ignorance is bliss.
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The_English_Student
|
OrwellWrites
|
2023-10-06 06:08:34
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2023-10-06 03:00:01
| 151 | 50 |
k3oml7x
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k3o434b
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170vprd
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170vprd
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[WP] You used to be a powerful and feared supervillain, now retired and set for life. Now, there's a 20-something at your door begging you to teach them to control their rare power since it's the same as yours. They even know your villain name.
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[TW] slight reference to self-harm/cutting.
It was mid-afternoon in a quiet suburban neighborhood, Dick Duran was stirred from his reverie by an abrupt rapping at his door.
“Now who could that be?” Dick said aloud as he looked through the peephole.
He opened the door to a disheveled young man, no older than twenty. He had a patchy beard and greasy hair; Dick guessed the man either hadn’t slept or hadn’t showered—maybe both—in weeks.
“Hello, young man,” he said cheerily. “What can I do for you today?”
“I need you to teach me how to control it—please. I’m desperate,” the man was breathless, clearly at the end of a marathon, real or otherwise. “I can’t make it stop. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Please.”
Dick was retired. He didn’t want an apprentice, but there was something in the man’s face that moved him—call it weakness, empathy, an untapped paternal instinct—and he ushered the man into his home.
“Tell me, son,” he said as the man scarfed a croissant and gulped a piping hot cup of coffee, “how long has it been happening now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of time in standard measures anymore. I keep slipping in and out. The answer to that question depends on scale, I suppose.”
“Ah, I see. I’ve been there,” Dick said as he nodded and furrowed his brow. “At my worst I kept track in a less than savory manner,” Dick drew his right sleeve up to the bicep and presented his talley-scarred forearm to the man. “Like you, my…scale, was skewed.”
Dick noticed the man counting the tallies. “Seven. There are seven marks,” he said somberly.
“How did you get out? You need to help me get a handle on it. I don’t know how many more slips I can take,” the man said as he upturned the coffee mug in an attempt to consume the last reluctant drop.
Dick took the mug and refilled it, he came back with two more croissants for good measure. “Honestly? I can’t be sure that I ever did. That’s the other side of the coin to our ‘gift’. I think I can be sure of what I’ve accomplished—certain marks are indelible even in here,” he said as he tapped his temple. “But who knows? The mind is a tricky place.”
“But, you were the best to ever do it. You nullified the league of heroes for a whole month off of your power alone. I—I don’t want to hurt people. If anything, I’d like to help them—I could project paradise in their minds, people could be truly happy. But I know I can’t help anyone until I first help myself. And I can’t help myself without you.”
“The best to do it—ha! I like the sound of that, son. I’ll take the praise, but there’s much about that time you don’t understand and never will. There were…complications then. There still are now. You think that if a projection of paradise across the minds of the world was feasible I wouldn’t have done it by now? It’s too difficult. It doesn’t work. As you can clearly see, it’s hard enough to keep your own mind out of errant projections; imagine that on a global—hell, even a hyper-local scale. It’d be pandemonium before you knew it,” he paused and took a sip of coffee. “All I can really do today is keep my own mind straight…but I might be able to help you.”
The man smiled brightly. Dick thought he was probably a handsome fellow after a good night’s sleep and a consistent train of thought.
“Oh thank you, thank you! You don’t know what this means to me!” He said as he reached out to shake Dick’s hand.
“Now. Here’s what I’m going to do. I can’t exactly explain how to get a handle of your power, so I’m just going to show you. I’m going to project upon you a life in which you’ve gained mastery of your skill. When I bring you back, your brain will have carved out the new pathways with which to prevent future slippages.”
“I’ve never thought of that! Why didn’t I just do that to myself?” The man said as he palmed his forehead.
“You couldn’t have,” said Dick patiently. “You don’t know what it looks like to have control. Sometimes the only way to learn is by living the darn thing. I suppose that’s easier said than done.”
The man laid down on Dick’s couch—Dick made him shower first—and prepared for the procedure. He closed his eyes and Dick projected into his mind a peaceful existence. Dick showed him a world in which he could control his abilities with proficiency and efficiency. Drawing on his own experience, Dick showed him how to manipulate other minds and how to recognize when his own had slipped. Dick imbued this man’s mind with seven lifetimes’ worth of knowledge and experience, of failures and lessons.
As the man laid there, a smile appeared on his unconscious face and Dick couldn’t help but mirror it. It felt good to finally help someone. Dick wondered if he had wasted his gift on all those years of treacherous villainy.
But regrets would do him no good now, the past was the past. Still, he couldn’t help but smile now.
______
A dark security desk in a super-max prison. Two guards sit at the console monitoring the tenants of cell block V.
“What’s he doing?” Said a guard pointing at an image on the screen.
“He does this every now and then,” replied his partner.
“It’s creepy as hell. He’s just sitting there…smiling.”
“That’s Dick Duran the MasterMind. I’m sure he’s projected some world upon himself in which he’s the king, in which he finally achieved world domination. It’s pretty pathetic, actually.”
“Pathetic or not, it gives me the creeps.”
Dick sat quietly in his cell, a comfortable smile upon his face, his arms transfixed in an act of unending self-love.
And he was content, satisfied to finally have done some good.
_______
r/InMyLife42Archive
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Another trail of smoke drifted up to the ceiling, joining the rest of the smog in the room. I took a final drag of my pipe, breathing, feeling the thick, herby air fill my lungs before breathing it back out as if a poison. I didn't much enjoy such niceties in my youth, always insisted that they would "stunt my athletic ability". I guess it didn't matter now. I had gotten old anyways.
I rested the pipe, still smoking, at the table by my side and watched as the embers in the bowl faded out.
Retirement was far short of glamour, but it's what I deserved. And peace was nice I suppose. Years of my brain running on constant. Feeling like any moment of rest was a moment wasted. That even when I had a moment to relax my feelings of incompetency would not allow it. But now every moment could be peaceful.
As I got up to walk to the living room a knock sounded at my door. A distinctive rap, in three's.
"Eh, one moment!" I yelled out. The knocking, however, did not stop.
"One second you blasted fool!" I yelled once more, now approaching.
Through the peekhole a young, worried face stared back. One I did not recognize. I looked to him for what felt like an infinite moment. Watched as he paced, unable to still himself even when within the small box of my porch
Upon opening I was face to face with the kid and nothing to say. He stared in seeming disbelief, but with worries too deep to feel for long as his face quickly changed back to worry.
"So? Anything to say or ya just gunna sit there and stare? I mean I guess either way my times already wasted-"
"Scioph? You-you're Scioph! Holy shit google was right." The words came out stuttered and with a series of wild hand gestures.
Ah hell, a fan. It'd been years since one showed.
"Ah yes, yes. So what, an autograph?" I reached for my pocket and pulled a pen loose.
But he only stared, wide and dumb eyed. Like an acorn, nothing of any value behind the shell. Though something about him was surely *different*. It was as if the shadows cast on the ground around him danced at his awkward command. They shook and rattled. Rotated and swirled.
With curiosity I reached out with a hand of my own and took control of them, of the blackness cast onto the ground, his silhouette and shadow. I could feel him fight back, weak, but there. Easily overpowered. He looked to the shadows surrounding him in awe, now mine.
"Ah. Well that's new. I've never met another with my abilities before. Wait you're not my- how old are you?"
"Twenty-three, and you're not my father. At least I don't think..."
"Better if we don't. Well in that case, nice to meet you!" I reached out to shake, to which he offered a hesitant hand in return. It seemed he did not know what came next, until suddenly he blurted.
"I don't want to be you. Mom used to play the news stories about you, the horror you inflicted in your youth. But, but" He took a deep breath, steadied and continued. " But you are all I have. I cant, nobody can tell me how to use *these*." At his utterance of the last word the shadows danced at his feet once more in rudimentary interpretation of his command.
When I was young there was no mentor to guide me, hero villain or otherwise. Instead I explored, experimented, hurt, and became what I am today: Scioph, Stringer of Shadows. Or at least what I was. But despite my jouney I could not find it to deny the boy. His desperation reeking at my doorstep.
"Come in, I'll make us tea, good for nerves. First thing we'll need is to find you a name. A name brings confidence, and you'll need plenty."
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None
|
GrunkleStanwhich
|
2023-02-01 05:14:45
|
2023-02-01 04:48:48
| 146 | 75 |
j6qoxdk
|
j6qm7bw
|
10qf3t6
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10qf3t6
|
[WP] You buried your poor pet a couple of weeks ago. One morning, as you walk out the front door - there it is, back from the dead, sitting on your doorstep - quite rotten, and impossibly alive. Rather, un-alive. It seems happy to see you.
|
The house had always felt quiet since I’d had Bean put down. You never realized how much noise someone made until they were gone.
No matter how hard it was for me, it’d been the right decision. Bean had been in pain in the end. I didn’t wanna watch him suffer through his last days, however long they’d be, so I’d set up the perfect day for them, at least with their mobility at the time. Some time outside, ice cream, whipped cream... just a lot of cream, really.
Bean had been my best friend for 11 years, since my dumbass had adopted him back when I couldn’t afford him. He’d been perfect. He’d been great.
He’d been past tense until about 3 seconds ago.
There on the porch, skin barely hanging off his withered frame, was an enthusiastic Bean, hopping back and forth like his hips hadn’t let him do in years. I was still in the doorway for a moment, staring.
Bean crossed the gap, leaping up and putting his paws on my chest. His skin was pallid, cold, but he was doing his best to lick me.
A weird mix of confusion and elation swirled. He was alive! He was alive? Was he alive? Did that matter? It was BEAN!
How was Bean?
“Hey buddy,” I smooshed his face between my palms and felt his skin slide an unsettling amount, but he enjoyed it. “What’re you doing... alive?”
Bean did not know the answer to that question. He was a dog.
“How’re you here? What kind of affront to god are you?” I asked as I got down on one knee to spend proper time with him. Even as I asked the big questions, my voice was slipping into that dopey tone you used with dogs.
Then I heard footsteps behind them.
A black cloak. Skeletal fingers. A set of leashes instead of a scythe. The summer air vanished, replaced with a wintery breeze. Bean didn’t seem to notice.
I stood, Bean swapped from trying to lick me and leaned most of his weight against my legs. I’d always thought that habit was annoying, but now it felt like a blessing.
“Hello?” I asked after a moment.
“Hello,” the thing said. Its voice echoed like it was a chorus as opposed to a person.
“Quite the dog.”
“He’s the best.” I should have been terrified by everything here, but... it was Bean. How was I supposed to be scared?
“Most people think so...” The thing looked down at Bean, rubbing against my leg.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “How is Bean—”
“He’s not,” the thing said, “Bean has passed but...”
“But?”
“Love is rarely unfinished business,”—the reaper took another step up the stairs to the porch—“And I rarely have the leeway to indulge when it is.” He reached out a skeletal hand and ran it along Bean’s spine. “But here we are.”
“How long do I have?” I asked.
The reaper shook their skull. He didn’t need words to explain that this was a stolen moment.
I offered a nod and then got down onto my knees again. Bean attacked me with his tongue, but I held him in place for half a second. “Hey buddy.”
Bean calmed. He didn’t know words, but maybe he understood the tone of what I was saying.
“You were so perfect, and I wish I could keep you here forever, but-but...” I took a deep breath but didn’t bother to wipe away the tears. “But it’s okay. I said goodbye because you can’t be here forever. I can’t either. I’ll just be here a little longer than you and that’s okay and—” The words stammered to a stop.
Bean pressed in, breaking my hold and putting his forehead against mine.
“I love you so much, buddy. I’ll see you when I’m ready, okay?"
Quiet, and then nothing. I was alone on the porch, the summertime air hung around me.
A tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it off. I dried the other side for good measure, but it wasn’t from tears. Bean had left me a last kiss.
“Yeah. I’ll see soon.”
|
I showered, and put on my running clothes.
Going outside for my morning run, I froze on the spot.
On my porch, is Lesley.
That cheeky smile, that shaking of the "tail"...
One problem though with this beautiful sight.
I buried Lesley weeks ago.
He died...heroically chasing a villainous squirrel.
The car was too fast, too close to hit the breaks, and my loyal Beagle was no more...
Instant death, or so the people who saw what happened said, but seeing the aftermath of the accident...
My heart broke.
I buried him, and mourned him...still mourning him.
And yet, here he is, "alive", rotten flesh hanging here and there...
"Lesley...", I muttered, and he ran happily up to me.
Good thing he was a good boy, well mannered, and a gentleman, and just sat down in front of me, waiting for the signal that allowed him to go crazy.
He would jump up and down on me, unless I allowed him...and now, I don't think I should allow it.
"Oh, my good boy...who did this...", I whispered, barely keeping the temptation of petting him at bay...
That would be bad I think...
Then he "barked", his jaws clapping, but no sound came out, other the snapping sound.
I was completely confused at first, but I knew what to do.
Calling 911, they reluctantly came out to another "zombie dog", thinking they will find an addict having an episode.
Let me tell you, their reaction was worse than mine.
Not a couple hours later I was visited by the disease center, army, and some special services.
I was to be quarantined for a while for an "exotic" disease ( at least my parents, and close ones heard that), same with my neighbors.
Poor Lesley was taken away, but that was for the best.
All I hope is the thing, or the person who did this to Lesley...will get what they deserve.
|
Writteninsanity
|
TheWanderingBook
|
2024-05-23 13:20:50
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2024-05-23 13:08:28
| 96 | 45 |
l5bi4cx
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l5bgb28
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1cyr32x
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1cyr32x
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[WP] It becomes abundantly clear to the characters that the narrator has terrible narrating skills. They start to get off track criticizing the narrator for every mistake and bland writing.
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"Father Christmas!" called out the Lord of Halloween across the bloody fields of November. "Your campaign of expansion shall go no further! On my honor, one of us will die before you set foot on October soil! ...We were friends once, Father Christmas! Don't make me destroy you!"
The wind howled and the snow swirled as the two mythical figures stood facing each other. The Lord of Halloween was a tall, imposing figure in his black robes and skull mask, while Father Christmas was a jolly old man with a white beard and a red suit.
"I'm sorry, Jack," said Father Christmas with a twinkle in his eye. "But I can't let you stop me from bringing joy to the world."
"It's not about joy, it's about balance," replied Jack. "October is my time, and I won't let you take it away from me."
The two figures circled each other in the cold night air, their breath visible in the moonlight.
"You've changed, Jack," said Father Christmas sadly. "You used to be full of mischief and fun. What happened to you?"
"I've seen too much darkness," replied Jack. "I've seen what happens when people give in to their fears and their nightmares become real. I won't let that happen again."
Father Christmas sighed and shook his head.
"You're wrong, Jack," he said softly. "Fear is just an illusion. It's love that brings people together and makes them strong."
Jack laughed bitterly.
"Love is just another weakness," he said. "It blinds people to the truth and makes them vulnerable."
Father Christmas reached into his sack and pulled out a small gift-wrapped box.
"Here," he said, holding it out to Jack. "Open it."
Jack hesitated for a moment before taking the box and unwrapping it carefully. Inside was a tiny pumpkin with a smiley face carved into it.
"It's a reminder," said Father Christmas. "A reminder that there is always light, even in the darkest of times. You just have to look for it."
Jack looked down at the pumpkin and felt something stir inside him. It was a long-forgotten feeling, like a spark of hope in the depths of his soul.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Father Christmas smiled and nodded.
"Now, let's go home," he said. "There's hot cocoa waiting for us by the fire."
Jack nodded and together they walked back across the fields of November, leaving behind the battle that never was.
As they reached the edge of the field, Jack turned to Father Christmas and held out his hand.
"Friends?" he asked.
Father Christmas grinned and took his hand.
"Always," he replied.
And with that, they disappeared into the night.
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The gauntlet thrown down, these were the rules
For pumpkins and skeletons, ghosties and ghouls
This was it, they swelled proudly, their line in the sand
Where Halloween would stand firm to protect its great land
But in a far away place, Santa Clause paid no heed
It was shaping up to be the best Christmas indeed
For shops stocked his sandwich, whether tipsy or sober
You'd find them no problem and it was only October
Edit 1 & 2:
Is the Christmas sandwich really just a British thing? I guess consider this your permission to google and try it out!
I don't know how to poem - apologies to those this annoys.
|
AIAlchemist
|
JoliSoul
|
2023-10-31 14:55:25
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2023-10-31 14:24:02
| 46 | 14 |
k78igox
|
k78docz
|
17kkc6e
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17kkc6e
|
[WP] The public's hate for super heroes has grown. The reason: They don't kill villains, which gives them a chance to escape. You are the leader of the biggest anti-super hero groups. You are going from a rally you get stopped by some of the greatest heroes. They say they're here to kill you.
|
"People hate us superheroes because we do not kill our foes, we arrest them. But this still gets them off the streets, makes everybody safer..."
"Turn that crap off!" the passenger in the car shouted, and I complied. We didn't need that noise as we drove home from the anti-supes rally. It hadn't been a large group - supes were mostly popular after all, and those who came mostly had a personal stake in seeing the supes reined in. But still, it was nice to get out there, wave the flag and all that.
And then I had to stomp the brakes just to keep from colliding with the yellow and blue supe that just dropped out of the sky and into the road in front of us. I could hear the two other cars of our mini-convoy screech to a halt behind us, but this was a fairly unpopulated state road, so the only folks affected were me and my friends' cars.
I recognized Ukraine Man right off. Flight, strength, durability, corrupt - standard supe package these days. As the man strutted up to my window, I rolled it down. It wasn't like I could get away from him. All I could do was all I could do.
I hit a button on my phone, rolled down my window, and waited.
"Mercer," he said as he reached my window. "You're pissing off a lot of people with your rhetoric. That ends here."
"What're you going to do, UM, kill me?" I asked defiantly.
"Yes, actually," he replied, shocking me. "Me, Cackles and Brown Lightning above, yeah. We're here to stop your rhetoric before it gets going."
I stared at him. "What, no trumped up charges? No resisting arrest? No denials? No claims to be merciful, when in reality you're really working WITH the villains?" I shook my head. "I guess you supes' true colors are finally coming through."
"It's nothing personal," Ukraine Man said. "You're just an obstacle. If it's any comfort, it'll look like a three car accident. Your families will still get their insurance."
"That's how it is?" I asked him simply.
"That's how it is," he replied evenly, and he pulled back his fist.
I pressed the other button on my phone and he fell to the ground, his body in seizure. Seconds later, Cackles and Brown Lightning plummeted to the ground, ending in sickening thuds that showed that their superhuman durability and flight were not functioning - and now, they never would be again.
I opened the door, signaling to the van behind me with a thumbs up. "UM, you made three mistakes," I said to the supe whose body was slowly stilling, the seizure (and his life) growing weaker. I held up a hand and ticked one finger. "One, you didn't check to see if we were livestreaming. The whole world saw you promise us death. This was self-defense, and this will doom your whole species."
I ticked a second finger. "Two, you arrogantly didn't believe that you could be stopped." I glanced at the middle van where our device was safely ensconced. "We've been working on our dimensional nullifier for years, ever since your kind showed up. It does exactly one thing: it cuts your kind off from what gives you powers. You can survive it, with care, but you were ready to murder us all just for *talking*, so... yeah. Your arrogance cost you."
I ticked my third finger down, leaving just my thumb and forefinger up. "Three, you assumed your past would never catch up with you. You never apologized for all the collateral damage you personally, and your kind in general, deal to the world. One supe fight costs cities millions, if not billions, in damages, and nevermind the lives lost. You're a menace, walking WMDs, and now we have the excuse to take you off the table."
"And who better than a man whose wife and child died when you collapsed the Smithson building during a fight with a no-name no-threat villain just a month ago?" I pointed my hand at Ukraine Man and did a finger-gun gesture at the supe with my two unfolded fingers.
My passenger, who a month ago was a young husband and father but was now a childless widower, exited the van and drew his pistol.
|
“Pound sand Amazeballs.”
“It’s Amazeboy…” The golden dressed young man gritted his teeth.
“Oh sorry, where are my manners. I forgot you’re just cringy and cliche. Not cliche and cringy.” I rolled my eyes ignoring the hero.
A bright red horned man stepped forward. “He was being serious.”
“And I was being serious that you can leave me alone.” I retorted cell phone out to video tape.
My cell phone was taken out of my hands in a blur. I hadn’t even seen who did it… “Why exactly? You are going to kill me because I’m upset you won’t kill legitimate villains? Make it make sense.”
“It doesn’t need to make sense to you.” The golden caped hero retorted.
“Oh right because we’re sooo below you pretentious bunch.”
“We don’t think-“
“You don’t?” I Interrupted. “You literally have your own set of rules that you don’t have to adhere to but we do? I don’t go around destroying houses, cars or anything else in the name of ‘fighting crime.’”
“It’s part of the job.” The red horned hero chimed in.
“And so is terrorizing citizens and letting criminals go?”
“Yes.” A voice called from behind the small crowd.
I recognized that voice. It was the distinct voice of Rasper. A villain who could vibrate the earth with a voice that loud and raspy. Odd power but it worked.
He walked past the crowd right to my face. “It’s a part of the job because without villains hero’s would have to do boring civilian work. And now what fun would that be? Like you said we are better than you. We do need to adhere to fewer rules and guess what? We’re cheered on. Celebrated. Worshipped. You won’t get in the way of that.”
His expression remained blank. Not an ounce of emotion. “Except I will and I-“ I was cut off. But not vocally I was cut off by an arm through my chest. In the last seconds I had to process my existence all I could think about was that the people would never even know they were being played.
“Farewell Daniel.” Rasper whispered in my ear slowly letting my body to the ground.
———————
r/TheBobbius
|
LateralThinker13
|
TheBobbius
|
2023-10-03 15:20:55
|
2023-10-03 15:03:32
| 277 | 105 |
k3al679
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k3aicrk
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16ypys1
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16ypys1
|
[WP] You are a lich who retired from villainy long ago and took up teaching at a magical school. Today someone made the mistake of threatening your students.
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[Part 1 of 2]
“You see, the secret to making a nice herbal tea is a little drop of mint, Diana. Many people overcomplicate the tea by trying to make changes to the tea itself. I think that’s a waste of time. If the tea’s nice, it will stand on its own merit. All I want to do is give it that touch of mint to really bring those flavors out, like how we teach our students. All our students already have the potential. We are merely that drop of mint that adds to their flavor.” Sava Landston stated, dropping a small pinch of mint into the tea, showing off his point. “Do you understand?”
Diana stared at the boney face of the lich, still seeing bits of human flesh stubbornly clinging to it. Those last pieces of flesh being the only evidence that he was a human once. When she noticed the lich staring, she broke out of her trance, flustered. “Yes, I see. That’s very interesting. Tea really is a wonderful beverage.” She stated, half listening to what he had to say. She couldn’t understand her feelings towards him, a strange childish crush, or maybe it was a sense of awe from being so close to someone this powerful?
There was an awkward gap in the conversation, both parties sipping their tea, trying to fill the silence with slurps and sips. Eventually Diana pushed a basket of biscuits towards the lich, who took one and threw it into his mouth. The chews were as dignified as he could make them, trying to avoid spitting any crumbs out.
“Can you even taste anything?” Diana felt compelled to ask, only tensing when the lich gazed down at her. “I’m sorry if that’s rude.” He kept staring and Diana sunk further into her chair, wishing she could crawl under the table.
“Sorry, it takes me some time to chew. I also need to be careful about spitting crumbs onto the floor, since I don’t have any lips. To answer your question, no, I can’t taste. Not without magical enhancements. I have a spell that simulates the taste of food; however, it is weak, only giving me a small taste of whatever you would normally feel. Still, it’s enough to enjoy your wonder baking.”
“I see. Thank you for indulging my question.”
“Diana, we are equals as teachers. If anything, I’m beneath you since you’ve been here for twenty years. Please, don’t feel any fear or anxiety towards me. Who I was back then is…. Was a mistake. If you have questions about lich’s that could advance your knowledge, I’ll help.”
In Diana’s mind, that was easier said than done. He was friendly, and she quite liked his company, yet he was still the fearsome lich that had terrorized their city for years. Would those whose families lost a loved one to the crazed lich ever forgive him? “Then, if I may be so forward.” She took a breath, preparing for the question that had been on all her students’ mind. “Why did you terrorize us for so many years?”
The lich held up his hand, showing a wedding band that had fused with the bone of his finger. “I went mad. I thought an exchange of life would be possible. If I gave her my life, she would be returned to me and I would forfeit my own. The gods are cruel, though. The spell worked. She was given life, and I was stripped of mine. Yet, she only lived another minute before falling to her illness again. I forced her to die twice because of my own fears of losing her. The quest for immortality drives any person mad, and for someone stricken with grief, that madness increases. I often believe it would have been better if the spell had failed. She would have never died again, and I would have never lived to bring so much pain.”
Before Diana could respond, one of her students stumbled into the gardens, his hand pumping mana into the wound on his stomach. When he neared the table, he collapsed over it, sending the biscuits and tea onto the floor. “MICHAEL” She screamed, pushing his hand away to apply her own healing magic.
“Miss. Bandits again. They have magic this time. We tried to fight.” He wheezed, throwing his chin against her shoulder, trying to endure the pain.
“Why would you do something like that? I told you where the money was, didn’t I? If they ever came, you were to pay them off.”
“They said it wasn’t enough. Wanted double. You’re already in debt. We didn’t want you to suffer.” Michael’s words were cut off as Diana activated another spell, putting him to sleep. Diana doing her best not to tear up in front of the lich, who hadn’t shown a drop of emotion this entire time.
“You sweet children, you shouldn’t worry about me. I would have been fine. I could have found more money if I had to.” She gave him a hug before setting him down in the chair, making sure the wound had sealed. “I’ll handle this. My problems won’t become yours.” She glanced at the lich, only to notice how hard he was gripping the table, breaking off a chunk of wood as his rage smoldered.
When he stood, the chunk of wood came with him, before being dropped by his feet. “No, I’ll go. I will ensure these bandits never come back again.” Those firm steps only halted when Diana grabbed his shoulder.
“Please don’t kill them, not in front of our students. Magic shouldn’t be a bloodthirsty thing. I don’t want our mages to think that every problem can be solved with killing or bloodshed.”
“Why did you pay them? You could have beaten them. I’ve seen you fight.” He asked, peering back at her, those lights of green magic he had in his sockets, watching her.
“Because I was scared, they would send more bandits if I didn’t. I can’t be everywhere at once. What if they started ambushing them while they were out? Bandits aren’t the type to be scared off by a few deaths. They would only retaliate until we lost some of our own. I couldn’t risk losing any of our students.”
“No, losing our students isn’t an option. I’ll honor your request for peace.” When he made it outside, he found the bandits mercilessly taking down whatever students got in their way. While the fight would have usually been in the students’ favor, none of the students were able to outmaneuver the barriers the mages had set up, providing the bandits protection from their spells.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1chxrzs/wp_you_are_a_lich_who_retired_from_villainy_long/l279ujc/)
|
"Ms. Keening?" A soft voice echos from outside of the classroom breaking Isadora's concentration as she grades the latest class assignments.
As Isadora looks up from the piles of papers and reports strewn across her desk she notices Alonius, one of her students enter the room, a large bruise across his cheek. "Ah, Alonius. We missed you in class today, I can assume the cause of that unsightly bruise is to blame."
Isadora stands from her desk walking over to Alonius and placing a hand on his cheek, in an instant the bruise fades leaving no evidence it was there at all "Th...thank you Ms. Keening." Alonius whispers, before sitting down at the desk closest to Ms. Keenings as she takes her seat as well.
"Now tell me, what happened to you today Alonius" Isadora asks, her face turning from one of care and guidance to focus and concern. "Well I was making my way to class this afternoon and got stopped by a group of men, I borrowed some money from them a while ago that they came to collect and when I told them I couldn't pay they did this." Alonius puts his finger to his cheek, forgetting his bruise had been healed for a moment.
"How much did you borrow? And for what?" Alonius squirms in his chair at the question clearly uncomfortable "five hundred, they said I owe seven now because of interest and I don't know how I'm going to come up with the money." tears begin to roll down Alonius' cheeks as he speaks. Isadora stands from her desk and approaches him, placing a hand on his shoulder "There's no need for tears, my students are under my protection and I can help you with this but you have to promise me one thing" Alphonse nods his head in agreement as she continues.
"You are never to borrow money like this again, if you need money I will help you open an account with the golden hand. Do we have a deal?" Isadora says as she admonishes Alonius. "I promise Ms. keening, it will never happen again. Please don't put yourself in harms way on my account though." A small smirk flashes on Isadora's face as she stands "Don't you worry, I wouldn't know how. Now tell me where these men stopped you."
As night falls Isadora arrives on the street corner where Alonius was attacked, as she waits she eventually hears a few voices coming from a nearby alley and as she approaches she notices a gang of young men talking amongst themselves and without hesitation she walks up to them "Excuse me, do any of you know an Alonius" she shouts, grabbing the groups attention "Who wants to know?" one of the group responds.
"My name is Isadora Keening, I'm the head of magical theory at Alzers academy and Alonius is one of my students. I found out he ran afoul of some thugs something about some money he borrowed." one of the thugs men approaches her as she speaks "So, does he have his teachers fight all his battles for him? Ya, he owes us 700 Rows and unless you're here to pay it you should leave."
Isadora steps close to the man and places her hand on his chest "No, I'm not here to pay it and I won't be leaving until you erase his debt and promise me you'll leave him alone." The man looks at her confused "and what if I tell you to get the hell off my turf before you get hurt, you aren't the first to come looking for a break from me you know" he says as he pushes her hand off him.
Isadora looks the man in the eyes "Oh but I'm very much different from the others." She says as he puffs up his chest "Ya? How's that?" Isadora gets as close as she can, looking up at the man "Because I will be the last if you don't do as I say" the men all let out a hearty laugh as the man looks down on Isadora "How about you get out of here before you get hurt old lady."
In an instant Isadora has her hand on the man's skull, his eyes turning pitch black as he freezes in place, Isadora flooding his mind with her exploits and her knowledge. The rest of the gang freezes as they see their boss frozen in place waiting for him to say something. As Isadora releases the man he collapses to the ground, frantically trying to get away from her.
"Get away, get away from me! He doesn't owe me shit. Get out of here, get out!" he screams through tears, clawing his way across the cobblestone alley to get away from Isadora, his men picking him up off the ground as he starts trying to run pulling them away with him.
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sadnesslaughs
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Baronsamedi13
|
2024-05-02 04:41:30
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2024-05-02 03:01:05
| 48 | 28 |
l279so3
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l26xiwf
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1chxrzs
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1chxrzs
|
[WP] "God can come have coffee with me if he's really interested." You said, shutting the door on some irritating guys with pamphlets. The very next day, God taps lightly on your door, to have a coffee.
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"I'm a little surprised you brought Dunkin."
The man standing in your doorway is holding a box of donuts and a pair of paper coffee cups. He's dressed plainly, if a little datedly; wearing slacks, penny loafers, and a red zip-up sweater, He resembles nothing so much as a Mr. Rogers impersonator. You can't clearly see His face- some sort of otherworldly light (you hate to describe it as a halo, but no other word really fits the description) is shining from just behind His head, blinding you to the details of His appearance.
Even if the halo weren't there, you would know who this visitor was. There's a unique feeling that comes with being in His presence. It is, in equal parts, totally alien and hauntingly familiar. There is an overwhelming sense of love radiating from Him, a love great enough to be felt by everyone in the world.
God is standing on your front porch, and He's brought coffee.
"Is something wrong with Dunkin?" He asks. There is a gentleness to His voice that suggests genuine curiosity, and quiet amusement.
"Er, no, not really..." You explain, stepping back to let Him in. "It's just that, well... It's kind of ordinary, isn't it? I mean, you have access to all of history's greatest coffee-makers. You could have called up Juan Valdez or something!"
"Juan Valdez is a fictional character." He explains in a tone not far removed from a laugh. "But if you want Columbian coffee instead, I *do* know a place."
You've lead your guest into the living room now, and you're just about to try a donut when the question you're dying to ask jumps out unbidden.
"Are you here to punish me for turning away those guys with the pamphlets?"
"Nah. Rejection's part of the game when you work door-to-door."
"So... Why *are* you here?"
Your guest helps himself to a cruller, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before finally answering, "Can't a guy take a coffee break?"
|
There was a "tat-tat" sound on the door. I rushed over, wondering who the surprise visitor could be, but all that was on my porch was a package of coffee. The label said Veronica Coffee Co. I looked down the drive to see if I could catch a glimpse of my mysterious benefactor, but it appeared as if they'd rushed away because I saw no sight of them.
At first, I was hesitant to pick up the package, wondering if it was a bomb. I didn't think I had any enemies, but who wouldn't think it strange when a bag of coffee shows up unexpectedly? After inspecting it carefully, I gave in and picked it up. From it came the most pleasant aroma. I shook it, hearing beans within. *Hmmph*. It seemed perfectly fine. I read all the text on the package, which was strangely sparse, lacking even an address of where it was made. There was just the label in a thick green cursive font overlaying an image of something reminiscent of the Big Bang.
The flavor was printed below - "All Knowing. All Seeing. All Places."
If that wasn't a weird flavor of coffee, then I didn't know what was. I scratched my head for several minutes, wondering if I should text my friends to let them know that I'd received this strange package. I took pictures of it with my phone, planning to post them on Instagram, but when I went to upload them they were gone. So I took the pictures again, and the same thing happened. *Terrible time for there to be a bug in my phone.*
*Fine. I'll just text them.* The moment I was about to tap send on the text, my phone shut off out of nowhere. I tossed the coffee aside and started fiddling with my phone, trying to get it to work. At least an hour went by before I gave up and went back to the coffee. Later, the tech at a phone store told me that all of the chips inside were fried due to a rare malfunction that had only happened to six other devices of the same model. This same malfunction was also probably responsible for my inability to send the pictures that wouldn't send.
Anyways, so my stomach was grumbling now and I remembered that I had a tasty pastry waiting for the perfect cup of coffee. So I opened the package from Veronica Coffee Co. and got my french press. The package only had enough for a single cup in it, and it measured perfectly with no leftovers at all. So I made the cup, and it was by far the best cup I'd ever had in my life. Total coffee perfection. When I took my last sip I actually felt sad that it was over. I looked at the package again, trying to see if I'd missed an address or something so I could order more. Just like the first time, there was nothing.
I shook my head. I just had to tell someone about this, and not having my phone really sucked, so I decided to drive to my brother's house a few streets away. I grabbed the Veronica Coffee Co. package and got in the car. At this point, I should've expected something to happen, since everything about this was strange, but I didn't give it a second thought. And as you probably guessed, that was when the accident happened. I was proceeding through an intersection when I was T-boned by another car. I lost consciousness, my car was totaled, and of course, as you can guess - the coffee wrapper was destroyed.
That wasn't even the strangest thing. The occupants of the car who hit me were the two men who came to talk to me about God the day before. When I woke up in the hospital and found out, I knew that none of this had to be a coincidence - that somehow I was being called by God. I couldn't prove a shred of what happened to me was true. Yet I know it was because I experienced it. You can call me a liar, a fool, or a person who believes in fantasies, but what happened to me is real.
r/StoriesToThinkAbout
\------
This was a fantastic prompt!
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antipyretical
|
armageddon_20xx
|
2023-03-21 05:01:21
|
2023-03-21 01:41:06
| 169 | 29 |
jd1qa8o
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jd13fqe
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11wsrfi
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11wsrfi
|
[WP] The queen is dead. The kingdom burns around you. Her soldiers fight on, but the invader is relentless. You do the only thing you can; you flee to beg mercy from your god, to call on your protector to cast out your enemies. You leave the hive in search of its beekeeper.
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I had never seen such a monster as I did that day. It was far larger than I or anything similar I had seen before. A giant that attacked our colony. We couldn't fight it, no matter how we tried. It was to big, to powerful.
I hid. I didn't know what to do. I knew I should fight, but I couldn't. I watched everyone die uselessly against the monster. I wouldn't be the same, I couldn't be the same.
So being hidden, I was able to see that it brought friends. More of the monster where coming to attack. I ran away. I abandoned the queen, the colony, the hive. Everyone and everything I knew and I ran.
The fear of the monsters was to powerful for me. I am ashamed of what I did, but all actions have consequences right? I got lucky and ran into the keeper when I left the hive. The protector, the god. It's not like I can speak to the thing but I danced in front of it with my flight and managed to get it's attention. The god seemed to understand that I was drawing it to the hive. It followed me.
When I arrived back to the hive I could see my friends bodies or parts of them anyway. The other invaders had started to arrive and I saw them eating my friends.
One of my friends was poised in battle against an invader. Dodging and distracting. Fighting for the colony. Until something slammed over her and the invader. The invader flung itself at the wall to no avail.
God had picked a target. I knew it was only a matter of time until the invader killed my friend in the confines of the new prison, but that didn't matter to the god. Something slid under the prison and lifted it. I watched as the god took its prisoners away to a pool. I watched as it drowned them both. Not caring that my friend was in the crossfire.
It then left, quickly. There are more invaders though. So many more. I didn't know what to do. Did God kill one and abandon us?
I didn't have to wait long until God was back. Apparently the capture method was to slow and the god had other plans.
It unleashed the very clouds upon the invaders, and the colony. I watched it horror as they got covered by the clouds it weighed them down and they struggled and died. I only survived because I was away from the colony, away from the invaders.
The god then captured our queen carrying her away and what remained of the hive followed. Everyone, other than me. I could only stare at the destruction that was caused. By the invaders, and by God as he punished them. However God had inflected clouds upon them and us was obviously powerful. Many on both sides lay dead. I can only assume God took the queen to keep us away from it.
It couldn't have been long I started hovering at the remains of the hive, but maybe it was.
Because the next time I saw God again my God was not alone. The entire pantheon had come. Armed with white armor covering the body. Some of them carried trees as weapons. They examined the hive.
I thought I knew why they were here but I had to know. I had to see.
I was right, God had called his compatriots for vengeance. God may have killed many of my hive, but that was God's right as a God. The invaders had stepped on God's domain there will be vengeance and there was.
The pantheon of God's wielded trees, clouds, and weapons and tools I can't begin to describe when they found the home of the invaders. Eliminating them and looking, hunting for more. I don't know if they were hoping to find more to destroy in their vengeance or if they were being cautious.
After all, how can I know the intentions of God?
|
With my greatsword in hand, bloodied, and barely enough time to catch my breath, the quest is complete.
Boss Queen Bee Slain
20,000 Exp
Level Up
Suddenly my body feels rejuvenated, no longer a scratch left on my body, and full of energy again, it’s time for
Master Plan Part 2: Get the HELL Outta Dodge!
The ground and walls all begin to shake. The hive has caught wind of my deeds and realizes the Queen is dead. The loud beating of thousands of bees’ wings rumbles the whole hive. I bolt towards one of the exits from the Queen’s inner chamber. The hive finds itself steadying even as the mass of worker bees 3 times my size aim their sights on me.
“Fire blast!” I aim my greatsword behind me as a fiery bolt of energy emanates from the blade and rushes the bees head on. The bees split for a moment but only enough to disperse the front few before a bee in the back takes the fire to the chest, practically unscathed.
Using a series of small areas set up in advance by the expert dungeon delvers, I’m able to make my way steadily toward the closest exit. But the bees can still sense me and are only slowed down a little bit in the process.
I can see the path to the large hole in the hive to make my escape and float my way out back to the surface. But the bees are more ferocious than I anticipated. I’ve already used up all my items for extra boosts, so all I have is my own potential, but I can feel them practically breathing down my neck as I run down this long corridor.
“I can’t make it” I think to myself. “Please, in the name of all that is mighty and free, protect me in my time of need!” Just as I finish my plea, a bee nicks one of my legs with their stinger as a numbing venom rushes through my body. I topple over, head straight into the ground as I bounce along the floor towards the exit.
The sound of heavy foot stomps from around the wall of the corridor stomp toward me. I manage to get a good look at the spectacle before me. Someone wearing a typical beekeeper uniform wielding a fishing rod unlatched the hook and begins spinning the strand around in a circle. At the end of the hook is a bag pouring out some kind of orange dust. The horde of bees seem to stop in their flight and start falling to the ground. A few of the more resistant bees decide to charge into the fray, unaffected by the orange dust. The delver leaps high into the air with a forward somersault, dodging one bee, as the fishing rod whips toward the next closest bee. The bee is wrapped up by multiple wraps of the fishing line.
“Wire Cutter!” The womanly voice screamed as she begins to land. The fishing line wrapping the bee cuts cleanly through as multiple chunks and bug guts fling into different directions from the power of her skill. She steps back as the third bee swings just past her, missing her only by a few hairs. She whips her rod back towards the first bee that went past, preparing its next attack against the delver.
“Weighted Bait!” She yells out once more. The fishing rod wraps the bee charging in only to fall straight to the ground as the weight of the fishing hook is now so heavy that it is crushing the massive bee due to its weight alone. The last bee is only just now about to charge once more against the delver.
“Hook, Line, and STINGER!” She calls out again. She gives her rod a swish as the the line starts to pulse with blue and silver energy. The line magically wraps up the bee and finishes by going taut. The beekeeper starts twirling the bee in a wide circle around her head, finally bowling the last bee into the rest of the downed bees with a flourish.
With the bees finally taken care of, the beekeeper looks back my way, her face mostly hidden by the beekeeper mask. I can only make out a portion as the heavy chain links of the mask hides the majority of her features, but I can tell she’s smiling as she hovers over me.
She gets real close to my face, “This your first time, Mr. Interloper?” She looks me up and down. “Well then, let’s make it your last time.” Her smile, suddenly twists into a much more menacing smirk. My eyes go wide as she grabs my greatsword and places it into my hands. Then, she plunges my own sword into my stomach. Unable to move, my mind is racing as I consider any potential options, but the full body numbness limits pretty much every option. She raises the sword and plunges it back down again. Even if I could do something, I wouldn’t have the strength now. She stands up and places her foot up against the side of my body, and pushes me over the exit from the hive.
Falling never felt so peaceful before. Damn the god that made me believe that I had been saved in my desperate plea for safety. But if this is the way I go, then at least it wasn’t painful.
“-fy, -fy, -fy, -fy~” A low, bassy echo dances across my ears, still feeling the rush of the air whisking past as I can still sense myself falling.
“-ify, -ify, -ify, -ify~” again the low, bassy echo streams past my ears, competing for attention with the sound of the air rushing just as strongly as I still fall, longer than I expected to fall.
But then, the rushing air suddenly stops and everything goes quiet and dark.
A loud, deep, guttural voice of something almost ethereal and slightly muffled, rings out, seemingly from inside my own head.
“REVIVIFY!”
|
liftthattail
|
illiagorath
|
2023-01-21 06:02:29
|
2023-01-21 02:27:30
| 57 | 19 |
j58xfhg
|
j589rh4
|
10h9z1v
|
10h9z1v
|
[WP] The knight who saved the princess was a 40 year old man with a wife and kids. He doesn't want her hand he just thinks teenage girls shouldn't be held captive in towers in the middle of nowhere.
|
Sir Lawrence third of his name hefted his armour clad form over the towers stone windowsill with a grunt.
He rubbed his eyes with gauntlet covered fingers, mouth aghast, as he surveyed the scene before him.
This was not how these things were supposed to go.
He’d been set up, a rookie mistake.
Lawrence sighed. He knew they’d be talking about this at the tavern for weeks, a Knight of Lawrence’s Caliber being caught in such a position, it was disgraceful.
Made worse in the context of the previous few days horrors: scorching deserts, beasts from the abyss, loss of his best sword- a tragedy.
Refusing his wifes request had been out of the question ,who with a firm passionate voice had persuaded him to partake on this quest.
“She’s 14 Lawrence. Basically a child! That tower is no place for her!”
He’d tried to argue. “But it’s coming up to my Birthd...”
“Lawrence! This isn’t the knight I agreed to marry. You’re going, and I’ll hear no more about it!”
The look she’d given him had left him with no room for further manoeuvre.
“Yes dear” he’d groaned.
Five days later and here he found himself, taking in the scene of the highest tower at the tallest peak.
Bangs erupted. Confetti filled the air. Birthday banners draped from every corner.
His wife, family, friends and fellow knights filled the room, helmets up with a grin spread from ear to ear.
“Happy birthday Lawrence!” They cheered.
But at least the cake was Victoria sponge.
|
At first, I tried talking to the hooligans in reasonable terms.
>"You know, locking a teenaged girl up in a tower with no social circle or emotional outlet isn't going to do wonders for her mental health" I noted.
>
>"Yeah. We know. Now go away before our captain calls for the archers to shoot you." one of the outer wall guards responded.
>
>I heard the subtle twing of bowstring from on high.
>
>"Alrighty, thanks for your explanation. Have a wonderful day!" I turned to walk away.
Then, I tried coercion.
>"What do you mean, I don't look convincing! Why, I'm this princess's long lost sister!" I tried my best feminine accent.
>
>"Last I remember, princesses didn't have full grown beards and sound like gruff older men in their 40's." a guard noted. "Do you remember meeting the long lost sister of Princess Persephone?"
>
>"No, I didn't." the guard responded. "If I remember right, it was quite a big deal that the king only ever had one daughter. One is none, and all that."
>
>"Yeah, got it." the guard turned to me. "Please leave before our gunmen shoot you down."
>
>I heard the loading of a magazine from on high.
>
>"Very well. I'll be on my way."
Finally, I tried deception.
>"I'm here as an inspector from the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, also known as OSHA, to inspect your castle for proper workplace and building practices. Please, if you will, step aside, and let me enter so I can do my job/." I asked politely.
>
>"OSHA won't exist for another couple hundred years, American. Now scram unless you really want our captain to come out and greet you personally." the guard glared at me.
>
>I heard loud, thunderous stomping from much closer than on high.
>
>"Dang it! Too meta. I'll come back tomorrow." I noted.
>
>Groans emanated from both inside the castle and from the outer wall guards.
Finally, the day came. I was tired of this girl being locked up in a tower.
So I did the right thing.
I picked up my phone, and started dialing.
"Hey, this is Greg." Greg said.
"Hey Greg, wanna go raid a tower?" I asked.
"Sure!"
Soon enough Greg and I were at the tower.
I casually walked up to the tower. Archers, gunners, and the sounds of a very buff man yelling came from the other side of the gate.
"Hello there, castle guard." I smiled.
"Hey, I thought I told you to scram." the guard replied.
"What? Me? Scram? What a preposterous thought!" I laughed.
Immediately, as I predicted, gunners, archers shot at me from above.
They didn't stand a chance.
Bullets and arrows all bounced off me hopelessly, before I chugged a potion from my inventory, and started jumping up into the air. Dirt blocks spawned below me, as I turned my B Hopping cheat on. Then, just for funsies, Greg and I started teleporting around the base at random. Men screamed as they were placed in Obi traps, becoming floating corpses in the middle of the sky, all drowned in midair. I swung at someone with my sword, and they caught on fire. But this wasn't the point.
Soon, Greg and I- having thoroughly dispatched their captain- skillfully used admin commands to teleport ourselves into the chamber where they held the girl. I pulled out a pickaxe, destroyed her chains, and set her free.
Moral of the story? Honestly, I don't fucking know.
|
MJGTalisker
|
EvilNoobHacker
|
2023-02-24 06:40:13
|
2023-02-23 23:10:09
| 56 | 18 |
j9skv4n
|
j9r17p3
|
11a7y6u
|
11a7y6u
|
[WP] You’ve been bitten by a Zombie. You’ve already said tearful goodbyes to your loved ones as they leave you behind. The bite should make you turn in twenty minutes, so you sit down on a bench and wait… two hours later you’re still sitting there.
|
What a time to be alive.
Or dead, I guess. Or somewhere in between? Mom was right; I should have been a doctor. Maybe if I was, I'd have some idea of what's happening to me. And, more specifically, what's *not* happening.
I'm not dying.
I should be a mindless shuffling maniac by now, slowly rotting from the inside. I know the infection has taken root; more than a few zombies have passed me by without a second glance.
Yet my heart still beats.
I can feel it. I can hear it. I can smell the blood flowing through my veins and it almost makes me sick. I sit for another few hours, quite sure that I've lost my mind, or that I've perhaps finally graduated to Hell Original Flavor as opposed to only Hell on Earth. A living breathing human runs up in a panic. I can hear every squishy thump of her heart hammering away in her chest.
"Oh thank God!" she says. I wish she hadn't brought him up. We're not on speaking terms. "I need your help, please! My son, he's trapped." I sigh and stand up. "Alright then, let's go." Not like I have anything to lose. She leads me through a series of back alleys, and I can hear more hearts thumping up ahead.
"Oh," I say. "An ambush." I feel a rush crash into me like a wave and time slows down. I see the woman open her mouth to shout at the others while she reaches for her pistol.
I see my hands wrap around her face and twist.
The snap did make me gag, but I recovered fast enough to take her pistol and kill the others. I don't feel too bad about it. Bandits deserve no mercy. I also feel rather proud of myself for not feasting on any of them. I didn't feel the urge to, but I am quite hungry. Luckily, their supply cache was nearby and well stocked enough that I could travel. I suppose I might as well catch up with my family. I'll insist that they lock me up but, if we get in a scrape, my new *talents* might come in handy.
What a time to be alive.
|
In the back of my mind, I always knew it would end this way. I just expected it to be more… violent.
Instead, it was a small bite to the ankle when I walked too close to one I thought had already been eliminated. The bite was so small, I didn’t even bleed. A rookie mistake, and the costliest mistake I could make.
I haven’t even had time to be sad about it. In fact, I’m pretty pissed. I have managed to fight my way out of a hoard, tear apart one with a freshly broken arm, and sneak away unnoticed when a blind one entered my bedroom in the middle of the night. But the one that took me down was missing its entire lower half of its body and barely managed a nibble before I put a bullet in its brain.
So now I’m here, a mile away from my family, sitting on a bench of one of the old bus stops. I surprisingly didn’t meet any undead on my walk out here – not that it would matter at this point – but I feel naked without my usual arsenal of knives and pistols that I have learned to keep on me over the past two years.
I’ve lost track of how much time has gone by, but it certainly feels like longer than 20 minutes. It’s probably the anticipation of it, making time speed up, but I find it hard to believe the feeling of my flesh burning hasn’t set in yet.
I glanced up at the sun, trying to determine what time it was. It seemed to be after 4pm, and I thought back to how long ago I had been bit. The sun’s angle wasn’t really my priority at the time, but I vaguely remember the high angle it had while I was saying my goodbye to my husband, and the way the shadows were cast on his face as I burned that image into my brain to carry me through the rest of my short life.
Wait.
That would mean I had said goodbye over two hours ago. Impossible, since I was bitten a few minutes before that.
I jumped off the bench, rubbing my knuckles into my eyes as if that would change the position of the sun when I next looked at it. It didn’t.
I glanced at my skin, which still looked full of color. I didn’t feel any burning under my skin, signaling the turning of my blood. If I didn’t know any better, I would have looked and felt as if nothing happened.
I reached down to pull up my pant leg to check the wound. Maybe, since it wasn’t that deep, it was taking longer than usual for it to turn me.
At my ankle was a small scratch, but no sign of broken skin or a bite.
“No!” I gasped, dropping my pant leg, and stumbling backwards.
It was impossible. I had felt the bite. Sure, it wasn’t a big one, and I didn’t bleed, but it had to have broken the skin enough, right?
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I lifted my pant leg again, wiping at the spot with the fabric of my jeans to see if I could uncover a hidden deeper scratch perhaps. Nothing else was there.
I glanced up, unsure of what to do next.
Was I infected?
Was I safe?
There was no way to tell. But I had to go back to camp, just in case. I couldn’t risk being out here any longer, on the slight chance that maybe everything was going to be okay.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and the thought that I might be able to see my husband again almost made me collapse.
A rustle from the tree line behind the bench dried my tears and made my blood run cold. I took several slow steps backwards, putting as much distance between myself and the trees without making too much noise. I reached for my knife, and my stomach dropped when I realized I didn’t have it.
A male zombie emerged from the trees, not yet spotting me, but aware of my smell.
I took another step back, hoping I could make it to the other side of the street before I would run for my life to camp.
The zombie turned to me, his undead eyes locking with mine.
|
jpb103
|
marblewienlaw
|
2023-07-06 23:38:08
|
2023-07-06 22:26:40
| 125 | 41 |
jqyhjge
|
jqy7rew
|
14sghr0
|
14sghr0
|
[WP] You got a rug designed to look like an Ouija board as a gift. Liking it, you placed it in your living room. Now your roomba's summoned a demon and it can't leave until the roomba asks for something.
|
"Man, what's that racket downstairs? I must've forgot to turn the TV off again. And what's that smell? Did my eggs go bad in the fridge?" I say this while walking down the stairs leading to the landing that leads to the stairway into the living room. When I get to the landing, a sudden yawn comes on.
"YOU HUMAN!"
A deep demonic voice shouts, cutting my yawn short. I open my eyes and see a large demon with charred black skin, red fiery eyes, large dangerous-looking black horns, and what looks like steam rising from its body. Sitting on the large Ouija Board rug, a couple of friends got for me as a birthday present.
"HUMAN! I DEMAND YOU EXPLAIN WHAT THIS IS AND WHY IT SUMMON ME!" The demon demanded, pointing at me with his left hand, and in his right, he holds my Roomba, which I glued large googly eyes on the very day I bought it. "WHAT IS THIS, HUMAN!? IS IT MACHINE? SOME KIND OF CREATURE? OR AN UNHOLLY COMBINATION OF BOTH?!" The demon grasps it with both hands and stares deeply into those goofy eyes. "TELL ME, VILE CREATURE, WHY DID YOU SUMMON ME?! GIVE ME YOUR ANSWERS! REVEAL YOUR SECRETS TO ME! I CAN NOT LEAVE THIS OVERSIZED BOARD FOR I AM SOMEHOW BOUND TO IT! HUMAN, YOU MUST ASSIST ME IN INTERRIGATING THIS CREATURE, I DEMAND IT!" The demon shouts, turning towards where the human was, the demon still holding the Roomba, but the human wasn't there, not wanting to deal with this at the time, he had already slowly snuck upstairs after he heard the demon saying he was bound to the rug. Slipped on his noise-canceling headphones, he went back to bed, and shortly after, he fell asleep. "HUMAN, WHERE DID YOU GO?! I DEMANDED YOUR ASSISTANCE!"
"HUMAN!"
"HUMAN?"
The demon then turned his attention back to the Roomba he was still holding. "WHY DID YOU SUMMON ME DARK CREATURE!?" The demon yells in rage. Shaking the Roomba, causing its pupils to roll around.
|
I received a rug designed to look like an Ouija board as a gift and, liking it despite its overt macabre feel, I placed it in my living room. My roomba or as I would like to address him, "Rover," began cleaning the ominous rug. Suddenly, the lights flickered, the temperature dropped, and a sulfurous mist filled the air. A puff of smoke erupted, and, upon dissipating, stood a tall, pompous demon, dressed in picture perfect couture with a monocle perched on one glowing yellow eye of his.
Yeah. Perhaps placing a rug with such a design inside the living room wasn't the best idea.
"Greetings, mortal. I am Azazel, Duke of the Ninth Circle, Keeper of the Eternal Flames, Coordinator of one of Lord Satan's children," he began, then paused, glaring at Rover. "I have been summoned by... this lowly contraption?"
"That's my roomba," I replied, still trying to process the situation I had gotten myself in.
Azazel sighed dramatically, his bright red and yellow eyes rolling heavenward. "And what purpose does this 'roomba' serve?"
"Rover. Call him Rover. And, oh, you know. Vacuuming dust and dirt of the sort." I answered, now seeing the fun in poking a demon who seems to hold himself to such a pontifical standard.
"Oh by Hell's grace, you cannot be serious right now! Bound by a machine, not a machine that kills or destroys— but a machine that cleans! How far have I fallen from grace! Oh, to be bound by this machine named Rover!" The demon uttered, growling in frustration. Funnily enough, he spoke like one of those pretentious royalty portrayed in pop culture. I held onto dear life, trying not to let out a chuckle.
"Oh, human! Would you be so kind as to free me from such ignominy?! I only need Rover here to request a solemn favor, only then will I be free to depart! This is according to Hell's Constitutional Law 367!" Azazel practically begged, edging closer to me, his hands clasping together. To think that he exuded such a magnanimous air when he appeared, only to now be reduced to such a state. This would go absolutely viral, had I only brought my phone with me.
"Rover is quite outdated though. It doesn't have a voice feature unlike many modern roombas." I lied. Straight up lied. This roomba is the latest model.
"My word! I-if that's the case... N-now what... This is a travesty of Chthonic proportions." Azazel practically breathed out, his voice coming in only jagged breaths, his 9 foot figure drooping to a slump. Why would be believe me so fast? Without even an inkling of doubt? Perhaps critical thinking isn't quite the norm in Hell.
"I guess, I'll have to live here forever. Down in the home of some wretched human, watching over his blasted robot until the end of eternity." Azazel mentioned, clearly defeated. So much for being the Duke of the Ninth Circle. Had I not taken acting classes recently, I would've broken character and laughed long ago.
Azazel went through the five stages of grief quite quickly, stupidly enough.
Realizing I had leverage, I proposed a deal.
"Azazel," I spoke to the demon's slumped appearance. "I could get the roomba to speak, but only under one condition."
"You damned creature. You know I don't like being subjected and reduced to the losing end of the bargain. I do, with every fiber inside me, hope you know what you're getting into." Azazel's eyes found its once lost spark. Perhaps I bit off more than I could chew...
😸😸😸😸
Any suggestions and critiques to my writing are welcome! 😸
[My subreddit/portfolio if you want to drop by and take a peek! I hope to be writing here a lot, so do expect the quantity to skyrocket! 😸](https://www.reddit.com/r/KittenMantra/s/eZJMeTJj1b)
|
MondaySloth
|
KittenMantra
|
2024-07-09 22:42:35
|
2024-07-09 18:20:42
| 19 | 10 |
lcfbi27
|
lcdzpyj
|
1dz5b1s
|
1dz5b1s
|
[WP] You were once an adventurer but when was turned to stone. Your party tried to save you but it was too late, so they place you in the center of a town they founded, now years later an army marches onto that town and with every once of willpower you try to move…and with groan you take a step.
|
Once more I watch the sun set upon the narrow cobblestone streets from atop my platform, my duty done, my eternal sentry resumed. My home secure again.
My story began 76 years ago, although I suppose some might say that it ended. When I was a young man of flesh, blood, and a stout heart I first arrived here on the plains of stone. I was one of a group 7 men that had been gathered from the kings army to deal a witch that had been harassing the local Sheppards.
It had taken us months of scouring the country chasing what seemed like every rumor or whisper we heard in every Tavren and Inn. All leading to the fertile plans in the south country, it was known only as the plains of plenty when i was a boy, it would seem that the witch, had a particular fixation upon the monster Medusa from the mythology of the Greeks. She had created a potion that would turn any living thing, plant or person into stone if the liquid touched it. She carried around viles strapped upon her person and would hurl them upon her foe.
Our party had been careful to keep our distance as we pursued her through the plains, we lost several pack animals and horses to the potion, and left a trail of stone grass, trees and and anything else unfortunate enough to be caught in her crossfire.
Finally we had her trapped on the banks of the Forma River. She had hidden herself away in small cave on the rivers edge, with only one way in, and out, and the terrible stone elixir to contend with upon any entrance. I valued the life's of my comrades perhaps more then my own, and volunteered to lead the assault in order to assure their safety.
I bundled myself in layers of fur and blankets, anything I could find in an attempt to keep the potion from reaching my body. As I burst into the cave a half dozen of these bottles were thrown at me all striking true, slowly I could feel myself loosing the ability to move as the elixir took affect. But I was able to draw my sword and run the witch through with my final breaths.
Much time has passed since then. My fellowship refusing to leave me in that dark cave brought my stone body up to the rivers edge, placing it the center of their camp, my sword still drawn, my body still coverd in the rags I attempted to protect myself in. The camp has grown into a small town since that day, Stonesedge is my home now, and I'm happy here.
For 76 years I watched as the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of my friends called this place their home. I felt the sun upon my face and the rain upon my head as I stood watch over my town. I watched as the built homes, shops and schools, and for the first time in 76 years, I walked.....
Stonesedge had as terrible a day as I could remember, raiders from the north sailed down the Forma River and began attacking my town. A few of the young men had tried to resist only to be murdered in the very square in which I sit. The raiders set up camp demanding that my people deliver every gold coin, silver chalice or anything else of value to them upon first light lest the town be torched.
The blood from the slain sons of Stonesedge had slowly trickled towards my feet as the night fell. As I anguished at there deaths and worried for the future of my home I began to feel.... loose. With a groan deeper then any I had gave out when I was flesh I took a step, then another.
Mobile and yet still stone I was able to lumber, as though some sort of golem that had no business existing upon this earth. But I had only goal upon my mind, protecting Stonesedge.
It seems that being stone has some advantages, as I approached the raiders camp on the edge of town I was greated with a couple of bolts in the dark that seemed to glance right off my chest, the carnage began as I reached the picket line however. My sword, stone now could not cut, only bludgeon, so I did. The screams of my victims woke the rest of their party and they all came running weapons in hand.
A few were brave enough to attack me with their axes and swords, only to have every blow stop dead in its tracks, the shafts of there weapons reverberating in their hands, I was able to clumsy swing my club of a sword fast enough to catch a few, but that's all it took. The raiders with fear in their hearts decided that fleeing the stone man that could not be harmed seemed a better decision then waiting for death.
I step atop my perch agsin, as the sun begins to rise, resuming my watch once more over this place that has become my home.
|
He remembered wandering away from his companions when he decided to explore the woods they had bivouacked in. They had spent the past year exploring ancient ruins containing a rumoured treasure chamber…a rumour that they had proven to be true. They had gathered what they could of the treasure, which included the usual jewels and gold, as well as odd trinkets such as amulets and tablets with intricate inscriptions. It had been the plan to bring these findings to the historians in the capital, although that was not to be.
At least, as far as Jean Mabbott was concerned.
He recalled hearing the footprints that followed him from behind, although before he can turned around to see who the individual was, he was temporarily blinded by a sudden flash of light. He still remembered the cold heaviness as muscle and skin were gradually replaced by stone, the subtle crackling of minerals crystallising and solidifying echoing in his ears and ultimately drowning out his beating heart. Within a few brief, fleeting moments, he was completely immobilised, a figure made of stone. He had been an explorer for the royal court, faithfully serving his king through the years. He had helped to expand their trade routes to distant lands and established productive relations with different nations. His findings and explorations have also contributed considerable information into the historical tomes about other lands and unexplored ancient cities. This adventure would have contributed to another chapter in the history books. And within an instant, everything was gone.
Yet despite it all, he could still hear and see everything that took place around him, and he remembered hearing the panicked cries of his companions, as well as the arguments and threats. It had been years since all of this had transpired, and he supposed that stone simply did not retain memories too well. He did recall his companions bringing him back to the capital. The king must have been informed, however, since it was not long before he was placed on a pedestal in the plaza just before the palace, and the somber ceremony that took place in his honor and memory. Days turned into months, and months turned into years. As time went on, he witnessed the city around him slowly change and grow. He sometimes wondered why he continued to exist in this state, although over time, he gradually grew to accept his fate. Life went on, and he kept his vigil over the city and his king.
Then the day came when he heard the trumpets heralding the return of the king and his soldiers from a journey abroad. He watched as the subjects gathered to witness the king’s return, and it was then that he noticed a familiar face in the crowd.
Enno Harley.
The face of his former traveling companion opened a floodgate of memories in him. Jean knew exactly what was about to take place, an event that was years in the making and one that he had been an unsuspecting pawn in. He did not know if the sudden onslaught of emotions that he was feeling had any part to play in what happened next, but Jean suddenly realized that he could feel some movement returning to his fingers. Around him he could hear the excited murmurs of the gathered crowd. The royal entourage was drawing near, and Jean had to act quickly. He had to do something.
With a groan, he was able to lift up one foot, and then the other foot followed. He could feel small fractures and cracks materializing in the stone as he leapt down from the pedestal, although he did not care. He has to reach the king. The subjects that had stood closest to him cried out in surprise at the sight of a statue that seemed to have suddenly come to life, and he had no trouble making his way to the king as the crowd parted for him, the looks directed at him a mixture of bewilderment, horror, and sheer awe.
With the last bit of strength and structural integrity Jean could muster, he leapt in front of the king just as Enno shoved through the crowd, his blade drawn and raised. Jean remembered everything now. There was a plot that was not meant for his ears that centered around the assassination of the king and usurping the throne, and the ancient ruins they had been exploring contained an amulet rumoured to be able to turn any living thing to stone. The original plan had been to use the amulet on the king, although Jean became the first test subject when he had unknowingly stumbled on the conversation. He now remembered the triumphant smile that Enno had given him, confident that his plan would unfurl without a hitch. This act of betrayal by the one he has considered to be among his best friends and confidants enraged him deep into his core, and he was determined to set things right once and for all.
He could feel the blade strike one of the fractures in his shoulder as he leapt in front of the king, and the final thing that Jean saw before everything went black was the look of utter horror on Enno’s face as the king’s soldiers surrounded him.
With his true purpose finally having been served, Jean was free.
*****
The plot was more widespread than anyone had originally thought, and many individuals, including the king’s own brother, were tried and imprisoned in the preceding months. Eventually peace was restored throughout the kingdom though, and life returned to normal. A new statue of Jean Mabbott was carved and placed back onto the pedestal in front of the palace. Every now and then the king would visit Jean’s statue as he used to do since it was first brought to him. It had been years since the incident took place, and the old king marvelled over how the story had changed over time through simple word of mouth. The version being shared these days spoke of the statue of Jean Mabbott falling atop of Enno Harley just as the latter was about to assassinate the king, a tale of karmic justice often used as a cautionary story for children to do good in the world. Yet the king knew better, just as he knew that this new statue was different. Before he used to get the feeling that the old statue was somehow alive and sentient, although he no longer felt such a thing with the new statue. Deep down, the king knew that Jean was truly gone now, and he hoped that the place that his loyal explorer had gone to was a happy and peaceful one.
|
Patient-Oven-7956
|
nan0user
|
2023-06-19 04:27:46
|
2023-06-19 04:18:33
| 482 | 264 |
joo1kxb
|
joo0qux
|
14d0psk
|
14d0psk
|
[WP] It's december, and you've decided to write a letter to santa. However, in a hideously simple mistake, you misspelt santa. Now, sitting in your room with a present labelled "from satan", you open it to be confronted with....
|
"Dear Satan"
My damn dyslexia will be the death of me. In five minutes.
I've re-read the letter ten times now, praying my eyes are playing trick yet again.
But no, there it says, quite clearly, "My deepest condolences, From Satan".
Maybe I should call in a bomb squad. That would be the responsible thing to do. My mistake shouldn't fall on the heads of those unfortunate to live around me. Or I could somehow launch it into space, or bury it in the deepest depths of the ocean. Send it to my enemy... No, that's too evil.
I'll just shove it under my bed and forget about it. It seems harmless now. I just have to resist opening it ...
No, I'll never sleep right again. I should move, leave it buried in the backyard. I could bury it in the national forest next door. But that's probably illegal.
I hold up the small square carefully. It's 7 by 7 inches, flat, and lightweight. Just a few ounces and wrapped in red shiny paper with a bow sporting devil horns. It appeared out of thin air with a pop at the strike of midnight, December 25, Christmas day. Then just hovered in the air one foot from my face.
I shift the paper back and forth as if I can somehow test it's deadliness this way. Then I dare to shake it. Just the faintest rattle.
Well, screw it, I'm opening it. The devil knows me now personally. Can't get any worse.
Yes, I wrote my name and address on the envelope. I wasn't so fortunate as to screw that up.
I peel the folded corners of the paper open, careful not to tear. Unfold it from the back while holding it away from myself at furthest arm's reach. Any explosions will hopefully go the opposite way.
Out of the packaging drops a simple CD. The one I asked for. And a note.
"Dear Michael", it read. "Find a better taste in music."
|
Every Saturday morning was the same for weeks now. The window curtains would let in a cobalt blue light, letting me know that I'd slept enough, that I should run the shower or the coffee maker or make breakfast or any other reason to motivate me to get up. Today, it was coffee. Honestly, most days were coffee.
My phone buzzed, a text from my sister. "You wanna hang out with me and Georgie today? Ice skating? Santa visit?"
"Sure, what time?" I replied back.
"11am good for you?" she asked.
I looked at my phone, it was a quarter to seven. I sent a thumbs up back and put my phone down. I cupped my hands together and trapped a breath inside before turning on the coffee maker. It grumbled to life, shaking itself in fear or courageousness. Olli had always been both scared and excited by the thing. It was the sign that a walk would happen soon, even in his last days, he'd let out a happy howl and walk towards his leash. A brisk two mile walk around the neighborhood before his breakfast and his post-breakfast nap. The last year of his life, the two mile walks had turned into quarter mile walks. Enough to get to his favorite trees and bushes.
I had tried to continue our routine, but the morning walks had felt a few degrees too cold or too warm or too annoying. I let the coffee brew. In the summers, the dandelions bloomed and littered the neighborhood with their puffs. Olli was a proper fan, taking chunks of the flowers, chasing their seeds when they blew into the air. During the winters, he still searched for them, digging at or rolling around the snow in an attempt to smother the future flowers. Georgie, my nephew, had joined him on several occasions.
"Georgie's been begging for a dog lately," my sister said on one of the walks.
"I thought John was allergic," I said.
"Yeah, but look at them." She replied.
Georgie had been lobbing snowballs in lofty arcs towards Olli who snapped at each one. Georgie would yell and cheer while Olli zoomed around him in neat circles.
The coffee machine screamed its last cry, sputtering out the last of its dark gold. My phone buzzed again, another text from my sister.
"We're writing letters for Santa so make sure you write one too."
"Really?" I sent back.
"Yes, really. Don't be the lame uncle that ruins the magic of Christmas."
I looked for an envelope and a letter when my phone rang again, it was my boss asking for some email forward for something he should have done himself. I told him it was the holidays, that I'd get it done later, but no, he needed it done now. I asked why he couldn't do it, he said he was with family and I said much of the same. He told me it wasn't a request and I told him to piss off. More words, more threats.
My phone buzzed again, my sister letting me know she was here. I looked at the unwritten letter on my coffee table, I jotted the first few things on my mind. Addressed it to the man up north and licked the seal. I told my boss to piss off one last time and wrapped my nephew in a bear hug.
"Uncle Lee!"
"Heya Georgie, you ready to see Santa? You have your Christmas list ready?"
"Mhmm! Can you give me a piggy back ride?" Georgie asked.
"You want a piggy back ride fifteen feet away to the car?" I said, already kneeling down.
He laughed and whispered in my ear.
"I'm going to ask for a dog like Olli," Georgie said.
What a coincidence, I thought.
The day passed, getting colder by the hour. Ice rinks were skated and Santa was visited. The helper elves took every child's letter and said they'd pass it on to the many toy factories in the North Pole. Santa looked glassy-eyed and full of eggnog, but he did his best listening to all of the children's requests for games, pets, and the removal of every vegetable ever. Georgie himself said he wanted to rid the world of cauliflower and I told him I'd ask for the same thing.
I went to sleep thinking about how I'd have to look for a new job, I went to sleep waiting for the morning cobalt to wake me up. Instead, I opened my eyes to a glowing amber. My room felt hot, I smelled smoke. I found the source immediately, a burning box in the middle of the room. It was a large box, wrapped neatly, the thing was on fire, but nothing else had caught its flames.
"Is this a dream?" I said aloud.
I walked closer to the thing, wrapped in red. There was a label on it, a black letter taped onto the side of the present.
"From Satan," it read. "Hey, Boss. We don't normally get requests like that, but I liked the cut of your jib. This thing took a while to track down and it doesn't come free. If you accept the terms and conditions below, it's all yours."
I heard the box shuffle around and the flames quit out. The windows turned cobalt blue, but I was already awake, sitting in front of this box. The ribbons undid themselves and the lid toppled over. I made eye contact with the beast in front of me, likely a demon, a dog shaped demon. A demon named Olli.
|
thelma1907
|
DeneilYeong
|
2023-02-13 19:49:28
|
2023-02-13 19:46:46
| 212 | 103 |
j8erip5
|
j8er3y3
|
111g41i
|
111g41i
|
[WP] Your job description: 1) Sit in an empty room with a red button for 8 hours a day. 2) NEVER press the red button, no matter what happens. 3) Do not talk to anyone about the job. After many uneventful years, your phone rings and a stern, slightly panicked voice says: „Press the button. NOW!!“
|
"You got it!"
*click*
Nothing happened.
"Aww well." I sighed "Guess I'm fired now huh?"
"Wait you actually pushed the button?" The distorted voice on the other side of the line asked "You broke the ONE rule we told you not to break?"
"Yeah pretty much..." I paused and continued. In for a penny. "Well no. I broke all the other rules too. I dont sit in front of the button all day either. Its bad for your health. I stand up and walk around to stretch my legs sometimes.".
"Well the sitting part is just a figure of speech. We wouldnt have fired you for that.
"Well good because I was ready to report you to OSHA if you did. But thats not all. I talk about the job all the time. Made a post on r/writingprompts last month to gauge how people would feel about it. Most people leant towards not pushing it so I kinda explored all those possibilities in my imaginaton. Not enough pushing it responses though, so here I am to sate my curiostiy."
I paused for a reaction. Nothing. So I continued to ramble as was my nature.
"I'm surprised I havent been fired already. I figured a mysterious employer that could afford to pay me a generous wage for doing nothing would have a much more extensive surveilance network. I'll be disapointed if I find out I've been keeping my choices in porn tame all these years for no reason."
"I dont understand. Why are you being so honest?" Asked the voice on the other end of the line "Why did you push the button? Why after all these years of discipline you crack immediately with no resistance?"
"Well I'm not very good at lying. If im going to be fired anyway I might as well lay it all out. As for the button, the boredom for one. I got a good amount of savings so that should hold me until I find another job. But i figured the day would come that I be tested. And either they would be looking for obedient drones or something else. I know myself. I could never thrive in a position where I had to obey orders and do nothing else. So I decided to stay true to who I am. I have no way to gauge what criteria you are trying to measure so one answer was as good as any button pushing-wise."
"Werent you worried it might launch a nuke and kill millions or open a portal to hell or something?" queried the voice.
"Yea or it might release a cure for the common cold into the atmosphere and disarm all nuclear weapons. What can I say? I'm a gambler. And a bad one."
After a pause the voice responded "One moment please." Followed by silence.
A minute passed I decided to push the button a few more times in case this was part of the test.
TBC?
|
Josh often felt like his life had no meaning. He went away to college to study literature and he failed an any attempt of social relationships.
The only person that still call him sometimes was his roommate Andy, but Josh thought the only reason was that he felt guilty about all the homeworks he copied from him during the year, and because he had this need to be liked by everyone so he tried too hard to be friendly.
Josh was a pretty good student, actually one of the best, but he didn't think much of that and he consider himself mostly lucky for his result. Nonetheless he graduated with excellent grades. He was hired as a professor.
He dreamt as a child to be like one of those professor you see in movies, that changes the life of their students and live a mark on the world. He didn't felt this as much as then when he was hired, he chose the university because he never had any other lead on what to do so he just went with it.
One day had a heavy fight with his mother that morning, that left him strained and nervous and that eventually led him to clap back, but hours later, against a student. Turn out this student was the son of some important functionaire or something like that, and his father pressed for him to be removed. He never kept contact with his colleagues and he interrupted every contact with his family.
He was at a laundry when he encountered the man who offered him the seemingly perfect job. They both were regular and Josh recognized his face even if they never actually talked to eachother. This time, the man approached him like he were the best of friends, and told him that there was an opening for a task that didn't required any special skills nor to interact or even see other people. The job consisted in sitting in an empty room, with a red bottom at the middle of it for 8 hours a day, without ever pressing the red button and without talking to anyone about the job. He said that no one would accept these condition and that someone even thought he was joking, or worst trying to screw them over, so he was desperate to find a person to hire and that he was basically begging anyone he met. He was really surprised when Josh said he would have take the job. It sounded like a perfect representation of the useleness of his life.
So, from the day after, Josh went to the room with the red bottom, and for the next six years his life went on without any changes. His mom often tried to called over the years, trying to make amend for their fight and asking him what he was doing for a living. He forgave her eventually, and he let her know that, but he refused to elaborate on any questions she may have on his personal life. He often went to the laundry and he often met the man again, they mostly have small talk, and nothing else.
It was another Monday at work, ordinary as every other day. His phone ringed, he sighed before answering. "Mum, I already told you that how I live and what I do is not your concern, just made peace with it and go on". "I'm not your mum Josh, now hurry and press the red bottom in the room". A familiar, panicked voice almost screamed the words, Josh took a while to put his finger on it. "Andy, I believe that's you, right?" "Press the bottom Josh, NOW". He seemed freaked out, in a rush. "I don't know what are you talking about or why are you calling me, so maybe take a breath and drink some water, or alcohol if it better fit your state, and then have a good day. Goodbye Andy" "no, you don't understand, you really need to-..." Josh closed the call.
He finished his shift and went home. He ordered an Hawaiian Pizza by dominos for dinner. For the first time he stopped to thinking about the strange interaction he had at the phone. For the first time in years he asked himself what he was doing, actually, with his life. What the meaning of his job was. What would have happened if he had played the bottom.
The following day he went to work, and after at least an hour of going trought unresolvable questions, he pressed the red bottom. He then took his jacket and left, directed to his mother house. He owned some explanation after all. He texted Andy. "I did as you asked me by the way, even if I totally don't understand how you would possibly knew about anything. do you want to get a beer one of these days?"
And so, Josh's life went on. He often went to the laundry. He never met the man ever again.
Edit: paragraph
|
WantDiscussion
|
None
|
2023-01-03 05:18:15
|
2023-01-02 21:02:31
| 24 | 12 |
j2qes97
|
j2og35e
|
101bwam
|
101bwam
|
[WP] Your job description: 1) Sit in an empty room with a red button for 8 hours a day. 2) NEVER press the red button, no matter what happens. 3) Do not talk to anyone about the job. After many uneventful years, your phone rings and a stern, slightly panicked voice says: „Press the button. NOW!!“
|
Easiest job in the world.
David knew he had the easiest job in the world - all he had to do was sit in a room for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. It was practically free money! Of course, there was one condition.
Do not press the red button. It was what his supervisor told him when he started working here, what his workmates told him every day, there's even posters on the wall giving him a constant reminder.
It was November 3rd when David worked his final shift. He was sitting in the room, as usual, until the phone started to ring.
"Weird," he thought to himself, "I never noticed that was there."
He walked over to the corner and picked up the phone.
"Hello? Is this David Smith?"
"Yes, who am I speaking to?"
"That's not important right now, I just need you to push that red button."
David paused. He looked at the glowing red button in the middle of the room.
"I'm afraid I can't do that. It's my job not to."
"David, this is more important than your job. You need to press the button."
"I can't."
"You have to."
"I don-- what does it even do?"
Silence.
"I'm afraid if I tell you then you won't press it."
"Well that's not very reassuring, is it?"
"David, please, you need to press it. Trust me."
"Trust you? I don't know who you are!"
"Millions, billions of lives are at stake here. You need to press the button."
"I... I need to talk to my supervisor."
"Is he with you in the room?"
"No, he's just--"
"For God's sake, do not leave that room."
Silence.
"Why?"
Silence.
"Excuse me sir, why can't I leave my room."
David stared at the button again. He was just about to hang up the phone before he heard a faint, calm voice.
"False alarm. Everything's fine, carry on."
David was relieved. That solved itself quickly. As he thought before, easiest job in the world.
"So I don't have to press the button?"
"No."
"I can safely leave the room?"
"Yes. I encourage it!"
"Phew. That's a relief. Just out of curiousity... what does that red button do?"
Silence again.
"I don't know. No one knows, really."
David laughs, but then thinks to himself for a moment.
"Sir, you were just saying that you wouldn't tell me because I wouldn't press the button if I did know, byt now you're telling me you don't know?"
"A white lie. But as I said before, false alarm."
"You said billions of lives were at stake."
"What I meant by that was--"
"Sir, who are you?"
...
"David, do not press that red button."
"Go to hell."
--------------------
This is my first time doing one of these btw, let me know where I need improvement.
|
Josh often felt like his life had no meaning. He went away to college to study literature and he failed an any attempt of social relationships.
The only person that still call him sometimes was his roommate Andy, but Josh thought the only reason was that he felt guilty about all the homeworks he copied from him during the year, and because he had this need to be liked by everyone so he tried too hard to be friendly.
Josh was a pretty good student, actually one of the best, but he didn't think much of that and he consider himself mostly lucky for his result. Nonetheless he graduated with excellent grades. He was hired as a professor.
He dreamt as a child to be like one of those professor you see in movies, that changes the life of their students and live a mark on the world. He didn't felt this as much as then when he was hired, he chose the university because he never had any other lead on what to do so he just went with it.
One day had a heavy fight with his mother that morning, that left him strained and nervous and that eventually led him to clap back, but hours later, against a student. Turn out this student was the son of some important functionaire or something like that, and his father pressed for him to be removed. He never kept contact with his colleagues and he interrupted every contact with his family.
He was at a laundry when he encountered the man who offered him the seemingly perfect job. They both were regular and Josh recognized his face even if they never actually talked to eachother. This time, the man approached him like he were the best of friends, and told him that there was an opening for a task that didn't required any special skills nor to interact or even see other people. The job consisted in sitting in an empty room, with a red bottom at the middle of it for 8 hours a day, without ever pressing the red button and without talking to anyone about the job. He said that no one would accept these condition and that someone even thought he was joking, or worst trying to screw them over, so he was desperate to find a person to hire and that he was basically begging anyone he met. He was really surprised when Josh said he would have take the job. It sounded like a perfect representation of the useleness of his life.
So, from the day after, Josh went to the room with the red bottom, and for the next six years his life went on without any changes. His mom often tried to called over the years, trying to make amend for their fight and asking him what he was doing for a living. He forgave her eventually, and he let her know that, but he refused to elaborate on any questions she may have on his personal life. He often went to the laundry and he often met the man again, they mostly have small talk, and nothing else.
It was another Monday at work, ordinary as every other day. His phone ringed, he sighed before answering. "Mum, I already told you that how I live and what I do is not your concern, just made peace with it and go on". "I'm not your mum Josh, now hurry and press the red bottom in the room". A familiar, panicked voice almost screamed the words, Josh took a while to put his finger on it. "Andy, I believe that's you, right?" "Press the bottom Josh, NOW". He seemed freaked out, in a rush. "I don't know what are you talking about or why are you calling me, so maybe take a breath and drink some water, or alcohol if it better fit your state, and then have a good day. Goodbye Andy" "no, you don't understand, you really need to-..." Josh closed the call.
He finished his shift and went home. He ordered an Hawaiian Pizza by dominos for dinner. For the first time he stopped to thinking about the strange interaction he had at the phone. For the first time in years he asked himself what he was doing, actually, with his life. What the meaning of his job was. What would have happened if he had played the bottom.
The following day he went to work, and after at least an hour of going trought unresolvable questions, he pressed the red bottom. He then took his jacket and left, directed to his mother house. He owned some explanation after all. He texted Andy. "I did as you asked me by the way, even if I totally don't understand how you would possibly knew about anything. do you want to get a beer one of these days?"
And so, Josh's life went on. He often went to the laundry. He never met the man ever again.
Edit: paragraph
|
JoeyJoeySiwa
|
None
|
2023-01-03 02:19:27
|
2023-01-02 21:02:31
| 16 | 12 |
j2pr8j8
|
j2og35e
|
101bwam
|
101bwam
|
[WP] The hero, normally jovial and humorous in their interactions, steps into a watering hole for villains, shaking with rage, tears running down their face, and with as much patience and calm as they can muster, simply asks "Who did it?"
|
"Who did it?"
Barely above a whisper, but the room went silent like someone just sucked the air out of it. Daybreak stood there. They looked like they'd been crying.
"She's dead, and I know one of you had something to do with it. I won't ask again."
Their voice tight, the air hummed with power. This wasn't like him. Something was very wrong. He was a boy scout, played by the rules. But every instinct told me people were about to die.
"I believe the person you want to talk to about this is me." Came a booming voice from the street. Nightfall, their nemesis. Shit...
In a blur, he was outside, and the fight began. The patrons scattered and ran. I don't blame them. Those 2 were leagues above the rank and file crooks and minions like this place dealt with. I hunkered down, with my leg busted. I'd never clear ground quick enough to be safe.
Daybreak bellowed the question over and over.
"Why?"
Tears streaming down their face. Nightfall was silent, they took a few hits, evaded a few more...
Why weren't they fighting back?
"You can undo it, I know you can. Science, magic, you know all the angles. You always have a backup plan. Undo it! Or I swear to God I'll..." and explosion cut off thr rest.
"That isn't going to happen. It's over."
With a scream, Daybreak became feral, terrifying, I've never seen him like that. No one had. He was incoherent, and still. Crying. What was happening?
Their blows became slower, weaker, they had pushed too hard and worn themselves out. Nightfall was moving in for the kill. I couldn't believe someone was finally going to put Daybreak in the ground...Nightfall hugged him. Daybreak collapsed into the embrace. Weeping.
"It can't be over, she was so young."
"I know, Frank, I know. When I heard about the aneurysm I came as soon as I could. I knew you'd be a wreck. I didn't want you to do something you'd regret. I respect you too let you ruin all the good you've done over a tragedy beyond anyone's control. All we can do is carry on and try to learn how to live. Now come on, let's get you home, take a shower and get some sleep. Melissa's funeral is in the morning."
|
A hush grew across the bar, the chatter and clinking falling to a whisper before fading altogether. Eyes swept toward the door and gazed upon the figure who commanded their silence. Rocket Man. The beloved hero of their metropolitan city stood like an obelisk, gripping the door frame as he pierced into everyone’s very mind and soul. A fire burned from within him, baring teeth from a clenched jaw. No one dared utter a word, not even a cough.
Rocket Man grabbed an empty chair resting by the door and smashed it into the wall. Splinters and wood flew like shrapnel from a grenade. The closest patrons shielded their faces and coward from the explosion that echoed throughout. The rest of the crowd had stiffened, reflexively leaning away from the door and it’s hostile force. Still only silence remained, the patrons had fallen into a wordless obedience. They knew who top dog was and while they all could maybe jump him together, no one wanted to test an enraged Rocket Man and be one of the many casualties that would most definitely be created.
“I let you bastards exist out of kindness and decency!” Rocket Man bellowed to the room in a manor unbefitting. Everyone present has heard him get angry and upset before… but not this.
“R-rocky, we don’t know wh-“
Before finishing another word, Rabid Bitch was lifted into the air by her throat. She started to cough and wheeze, desperately trying to claw at the arm of Rocket before he drove her into the table she sat at just seconds before. The table cracked under the force and caused one of its legs to snap. It fell to the side and so too did Rabid, rolling onto the floor. She gasped for air as a few close by flew toward her and helped get her to her feet.
“Not. One. **WORD.** From any of you unless it’s a confession or information. **WHO?! FUCKING WHO?!**”
The villains remained in a silence, but their eyes darted between one another. *What happened? Had anyone heard anything? Someone must have bragged about something, right?* All these thoughts and many like them swam through the minds of all present. Whatever it was, it was big and bad. Someone did something to warrant this much rage from the hero, but what? And equally important, who?
A shuffle from the back. Another. And another. Small steps as someone tried to slowly and quietly fade further and further into the background. A couple from the back started to notice. And then more. And more. Heads started to turn and look at a lone individual. Rocket noticed this. As his gaze met the sneak in the back, he bolted for the back door. The jets on Rocket Man’s jet pack ignited into a high pitched roar, sending him sailing into the air above the crowd and directly into the runner. His arms outstretched as he reached his target, grabbing them and bulldozing them through the back door and into the air. Higher he flew as he stared the very intent of death into his captive. A relatively new villain to the scene, Boulder. He should have absolutely learned the rules of engagement by now.
As they rise higher into the night sky, Boulder sniveled and cried as he clung to Rocket Man for dear life. The horror and fear flushed every other thought out of his mind. He croaked out something as their ascent came to a halt, several hundred meters in the air.
“P-p-please! I-I-I-I did-dn’t kn-n-n-now!”
His helmet hid every expression, but Boulder felt the malicious force emanating out from within that very helm. He cried out, begging and pleading for Rocket to understand, show compassion and mercy. He’ll take himself in! He’ll resign immediately! He’ll abandon everything and leave! Anything!
All fell on deaf ears.
“The rules exist for a reason, Boulder. Not to keep things fair, not to have honor or respect. They exist because I *own* you. You are *my* playthings. And when someone strays from that path..”
Rocket Man released his grip.
“They’re not worth playing with.”
|
Behold_the_Turnip
|
wheresmythermos
|
2024-10-17 16:27:49
|
2024-10-17 15:12:04
| 104 | 77 |
lsdvyjr
|
lsdhna0
|
1g5kua3
|
1g5kua3
|
[WP] You are a young mage who just discovered the horrifying truth about where mana actually comes from.
|
*”We tried to tell you!”* Sang the faerie king. *”At no point in the process did this august body utter an untruth!”*
A cold spike of clarity drives its way through my body.
“You… you said… the real mana was inside us, all along?” I can hardly get the words out.
The faerie king nods vigorously.
*”That’s right young mage! Inside, inside!”*
“That… true magic… was the friends we made along the way…?”
*”Yesyesyes! We have said this maaaany tiiimes!”*
He giggles. He dances. He floats through with the looping grace of a bumblebee.
They weren’t stupid faerie aphorisms. Their words were only ever literal.
My ears ring. I can’t get enough air; I am suffocating under the burden of what we-
What **I’ve** done.
Every test culled a few members from our cohort. I thought they were just… going home.
The absurdly large flowers in the surroundings with their scarlet hues and thick petals were comical, once. Cute, even.
Their nectar was light and refreshing. We got some after each trial. As the weeks went by, it tasted sweeter. Grew our powers more than the time before. I thought we were just developing a taste for the stuff. That it worked better the more you drank. I guess that part’s true, still.
The petals look macabre now. Their absurd size suddenly making a grim logical sense. The nectar thickened and sweetened over time to a bloody hue and taken on a cloying taste.
*”Open wiiiide magey magey! Your medicine is ready!”*
They wave a crude goblet in front of my nose. It is decorated to a child’s aesthetic. Lumps and dents, studded with acorns, rocks, and webs… they look like flesh, bones, and veins now.
I take a long look inside. This is… was… Colette. She cried so hard when I won. She must have known.
She wanted to bring rain to her parched homeland. And I guess it was Juno, too. She wanted to cure her father’s illness. Ronan, who wanted to “unlock the mysteries of the universe.” I got along best with him.
*”Is… something wrong?”* the king hovers close. His court turn their gleaming eyes to me. Whispers drift around the branches.
Plenty of flowers around. Certainly enough for one more. Best not to risk it.
“No. Thank you.”
Bottoms up.
They cheer.
|
Okay this idea was a little out there, and it has been a long long time since I wrote anything, but here is my go: (note, wow I forgot how annoying reddit formatting can be)
​
**It is a well established fact of our world that mana, that force that allows the casting of spells and the propagation of magic, waxes and wanes through the course of our lives, and that some poor souls seem to be born without the ability to generate mana at all.**
**Of course the presence of mana, and the ability to use it are not always tied together. Indeed some of our most talented mages are able to perform incredible acts of magic, while wielding only a modicum of mana, and some of the most powerfully endowed of mana, are unable to channel even a simple light spell. Indeed it often seems that the most powerfully endowed of mana are paradoxically the least likely to have either the skill, or desire, to learn to channel their mana at all. Often living mundane lives of work and family.**
**This curve is not always a linear progression, indeed it has been noted by many practised mages that their available stores of mana seem to wax and wane as time progresses, following a roughly lunar cycle, offset by a personal differential. Not everyones most powerful times coincide with the same lunar stage, however they are usually the most powerful at the same lunar stage each month.**
**Another oddity, is that men seem to be gifted with the skill of mana for much longer than women. All humans are born equal, in that we have no access to mana at all at an early age, those unlucky mana-less few being indistinguishable from the rest. It is not until early adolescence that we gain the ability to sense and wield mana. Coinciding with the advent of puberty our magical talent awakens and begins growing within us.**
**While women tend to be slightly stronger than men, their potency sees a rapid drop off around age 30, and almost all women lose access to their mana by age 55. Whilst a man may remain magically active well into his 70s, his potency will have much diminished from his youth.**
**It was these differences that led me to study mana in depth, to try to learn the reasons behind these apparently arbitrary limitations. My first clues were to examine those few that were cursed with no mana at all. These few seemed to fall into a couple of broad categories. Those whom developed no mana in their lives, and those whom lost access to their mana by some means before their otherwise allotted time.**
**It was from studying these later people that I discovered a significant correlation. Those who lost their mana, and of course were willing to undergo study, all seemed to have some form of injury to their lower torso’s or lower bodies.**
**Indeed the majority of my research subjects were the victim of their own magical experimentation backfiring on them, usually literally, while performing spells that had the unfortunate effect of rending them limb from limb. Sometimes the hapless researcher was rendered down to nothing more than a torso, bereft of mana, and of a will to live. These poor souls drive to furthering the study of magic was the only thing that gave them any will to live. To them I am eternally grateful, for had I not had their help I would never have discovered the source of mana.**
**It was the study of the nature and extent of these injuries and the concomitant effect on the subject's mana that I was able to reach the beginnings of a theory, and begin study. Through tireless research, and some less than pleasant experimentation, I was able to discover the horrifying truth.**
**We power our mana, our magic, through the expenditure of our own fertility. The ova and sperm that other researchers have discovered are responsible for the gift of life, are also responsible for the gift of magic. Mana expenditure directly consumes our store of the same.**
**The ‘old wives tale’ of being more fertile when one is most full of mana? It is true! When we are most full of mana we are indeed our most fertile, for they are one in the same.**
|
ohanse
|
Raithwind
|
2023-08-24 21:30:34
|
2023-08-24 20:13:07
| 86 | 53 |
jxlyvd4
|
jxlmkwg
|
1608mj5
|
1608mj5
|
[WP] Without a doubt, you are the strongest supervillain of the modern day. Your powers could end the world, nay, the universe perhaps! Your rival is constantly befuddled at why you stick to bank robberies, vandalism and other petty crimes.
|
“You really want to know? Fine. I suppose we can put this battle on hold for now.” I say, and with a snap of my fingers, me and my biggest rival are sat in a cozy room with a warm fireplace crackling fresh logs.
“You want to know why I do the things I do, despite my immense power? Well the answer is actually a lot simpler than you think. Because it’s fun. Sure, I COULD destroy the planet, the solar system, the galaxy and so on. But where’s the fun in that? Destruction without purpose and without opposition is just plain boring.”
My rival, Mad Matter, a hero with the power to change matter around him into other non living things, whose name is also a play on the name Mad Hatter, looked at me almost as if he was annoyed. “Then why do you constantly allow yourself to be bested by those much weaker than you. We both know that if you went all out, I wouldn’t stand a snowballs chance in hell.”
I sighed as he failed to understand. “Because I genuinely like fighting you and all the other heroes in this city. Especially the lower ranked ones or ones with weird powers. It’s fun watching them come up with a plan on how to beat me, giving them some challenge, and then seeing their joy when they win. It’s like….watching a child solve a puzzle.”
Mad Matter seemed to now look more confused than annoyed. “Are you…even trying to be malicious? So far not ONE civilian has been even harmed in one of your crimes. Why call yourself a villain if you have no desire to harm anyone?”
I gave a soft smile as pictures of young heroes began to appear along the walls. Framed and hung up like they were precious memories. “Because then I wouldn’t have an opportunity to meet such fun and interesting individuals.” I looked at the pictures of the heroes whom I let best me. They were so proud of themselves, even the ones who tried to be cool and edgy couldn’t help but smile. “Hey Mad….promise me you’ll keep this conversation between us, ok?”
|
“Why do you keep doing this?”, Dr. Dynamic asked me. I looked straight at him with the same slight smile I've had for so gosh darn it long. “Some day… Some day I will tell you.” I answered.
Dr. Dynamic (or Josh as I knew him back when all of this started) and I have had this rivalry for some odd 30 years so far, pretty much ever since he got his powers. He isn't that little kid anymore who stopped one of my many bank robberies back in ‘08. It’s almost hard to imagine that someone this grown, could ever be so small. Back then I did it to get money after being bankrupted by the ongoing financial crisis. Now I'm doing it more for the fun, thrill… and honestly… just passing time. Time is the only thing I've got too much off.
As I told you, the story for Dynamic started 30 years ago but for me, it started a lot earlier than that. I dont remember much from the early days but I know me and me family had to move because of the changing climate. I think I got to what is now Europe during the early Würm Glacial period. All the millennials kinda float together into just one big blob so its hard to keep track of stuff. I’m not sure how I'm not ageing or how I haven't died, but I know why and who did it.
During those cold days back when I still had my family I suddenly got sick. Really… Really… REALLY sick. No idea why he took pity on me, but he did. He was a big burly man with loads of hair both on his head, face, and chest. All of it was dark brown. The hair on his head was braided in a tight criss-cross braid that went all the way to the back and went down to his shoulders. Meanwhile, the beard was very chaotic and almost didn't fit the rest of his head. Late one evening he came walking into our camp with pants that barely went down to his ankles and no shirt which was very surprising given how damn cold it was. He offered me a deal… Either he could stop the pain, but I would still die, or he could fully heal me. The catch you might ask? I would never die. Given that I'm still here, you should already know which option I went with.
Suddenly I slammed into the furthest wall inside the bank vault and with a jolt I was brought back to the now. “Let me… just this time… Just let me do my thing and I'll take a break for a few months,” I told Dynamic. “You could use a break too. I know you do.” “I can't do that. You know that,” he told me while still holding the top of my shoulders. With a snap of my fingers, we both suddenly stood on top of the tall Hunt Bank Tower. “I do really enjoy playing with you, but aren't you bored? I've been bored for a long time now.” I said while looking away from him and instead watched as tens of police cars surrounded the building we were standing on.
A few minutes passed as we stood there with the wind whistling in our ears. “Why…” Dynamic asked me while looking towards me standing on the edge. “‘why’ what?” I responded wonderingly even though I knew exactly where this was going. “I dont get it… You have all these powers. You are so much more powerful than me, but you never end it. You always let me stop you. You never actually try to hurt me. Don't pretend like you don’t know that I understand at least that part.” he kept going. Looking over my own shoulder I watched him standing there. With one of the most puzzled looks on his face, it had ever taken. “I appreciate having you in my life, even tho you probably find me very annoying at times. It’s been pretty long since I had someone being in my life this regularly.” I told him. “Do you really want to know?” “Yes… I really do.” I wasn't sure I was actually going to tell him. This would change everything. “I am Eternal,” I told him.
_ _ _
Thanks for reading! I haven't been here for a long time. I think this turned out alright. Not super happy with it, but its good enough for today.
|
Fragrant-Address9043
|
svjohansson
|
2024-01-23 00:26:37
|
2024-01-22 22:06:28
| 32 | 22 |
kj4gqgm
|
kj3tt9v
|
19cwcnd
|
19cwcnd
|
[WP] You are a super villain and for your latest diabolical scheme, you’ve kidnapped the hero’s dog to lure them into a trap. Except it turns out the “hero” doesn’t care about the dog. You take offense to this.
|
For the thousandth time, I looked at the pet crate in the monitor, and the dog huddled in the back of it, scared. And for the thousandth time, I thought to myself, *Damn you, Chaperone, and damn me for falling for it.*
I had kidnapped the pooch by infiltrating Chaperone's penthouse apartment. Except, the dog had refused to come out of its crate; so I'd had to get my assistant, Belladonna, to bring a vehicle around to get the entire cage.
And in the seventeen hours since, I had been getting angrier and angrier at Bluff City's ostensible "hero" for clearly not only not caring about the poor canine, but evidently traumatizing it.
And I would rot in hell before I'd continue to contribute.
"Bella," I finally said, "He's not coming. Has the dog been fed?"
"And watered. And walked. None of them with any enthusiasm and more than a little paralytic shivering."
"Well, this farce is over. Pull the cage out of the trap, and get a few minions who are good with animals to meet Fido."
"Yes, sir..." A pause. "Sir, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to grill up some doggy burgers and get ready to adopt a new pet. Chappy obviously doesn't care...what does he look like to you? Name-wise?"
My assistant pursed her lips for a moment before saying, "He looks like a Benny to me."
"Benny it is, then," I replied, grinning at her as I took off the skull-faced helmet. "I'm going to go make Benny a couple of delicious burgers. Want to join?"
|
What was that awful smell?
Midnight Widow’s jaw dropped as she entered her office. Several of her books were torn to pieces, various chew toys and dog food were scattered around the room, and in the center of her rug was a pile of dry and wet poop with a large piss stain. Midnight nearly gagged at the sight. After a week of being away from the mad doctor and his inane schemes, she hoped she could enjoy some relaxation to get her mind away from her latest assassin job.
She might do it.
She just might kill Dr. Reality.
The researchers ran away from the assassin as Midnight Widow marched through the hallways. She appreciated the doctor from time to time. Sure, she worked for an F-Class villain and his reality-warping inventions barely worked, but he was funny (though she never laughed in his presence). But a line was crossed today, and someone needed to pay.
Pushing the two doors open, Midnight entered a large room where scientists worked on a (most likely doomed) reality machine. The air grew silent as they looked at the fuming villainous. She scanned the area until she saw Dr. Reality writing on a whiteboard. By his feet was a German Shepherd chewing on one of her boots. Since when was the doc a dog person?
“Ah, Midnight Widow!” Dr. Reality beamed when he turned around. As usual, he was oblivious to her annoyance and anger. “I hope you had a great cruise ship vacation. By the way, did you tan?”
Midnight Widow’s eyes narrowed, her anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Dr. Reality,” she said through gritted teeth, “care to explain why there’s a mutt chewing on my boot?”
The doctor's smile faltered slightly as he glanced at the German Shepherd, still gnawing on the boot. “Oh, uh, yes. That’s Max. He’s part of my most diabolical scheme yet to get me into the D-Class level.”
She blinked. It was very hard to tell when her boss was losing his mind. “Do I even want to know?”
Without being prompted, Dr. Reality ran to one side of the room and returned to Midnight and Max with a laptop. Her jaw clenched when she saw the man and the dog. “Here’s my plan,” Dr. Reality began. “In order for me to get out of F-Class, I have to make a hero suffer. Surprisingly, easier said than done. But then I asked myself, ‘Who is man’s best friend? Dog!’ What’s worse than stealing a hero’s dog? However, I couldn’t steal many dogs. It’s hard to do when heroes have secret identities…”
“Stop,” Midnight interrupted, not wanting to listen to another ramble. She pointed at the grizzled man on the screen. “Do you recognize who that man is?”
Dr. Reality nodded. “Yes, that’s the Executioner. Not the most heroic hero, but he should count. So I was saying, my plan involved me taking his dog, Executioner falling into my reality trap, and the Villain Association making me a D-Class villain. It’s strange that there’s no E-Class…”
“Does Executioner know you have his dog?” she whispered, looking nervously at the German Shepherd.
The mad doctor of reality shrugged. “I stole Max six days ago, though Executioner doesn’t look like he doesn’t miss Max. Seriously, what kind of dog owner doesn’t notice their dog is missing? Worse, the Villain Association still says I’m an F-Class…”
Midnight Widow gripped Dr. Reality’s arm and looked him in the eyes. “Give the man his dog.”
|
Beautiful_Business10
|
Realistic_Badger_708
|
2024-06-22 13:19:10
|
2024-06-22 04:10:42
| 17 | 12 |
l9rchhm
|
l9pwu1u
|
1dlj1fc
|
1dlj1fc
|
[WP] First contact is established between aliens and humanity. And it turns out that all other intelligent species are, for lack of a better term, Kaiju. Being at the bare minimum over 300 meters in height and having a variety of supernatural abilities on top of advanced technology.
|
"I must admit, we are...confused."
I blinked. "About what, exactly?"
Across the screen, Ambassador Kon'ta fidgeted, as though he'd been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. His eyes shifted from left to right with rapid speed, and he wriggled his hands in what seemed to be an attempt to give himself something to do.
All in all, an exceedingly hilarious sight, if not for the fact that he was also the size of a damned mountain.
*Well, good thing he's not on Earth right now.*
While the idea of aliens existing had always been discussed, no one really put much stock into it since it just felt so out there, so insanely abstract that the odds of it actually happening were equivalently zero.
But then, we made contact.
Planet V'gar (or Kepler-22b, as known by us) was apparently home to a rather peaceful race, one that had managed to achieve global unity before setting out across the galaxy.
As far as first meetings went, everything was rather smooth-sailing. We'd managed to set up a line of communications, along with being able to sync our languages through some crazy V'garian tech they had.
Unfortunately, it seemed that the V'garians had found some aggravating news regarding us, and had scheduled an audience.
The damned Pentagon was in an absolute tizzy, everyone was panicking at the possibility of somehow angering the V'gar and were borderline ready to shit themselves.
And somehow, I got picked to run damage control.
"From our understanding, you humans are, pardon the crude language, rather primitive?" Ambassador Kon'ta's voice quivered near the end, a deep, sonorous tone that seemed to echo across the mic.
"Well, yes, that's one way to look at it." I waffled. "Us humans have always been rather, uh, short-sighted."
"Yes, I'm well aware of the wars you've all forced upon yourselves." Kon'ta dismissed. "But what you've all done is just...it's just...!"
"Apologies, but have we done anything to offend you?" I asked.
"Well...I...just look!" Kon'ta hit a button on his console, and soon images upon images appeared across my screen.
Porn.
It was all porn.
Porn of the *V'garians*.
*Oh, I am not ready for this conversation.*
"And what in Sav'ana's Light is this...Rule 34?!"
|
Among the council it was decided that for once we were to reveal ourselves to the Humans. We had given them glimpses, through varying forms of fiction, letting them know what we existed. Humans with supernatural abilities, cybernetics and mechanics, infinite realities, the such. The council was composed of three of us, each one designated to their own particular purpose, with each freedom to do as we please. I, myself, am the second of the three, and while the others are static in appearance, I am able to take whatever form I wish, which is why I was left in charge of transmuting traces of our existences to the Humans, as Humans, we found, can’t take everything all at once, but need it revealed to them in small portions. They are simple like that indeed.
We decided not to reveal ourselves to the world at large, but to a boy, no less than 11 years old, living in Kentucky. His name was Robin. It was night time, and he had decided to stay up that night to read, against his parents commands. He was hiding underneath the covers, when we decided to illuminate his room with a light so bright, his blankets became translucent and he could see right through. We knew this would cause anyone a lot of commotion, so in my infinite ability, I made sure that no one else could see the light, only Robin. And I made sure no one could enter the room. He looked up from his book and stared at us.
“Don’t be afraid,” I said.
He took a deep breath and then fainted, out of shock. Usually what happens when we reveal ourselves. We walk ourselves over to him, in the form of three humans. It wasn’t time to reveal our true forms just yet. That would come tomorrow. And we came to tell Robin of what was to come.
“Robin,” I said. “Be healed! Look up! Rise!”
With that Robin opened his eyes and sat up on his bed. He looked at us with wonder.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why have you come.”
“We have come to tell you of the future, so you shall know what is to come, so you can tell the people you love, and they could tell the people the love, that if they believe you, they will be spared. If they do not, they won’t be spared. You are but a child, but we are granting you the wisdom and peace to lead you through this, for this is a tough assignment, but one that we will help you get through. And while you may ask us, Robin, why we are doing what we are doing, we are here to tell that we are doing what we are doing because it’s necessary, and first contact must be made between us and the Humans. So we want you to turn on the TV tomorrow night, as we will be transporting ourselves to the Heart of America and will surround America in our true forms. And we will see how they react. We can tell you that at first, it does not bode well for you Humans. But with time, things will get easier. We in no way want to be worshipped. We just need your assistance. And we can only accept the assistance of those who’s testimony is pure and true, which is you. We will be with you. We will keep you sane.”
With that, I remove the light, and before Robin can say anything, I wisk us away. We still keep observing him in our minds, and we see him close his book, and eventually, with our assistance, fall asleep.
The next day we do exactly as we say. I appear in the form of a giant eagle, while the others appear as a giant bear, and giant Bull, respectively. We give our speech to the world, telling them we will return in 50 years. We tell them to listen to Robin from Kentucky, who is only 11 years old. We tell them we can do as we please. And in the sight of the world, I teleport the moon into my mouth, showing them just a portion of my power. I put it back, and with that, we complete our first contact. I disappear us from plain sight.
All the while we were watching Robin in our minds. We saw his parents watch, and then believe him. And then we see him spread the news all across the world. One day we will return. Then will be second contact. Then we will return as one. What a glorious day that will be.
|
Raivon
|
kazsvk
|
2023-03-12 10:25:27
|
2023-03-12 03:02:51
| 14 | 10 |
jbwxu6i
|
jbvvnqn
|
11op7sd
|
11op7sd
|
[WP] Destroying 90% human population on earth, the aliens leave, assuming that society would crumble, and remaining 10% will just all fight for resources and eventually die out. They returned a thousand years later, expecting a cleansed planet, but were met with a nuclear strike from a satellite.
|
They could have just waited. Humanity was already on the verge of destroying itself. Earth's climate was on the verge of collapse under the weight of our exploding population. All they did was buy us time. Time to build a new society. One built with sustainability in mind.
A society built, also, on a foundation of technological supremacy. After the great slaughter, those who remained knew the tech gap between us and the outsiders was the main reason for their victory, and they made a solemn vow to the dead that we would never be outpaced again.
They recovered the sole outsider craft the militaries of the old world managed to down and spent decades researching the remains. Replicating the outsiders technology. Surpassing it.
The nuclear launch platform we put it orbit was a vestige of the old world. Meant only to disable the outsider mothership when it returns. To prepare it for boarding. To pave the way for a new slaughter.
Those bastards expected us to die of hunger, but we got hungry for something besides food. We got thirsty for something besides water. We always knew they would return, and when they do, we will slake our thirst on their blood. We will follow their warp trail to their homeworld, and visit upon them the vengeance of humanity.
|
Audio log: Date, Febuary 9th 2020, Destroying 90% of the human population on earth, the aliens left, assuming that our society would crumble, and the rest of us would just fight each other, making us go extinct. But, That 10% they didn't destroy was part of Japan, America, and Germany. We have no idea when the aliens will be back, but the first sight of an alien craft entering our planets sphere of influence, we must destroy the ship.
I laughed my ass off as soon as I got confirmation on the destruction of the alien ship. By the way, my name is Void. After I was done dying of laughter, I gave the green light to launch what I like to call "The Hunters". The hunters is a fleet of capital class and standard class ships that are both nuclear and biologically capable. I decided to hitch a ride on the flag ship, nicknamed the God of War. The two flagship escorts are named the twin slayers. The main Assault, or Attack, ships, I call the Fifth fleet. There are going to be support ships arriving about thirty minutes after our initial attack on the alien home world.
Me: "Hahahah, after one thousand years, we will find this alien species home world, and just wipe it off the galactic map."
:Radar manager "Sir, we're getting reports from \[REDACTED\], appears to be more aliens dropping from hyperspace."
Me: "Go ahead and open fire, non-nuclear as a test."
:Combat and Radar manager: "Yes Sir!"
I get confirmations from the radars that the ships have been destroyed, but I realized something was wrong.
Me: "CEASE FIRE, SOMETHINGS WRONG!"
Combat manager: "CEASING!"
Me: "Those smart ass aliens, any reports from \[REDACTED\], don't engage unless they engage first."
Radio: "10-4."
I was about to give the order to start charging the Frameshift-drives when we were hit with something.
Combat manager: "WE'VE BEEN HIT WITH SOMETHING!"
Me: "WELL FIGURE OUT WHERE THE HELL IT CAME FROM OPEN FIRE, USE NUCLEAR WEAPONRY TO MAKE THEIR SURVIVAL CHANCES ZERO!"
Combat manager: "SIR, THOSE MISSILSE WERE CAUSTIC, WE NEED TO START OVERHEATING THE SHIPS."
Thirty seconds go by...
Me: "WELL??? WAITING FOR A KISS AND A COOKIE???? IF YOU NEED TO GO AHEAD AND UN-STABILIZE THE REACTOR!! JUST GET THIS DAMN CAUSTIC SHIT OFF OUR SHIPS!"
We must of lost at least 25% of our entire fleet. We managed to jump to a star-system with an earth-like world with breathable oxygen. We decided to set up a Dyson sphere so we could harvest as much energy as possible for a super-weapon. Only 5% of the energy will be used for construction of several space docks and ship yards for the construction of the ships we lost and then more.
After three years, we increased our fleet size by 300%, not included the ships we did need to replace. We sent out several ASP Explorers, ships designed with a high jump range and high maneuverability to escape any combat situation. We still haven't found the alien home-world. We decided to call the species S-1, species 1. Our super weapon I mentioned is done, but needs to be put into several Heavy cargo ships in order to be transported.
(god school is literally deleting all of my creativity
|
jpb103
|
Ok_Spinach_4615
|
2023-03-26 11:32:20
|
2023-03-26 09:26:29
| 900 | 25 |
jdqfkf7
|
jdq6n3o
|
122d3v5
|
122d3v5
|
[WP] You are not the child of a powerful ruler, neither do you behave in such a way as to command power. You have never been violent, nor even aggressive. Yet, wherever you go, people fear you and treat you like a monarch or an emperor. You never understood why, until today...
|
I had never tasted ice cream before.
The soft smooth sweetness atop a crumbling cone. Exciting and refreshing. At 25 that’s embarrassing, I guess.
I’m not sure if this new experience was the trigger or just being here in this time and place, but it felt like I took my first real breath. Everything fit and I knew what to do.
Growing up I’d thought I was a normal girl. Of course everyone knew me, that’s just how it was. I think I was about six or seven when I started noticing the differences in reactions.
Some people would look at me in something akin to fear while others stared in awe. Not that I understood it back then but it made me feel odd.
I played with other children occasionally, doing silly stuff in the abandoned schools like ghost hunting or drawing on the walls, but I had no real friends. Nobody got too close.
My parents made sure I felt loved though. I never felt anything odd from them.
When I was nearly ten one of my classmates told the class that her brother had taken her ice skating that weekend. I was so jealous.
I remember being so proud telling my mother I was ‘ready’ to have a younger brother or sister to look after. That strange gentle smile she gave hurt and confused me but I was mollified when she told me I was a a perfect gift, their little miracle, that they couldn’t ask for another. Oh my ego!
At thirteen I walked past my old school and saw it had been shut down. A bit sad but perfectly natural: it hadn’t been very busy even this close to the city. A few days later I realised why and how foolish I’d been not to notice. I checked the few remaining playparks, searched forums and social media, looked everywhere and yet I couldn’t find anyone younger than me.
I confronted my parents and they said it was true, and it just wasn’t talked about. There were no more children born after me. They told me they couldn’t talk about it, that no one could.
My father held me as I cried in bitterness and confusion. He hummed a tune I didn’t recognise as he stroked my hair.
Of course I tried to find out why. Teachers changed the subject and the internet was no help. My anonymous questions were left unanswered, and I discovered a complete blank for the ten months before I was born.
No posts, no archived news, not even weather reports. Gradually I accepted it.
High school was lonely but college was where I truly felt isolated. I could see it clearly now, how few students for such large rooms. Anyone I met was either extremely awkward or stiflingly helpful, but only around me. By now I was used to it.
Everywhere I go people recognise me.
They stop what they’re doing, clear a path for me and wait. I’d swear some of them are holding their breath.
The man at the ice cream cart had practically pushed the cone into my hand before rushing off with eyes averted. And now I know what they were waiting for.
Now is the time.
|
Elie was an orphan. Her father was killed by a serial killer and wore his skin as it invade their house and killed her mother. Elie was left with her older brother John in a group home where they can both live together. Growing up in a group home was never easy.
Though they both have one another, they still need to get along with their guardians and two more other orphans. John adjusted well, he’s even friends with Randy, one of the orphans and Stella considered him as an older brother. But Elie, she’s a loner.
She tried hanging out with them, joined them on movie nights. But she’s just so odd. At first, it seems she’s the one who avoid people, but when she reached her 13th birthday, people began to avoid her. There is something with her that people find off putting. Her presence become intimidating. Suddenly, no one wants to meet her eyes. Everyone bow their heads when she passes by.
Even the animals around her were acting very weird. Cats and dogs would stop and bend their front legs as if bowing. Ants would even walk out of her way. Bees would sometimes follow her. And birds would leave flowers on her window sill.
“You’re here.” John said as he found Elie was alone in the roof, sitting next to her room window, sketching, with only the light post illuminating her.
“You were looking for me?” Elie asked.
“I never seen you the whole day. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just don’t feel like going out.”
“Why’s that? The day was wonderful earlier. You never even tried to go out.”
“Have you ever felt being treated differently?”
“What do you mean?”
“People are avoiding me. Animals are acting really weird around me. Look at all these flowers, birds leaves them here every morning.”
“They do? They must have like you that much.”
“Maybe.”
“Get’s go downstairs, mom cooked lasagna for dinner.”
The two came downstairs when they heard a knock on the door. John opened the door and there’s a man standing the door wearing a fedora hat.
“I finally found you!” The man spoke as he reached the edge of his hat. His fingers shined for a second.
“You! You’re the one who killed our mother.” John froze in fear, seeing the familiar man who wore their father’s skin, brutally killed their mother, and tortured him before disappearing with no trace.
“Still remember me, little John?” The man has very pale face and wide smile, flashing its serrated teeth.
He entered the house and walked right passed through John.
“Who was it, John?” Their foster mom, Sandy called from the other room. John and Elie is too shock to move or speak. “John, who is it?” Sandy went out to check but horror is what she saw.
“John, Elie, run!” She shouted.
“You are not going anywhere, the stranger said as he gripped on John’s arm with its scalpel tip like fingers, sinking on his skin.
Randy and Stella heard Sandy shouted and ran towards them. Their foster father Bob is not yet home. The three doesn’t know what’s happening but they are too scared to move, with a monster in their living room.
“Unhand my brother.” Elie whispered.
“What is it young lady?” The monster asked.
“Unhand my brother!” Elie’s voice is echoed, her eyes glowed in golden yellow. The stranger froze in trance and let go of John’s arm.
Their consciousness were trapped in a pocket dimension, floating in endless void.
“Why you keep coming back? What do you need?” Elia asked.
“Your mother, she took everything from me! I’ve been in this mortal universe for thousands of years, taking all I want when your mother showed up and took all my powers!!“
“My mother stopped you from terrorizing humans and so you took revenge? You already killed my parents! What do you even need from us?”
“You! You possesses her powers! The night I killed you parents, you banished me from this realm! You don’t remember that do you? I wouldn’t let a powerful being like you live, earth is mine!”
“So that’s what happened that night? Then you chose the wrong enemy. Fall!” Elie commanded.
They returned to their consciousness, the monster drop on the floor and unable to move. “What have you done?” The monster asked.
“Nzvhione of the celestial realm, I command you to vanish.” Elie spoke. The stranger dissolved into ashes.
A lady suddenly came in by the front door. “John, Elie. Are you both alright?” The lady in turquoise asked.
“Aunt. Yes, we are. Elie…” John answered.
The lady saw Sandy and the two orphans staring down, frozen in shock. She waved her hands and the three suddenly forgotten everything that happened that night.
“Sandy, I’ll be taking John and Elie with me for now. Will that be okay?” The lady in turquoise asked. Sandy agreed and the three left that night.
|
ir8thoughts
|
curse1304
|
2023-05-06 13:48:44
|
2023-05-06 06:37:27
| 24 | 13 |
jj36ej2
|
jj27d16
|
1395im5
|
1395im5
|
[WP] One day, the heads of all religions in the world recieve a telepathic message. "We are the Divine Protection Service, You have been removed from the care of your god for reasons of neglect. You will be entrusted to the care of a foster god."
|
Reactions were....mixed.
True believers were outraged. Power hungry cult leaders were worried. Less stringent leaders adopted a wait-and-see approach.
But no matter what they did, the day finally came when the new Foster God arrived in Flame and Light and Glory and all knew exactly, and minute and fine detail, exactly how far short they came of purity and enlightenment.
"THIS RACE HAS BEEN WITHOUT A FIRM AND GUIDING HAND FOR TOO LONG. THIS CHANGES NOW."
Enforcers swept down and everyone had a 'Guardian Angel'. Every street had patrols. Every action watched and judged immediately.
Technically, it was a Golden Age. No one went hungry or cold. Sickness didn't exist anymore.
The leaders of humanity were honest and competent. Everyone worked their best for the betterment of humanity and the the stewardship of the planet.
After 10 years, not a single word of complaint was made about Foster God. No one left would dare. They had seen what happened to those who complained and strictly taught their children (of which there was many due to the need to replace population numbers) about the glories of Foster God and that they should be always vocal in their praise in all their waking days.
But deep in the thoughts of many smiling faces and warm greetings, many still wished for the times when they could debate the existence of Gods and ignorance of the hard truth that what is worse than a silent and uncaring and possibly non-existent God, is a God that there is no doubt at all of their existence and constant intervention to make things 'Perfect'.
|
Faith is an emotion on its own. To embark on a journey of faith, true faith is a right on its own.
Some people have recently lost that right. They called themselves the champions, the flag bearers of their religion but instead they forgot the one thing that made faith the most powerful force in the world, humanity.
We have been watching Earth since the dawn of man. We watched them learning to stand on their legs. We watched them when they found the wonderful thing that was fire. We also watched as they created the factions of God. It didn't matter. God was a multi-headed entity. Every religion saw just one face. Some religions saw more than one face and that was agreeable too.
But we also watched when humanity turned on each other. We watched when they used the name of God as an excuse for their sins. We watched when they started considering themselves God. We watched and watched and watched.
We watched when one day God couldn't take it anymore. We watched him see the world he built with so much love being destroyed by the ones he created, the ones he loved. We watched him leave.
And we knew that we won't be able to watch anymore.
*
*Send a message in every language possible*
We, the members of the Divine Protection Services, have found the mass cases of neglect and thereby you are being removed from the custody of God. You will shortly receive a message about your Foster God.
Yours sincerely,
Themara
Divine Protection Services.
*
We saw the confused faces of the religious heads. They clearly thought that it was some sort of hallucination. But they didn't dismiss it. Instead all of them claimed to be god's vessel. The one God trusts the most.
We laugh at their naivete and their sense of grandeur. They just lost the protection of the parent who loved them unconditionally, the parent who was so saddened by the state of his children that he couldn't take it anymore.
We just hope humanity has prepared themselves for their Foster God.
*
We watched as the Foster God arrived at Earth waiting for a warm welcome. Even a tepid one would have worked instead of the tepid silence he got.
They considered him a trickster. A mockery. But it still hasn't settled that he would be their God for the foreseeable future.
They don't know who they have pissed off.
*
Should we do something? The question was uttered daily in the halls of Divine Protection Services. But no one answered. We weren't afraid. We were intrigued.
We have always thought that God loved his creations unconditionally, even when they sought to destroy. But the new one, the new one reminded everyone that there are consequences to their actions.
He slowly but surely straightened out the creases on the cloth of humanity. He never chose a policy of silent treatment or having a chance to learn from their countless mistakes.
He adopted a more hands-on approach. Humanity will have faith if they don't know what to have faith in.
And the changes were already visible. The tides have turned towards the better.
Everyone at the Divine Protection Services knew that the Foster God was what Earth needed. But they also knew that God would return.
And isn't that the most condemning thought any person who had faith could have?
***
[You can find more of my stories at r/iknowthisischeesy]
Also I apologise in advance. I'm literally typing this half asleep.
|
RandeKnight
|
iknowthisischeesy
|
2023-07-25 20:26:22
|
2023-07-25 19:40:13
| 140 | 51 |
jtfkn96
|
jtfd593
|
159czme
|
159czme
|
[WP] You are the only S-Class (god-like) mutant at a school of super powered youngsters. Only the head master knows, and you try like hell to keep it a secret. But one day, that all changed...
|
People think that rewinding time and altering fate are World-tier powers. Atomic manipulation. And they would be right.
I am The Medic. And I'm much, *much* more powerful than them. And the reason why is really simple. For I have mastery over the afterlife and mortality. Styx, Heaven, Valhalla, Hel, whatever you wish to call it.
Oh, it was much more difficult to master than the typical Healer-class, who have to become doctors almost by trade, using their skills as trauma support or emergency surgeons.
I was content to run support, having a near-miraculous power of recovery for an EMT specialist. But that changed when Immortus attacked. He and his cultists assaulted every hospital, in a co-ordinated attack on the healers. But his most critical mistake was murdering my best friend and my husband In the opening strike.
/. /. /. /. /. /
I put on Alex's black bomber jacket and left our once-shared apartment on 5th and Main. The sounds and screams of the injured I set aside, as the other imported Healers could deal with that; because this time, I had bigger fish to fry today.
I walked through the wreckage of the city, feeling it's denizens as they loved, lived and died a little all the time. I wore it as a funeral shroud, as I approached where the Immortal cult had made their base. It was hard to miss, with the drapery of a bad video game group, a black hand on a plain flag.
I walked up to the entrance of the building that had been claimed, and I was darkly amused by the level of security on display - 20 armed guards, well equipped like a private military contractor. A thought flickered for a second, about who was funding these people; but in my grief, I no longer cared.
A necromantic-seeming vortex ripped away their life force as the first guard went to pat me down, severing their blood vessel and neuronal connections and watching, passive, until they all dropped. I searched the bodies for a key card, and swiped it to enter the elevator.
They had taken everything that truly mattered to me. I would ruin them in return.
|
Mimic
I'm not looking for a complex life, but that's really hard when life wants to make you complex. Mutants are rare in this society. Only about 1 in every 100,000 has some kind of abnormality about them. Some developed flight, super strength, telekinesis, etc. Simple things you know? My odds were slim, but I was born with a mutation. But it's complex... Messy.
If I could put it simply I can shapeshift. But it goes a little farther. I can copy the genetic makeup of any living thing I touch. I can create, replicate, copy, and manipulate the cells in my body to pretty much do whatever I need them to do. There are other shape shifters out there but they're powers only extend to shifting from one form to another, my shifting is more fluid.
But it didn't start out this way. My body would randomly shift and turn into grotesque looking forms. I tried to hide it from my parents but the day I almost devoured the family dog because we were having a territorial dispute was the day I couldn't risk their safety. So I left.
When the headmaster found me, he knew instantly what I could do. I never even told him, he just knew. like two apex predators we could sense each other and what the other was capable of. I don't know exactly what the headmaster can do, but I know that if we ever fought the city, or at the very least the surrounding area would not survive.
The first words he ever spoke to me were,"How do you feel?" A simple question with a not so simple answer. "Like I have the power of life itself in the palm of my hand. I can be whatever and whoever I want. I have the instincts of every creature on earth. I could probably cure every known disease or create a poise that kills the whole earth. It all a huge weight to bear. But I don't want any of it, I just want to live the way everyone else does. But that seems like an impossibility and I don't know what to do." The headmaster didn't say anything as I continued to talk about my problems. Problems that no one in the world has. When I was finished he simply said. "Then let me help you carry this burden, as long as it is yours.
Over the next year I worked with the headmaster to hone my mutation and push it's limits. The mutation that was on my official paperwork was simple shape shifting. We had decided that a chameleon was the only thing I could shift into, due to my fondness for reptiles and slight jealousy that they could fade into the background. As time passed I could shift different parts of my body into different forms. Growing new appendages was hard at first, painful even, but the headmaster helped me broaden my horizons and think outside the box by removing the pain receptors in that part of my body, then growing the new limb was painless and the pain receptors could be grown in after. It even got to the point where I could create cells that could harmlessly enter a human body via skin contact, have those cells create copies and then retrieve them back to my own body and duplicate the copies endlessly. Thus I could shift into anything and anyone and even use their powers if they also had a mutation.
Progress was slow but I eventually became a living embodiment of what genetics were really capable of. But this isn't the life I wanted. I wanted simple, so I pretended I was just a simple guy with a simple mutation. Until came the day when I couldn't pretend any more.
The Kaiju that attacked San Francisco was big. No one knew where it had come from, only that it rose from the ocean one day and descended upon the city like an avalanche descends on a helpless climber. The military was quick to respond but they were no match for the behemoth. It tore through buildings, bridges and anything that stood in it's way. Nothing could stand up to this monster, even with every mutant working together, it wouldn't be enough. There was nothing that anyone could do. We'll... Almost nothing.
|
mischaracterised
|
Knightsforever
|
2023-01-20 07:16:43
|
2023-01-20 03:14:26
| 35 | 24 |
j5473hq
|
j53hbu9
|
10gh68v
|
10gh68v
|
[WP]You were born in the Medieval Age, but at 15, a time anomaly brought you to the modern era, where a scientist adopted you. Now, 11 years later, they’ve found a way to send you back and asked for your opinion, but your answer is clear: "Hell no."
|
"Have you any idea just how bad an idea that would be?
Ok, so lets put aside my own personal objections to living in the dark ages for a moment because trust me that is going to take much longer. Have you heard of the Black Death? The Spanish Flu? Fucking COVID? Yes. You have heard of those things. Do you remember just how ill I became when I fell through that time portal in the first place? I was in the ICU for months.
I read my history, I know just how badly the indigenous populations of America were hit when they were colonised in the 1600s. Over 90% fatalities. Now imagine that but magnified by three different pandemics happening simultaniously across the entirety of the world. I mean I guess Australia might survive due to their isolation but everybody else? Yeah good luck.
So no, even if I did want to give up all that I built here I couldn't in good conciousness unleash what the peoples of that time would be well within their rights to call the third horseman of the apocalypse upon them.
Now that my more practical objections have been voiced, I'd like to remind you of my gender, and the expectations of women living in that time in a short 5 hour presentation I've named "I DON'T WANT TO DIE IN CHILDBIRTH".
Save your questions to the end.
|
“Hell no. I do not want to go back,” Thomas said.
Proust took a step backwards. And steadied himself against the door frame. His wide grin lost to a grimace. “But why?”
“Because I don’t.”
Proust Finklemyer was a famous scientist. Famous because he invented time travel eleven years ago. Kind of. It certainly wasn’t unintentional. Proust had been trying to understand time and tried many a way to create a method of transporting oneself through it, but he had never succeeded. Until one day, a wormhole generated during one of his experiments. It was wild and uncontrolled and when it ended a young man lay on the ground scared out of his mind. That was Thomas.
“You always talked so fondly of your time Tom. Now is your chance to go back to the moment you left… or we can move it forward some time so…”
“Dr Finklemyer. Please. I said no.” The rhythmic tapping of fingers against a plastic keyboard stopped as Thomas leant back in his chair looking at the ceiling.
Proust did he best to hide his wince. He hadn’t been Dr Finklemyer in years. He could still remember the moment he laid eyes on the child. Well, teenager. Lost and alone. Though there was a slight understanding of language most modern slang was simply too foreign and much of the modern world made no sense to Thomas. Proust had to choose: send him somewhere random, give him to social services, or adopt him (through slightly discreet methods).
So Proust adopted Thomas. It was only meant to be for six months maybe a year. But time is fickle. And tampering was resisted. So the process took longer. Now Proust almost couldn’t imagine a day without Thomas. But he had to send him home. It was the correct thing to do.
“I don’t understand Tom.” Proust walked over and sat on the bed.
“Because that life is gone. It was a nice dream to go back but how can I now? I’ve seen too much. I know too much. I’ll be an outcast,” Thomas almost shouted.
Proust shifted back. He knew the anger wasn’t aimed directly at him, but he still felt the passing burn.
“My family. I miss them everyday. I miss that they won’t ever see this. I miss that they wouldn’t understand why their child would disappear for 10 years only to return with tales of a magical land of metal and fireless lamps. Perhaps I would be accepted. Perhaps I would be laughed at. It is of no consequence that I would then have to live back then. In the conditions I have been made acutely aware of, that were not exactly hospitable.”
“Well what if we bring your family…”
“No. Dad. Please. No. Don’t make this harder,” Thomas cut him off. “I am a different person now. In a different family. In a different time. We don’t need to mix them up anymore than they are now.”
Although Proust was still slightly taken aback by his son’s wishes, they were to be respected. “Alright,” he half choked out of his throat. “Well then, let’s say we take a journey to somewhere else back in time. Together. As a family.” Proust looked over to Thomas.
Thomas swivelled in his chair. A lone tear rolled down his cheek. He nodded.
|
HairyHorux
|
dougy123456789
|
2024-08-29 16:33:01
|
2024-08-29 16:22:51
| 73 | 34 |
lkizixe
|
lkixiir
|
1f43kse
|
1f43kse
|
[WP] You wished to find a dragon to slay for its treasure. Now you're not sure how to feel seeing a thumb-sized dragon try to drag its single shiny copper coin with it as it runs away from you.
|
The light glances of the coin as I watch.
This? *This* is the reason I trained so hard?
Every hero slays a dragon. Enormous, fire-breathing, scaly. Evil grin, yellow eyes.
But *this?* This is a joke. What's the glory in killing a dragon three inches long, for the love of the gods! The only things in danger from this dragon are flies!
And as for the treasure . . .
Well. A single coin might go towards my supper. It certainly won't let me live a life of ease and luxury.
The little thing scurries away from me, it tiny wings beating frantically. It will never take off carrying that coin.
Really, this dragon is almost . . . cute. Paper thin wings, purple and green, and a slim green back, with little spikes of a paler green set at intervals. Almost completely defenceless. How has it survived so long? Perhaps it was two small to bother with? Does it have hidden defences?
Either way, the thought of killing it makes me uncomfortable. I shouldn't mind, but murdering such a small and unprotected creature for the sake of a single copper doesn't rest with me easily. It's a dragon, for crying out loud. I shouldn't give two pins.
I raise my sword, ridiculously over-sized for such a task, and step forward. The dragon, hearing my movements, looks back and lets out a squeak.
Lowering my weapon, I stop.
Killing this creature won't make any difference. It harms no one, probably doesn't even eat flies. To murder it would be wrong.
Hesitating, I look at it again. It continues to try to escape, the noise ringing through the silence of the empty house. I came here to slay a fearsome beast, and instead found this.
So I kneel down and pick up the dragon. It panicks, squeaking desperately and struggling to escape. As I manage to gather it into my hands, it sinks its teeth into my finger. Cursing, I drop it.
Wasting no time, the dragon clutches its coin and makes off towards the distant doorway.
I make grab for it again, this time holding its mouth closed carefully. For such a small animal it sure can bite.
Carefully holding my new companion, I make my way back towards entrance to the house.
My noble steed - a donkey - will be waiting along with my faithful hound - a jack russel terrier, small and noisy - and the pig. I don't even know what the pig is. Once destined to be a dinner, now the companion of failed hero. My motely companions.
Why do I always seem to end up with the oddballs?
Why do I let them stay?
What is the dog eating!? He's delicate, he'll make himself sick!!!
|
Sir Antoine passed his hand up his helmet to push the face-guard up on its hinge, his winkled eyes pursing at his quarry. He started to bend his good knee towards the ground and had to readjust his stance a few times before he was able to fully rest on the earth, causing his armor to shuffle and jingle. His hand passed down and stroked his graying whiskers before it rested on his other knee, still raised. The summoning jewel, tied to a ribbon and hung off his wrist, clattered against his greaves.
"This-- this is it?" he asked, canting his head upward towards the mythical, wish granting being he had made contract with to produce for him this foe. He swirled his lance around by the handle, making its tip draw a tight circle in the air. "This lil bugger'd be dispatched by a... by a soup ladle!"
"This... is it." the jin said with a subdued gesture towards the glowering green whelp. While the knight studied the small beast he continued. "You have devoted your entire being to eradicating the majestic and, much to your credit, you are *ex-ceptional* at it. This is one of the last remaining living dragons. I told you I could not create life, only find it. And this is what was found."
Sir Antoine slowly extended his weapon-less hand towards the creature. It was defiant, at first, clasping its treasure in both claws, his open mouth raised towards the encroaching glove. But as the shadow of the finger began to dominate its vision the dragon moved first to hold the coin like a shield in front its body before disappearing beneath it completely, cowering as if to make itself invisible underneath the copper. Antoine could feel its body squish as he gently made contact with the currency. It squealed in protest. Another poke, another whine. He could snuff out its life with a mere flex of his finger.
Instead, he moved to pinch two fingers around the coin. He lifted it out of the dirt and was surprised to see the whelp was clinging to it, tenacity back in its blood as it tried to wrench its hoard free from the giant digits, snapping, biting and clawing at them as best it could manage.
"Whut... whut about making it bigger? making it grow up?" the knight asked, flipping the coin right side up. The dragon perched on top of it, shivering but ready to defend himself from all directions.
"That is as big as he will get. He is not full grown but fate has proven more advantageous to the ones too small for you and your ilk's notice. His mother was smaller than a hound and was still slain. He would only sire smaller still if he were to live past today. But I cannot undo what has been done, *Sir*." the genie retorted.
The Hero of Alabaster Abby had never been much for words, preferring action and stern looks, but even so he felt the urge to find something to say in his defense and the sting of being unable to utter more than a string of incomplete words and syllables.
"I will remind you, ***Sir*** Antoine August, son of Lenore and Edgar, Liberatore of Paarthurnax, Headmaster of Dragon's Keep. ... '*Scourge*' in dragon's tongue. ... that we have an a**gree**ment." the jin said, his hand gesturing again, producing the parchment they had only just recently signed. He didn't need it to remember the terms, but it added to his air of authority as he spoke. His voice growing more incensed. "'On the imitate date, at the listed time I, the great Kazaam, have been tasked to provide the party - that's you - (1) Living Dragon, along with all items in the creature's hoard, in perpetuity, in order for which you to *slay*.' If you are attempting to circumvent or void this contract then I will take whatever measures necessary in order to assure my release from this **confinement**!"
A life time of deeds swirled in Antoine's head. Some good. Some bad. Some he had new reflection on after setting down the small green dragon and his copper companion amongst the reeds. He thought about dropping the two gold pieces he had been saving in front the tiny creature, but the jin had been increasing in size as he ranted, popping off with magical prowess and readying to fight. A shadow now loomed over the knight just as his had loomed large on the small wyvern. He leaned on his lance and pushed his hand in to his thigh in order to will his body to stand. Antoine turned and addressed the genie by lowering his face guard and muttering "So be it."
|
Isa_The_Amazing
|
MinnieShoof
|
2023-02-05 11:45:08
|
2023-02-05 09:12:53
| 47 | 35 |
j7arv5a
|
j7ah5w1
|
10tx0ci
|
10tx0ci
|
[WP] You are kidnapped by the villain regularly, but you’re starting to look forward to it. You know they won’t hurt you, and are simply being dramatic. It also doesn’t help that you are the only person they ever kidnap. This time, the hero doesn’t bother trying to save you.
|
The first time, accommodations were pretty sparse. A chair and some rope. I was scared, of course, but Red Dragon didn't yell at me to keep quiet or specifically threaten me.
"Don't take this personally," I remember him saying. "You were just in the wrong place at the right time. Once I have what I need, you'll be free to go."
He seemed proud, melodramatic even. Something about how his shoulders squared beneath his cape or the sideways glances he turned to me as he made sure I wasn't escaping spoke to me of a need for attention. From whom, I wasn't sure.
His "Don't try to talk me out of it" quip pretty much *begged* me to. So I, poor conversationalist that I was, tried. Was I keeping him talking, or vice versa? Not that it was hard to get him to talk about himself. So, I asked him questions. About life, about politics, about where he got the fancy outfit. The first two topics were met with frustrated monologues, but at least I could empathize with him, and, to be honest, I spent far too much time trying to "fix" him, because I can't stop myself from problem solving. It's a personal vice.
It was the third topic that garnered his attention. I have something of an artist's eye, so I could opine on the use of color and shape, the stitching and fabric texture, and he definitely had a sense of flair. I even asked for a closer look, which he was happy to provide. He was everything a classic villain should be, I'd say. Brazen, stylish, a touch manic ...ripped. I was jealous.
In the middle of providing a few light critiques of his outfit, one of Snipe Angel's gimmick arrows shattered a window and filled his warehouse lair with sleeping gas. I woke up at the police station and got a ride home.
The second time, I was back in the chair. We both played our parts. Me, the worried captive, and Red Dragon, the proud villain awaiting his nemesis. And some industrial fans. It seems he didn't want his conflict interrupted by another gimmick, but it was also a nice upgrade in the summer heat.
So we talked. "Got any podcasts you'd recommend?" He tried, and failed, to play it straight. I'd never thought a villain could get so excited about upcoming advancements in green energy. I quipped about water recycling, and he looked oddly at me. I was forced to confess that I needed to use the restroom.
I saw some brief surprise before his expression stiffened. "I might be a villain, but I'm magnanimous, not cruel. You can go. This time." I waved to Snipe Angel on my way back to work.
About a week later, the third kidnapping happened. No ropes, just a chain bolted to the floor. Instead of a stiff, wooden chair, there was a comfortable recliner. Behind it, a small room with a notch in the door to accommodate the chain.
"I won't tolerate any interruption this time," Red Dragon bellowed. "So, if you need to, use the private room." The mad lad installed a bathroom.
We talked again. Snipe Angel crashed through a window. For an archer, she was a very entertaining martial artist, too. Pink and white lace fluttered against the deep red and gold of Red Dragon's outfit. It was like an art installation all to myself.
Red Dragon was routed, and he fled dramatically. Snipe Angel set me free and checked on me. "You're not hurt? Is he treating you well?" After some assurances, she left me to return to work, and I went about my day. I really shouldn't have been so well adjusted to getting kidnapped.
Fourth time, it happened during my lunch break. The goons bought me lunch, and we chatted before they led me to the austentacious Dragonwagon. That part I didn't resist so much, but the valet had to threaten me for my keys so he could drive my car back to work. There was some new furniture that time. And a treadmill, to my chagrin. My fault, probably, as I said prior I was having trouble with my weight. Snipe Angel didn't break in through the windows this time, since Red Dragon had replaced them with stained glass. For ambiance, he said.
The fifth happened right as my work day started. My boss told me I was excused for the day and not to worry about my leave hours. I knew exactly why, since I *may* have mentioned all the kidnappings were draining my PTO. So, I spent the day with Red Dragon. I used the new kitchen to make gyoza from scratch, had a wonderful hour of power yoga, and help Red Dragon design some characters for a comic book he was planning. Snipe Angel knocked on the door. "Are you okay in there, Mr. Hale?" she asked without a shred of concern. After I said yes, I could almost hear her pout. "I'll be on the roof if you need me."
After that, the "kidnappings" were more frequent. Sometimes daily, but after work, to be considerate. Red Dragon became something of a personal trainer, and I became a confidant. Snipe Angel stopped showing up. Red Dragon started training me, and occasionally, I'd give the goons a hard time, for funsies. The game usually ended when the biggest lad, we called him Beretta, slugged me in the breadbasket. It took me months to stop buckling from that.
Which brings me to today. I bought the goons a spa day, double checked my rope, and slipped into my Stone Lion costume.
Today, I'm kidnapping Red Dragon.
It's Valentine's Day, after all.
|
Well here we go again. I'm being followed…and no one is coming to 'save' me this time.
I almost didn't notice the shadow behind me even though I've been obsessively looking for it for nearly 2 weeks now. Sometimes I think it's finally time for my 'surprise' vacation only to realize it's just wishful thinking playing tricks on my eyes. I wonder where it'll be this time. Bali? Mexico? An isolated cabin in the Rocky Mountains? I hope so.
Whenever he comes to whisk me away I always end up in some fantastic place I've never been before. The last time was 2 weeks ago and I finally got the courage to say something to the Masked Woman. She always interrupts me just as I'm about to make a move. I only just got him to tell me his name when she burst through the window of that romantic skyrise apartment in New York City.
As she set me down safely on the street below, I finally asked her what her problem was. She tried to play it off with me, but I can see people for what they really are. She was jealous.
"Excuse me? Shouldn't you be asking HIM that? This is the 4th time I've had to rescue you from him and all I get is attitude. I saw the way you glared at me, maybe you should say thank you or I'll end up leaving you with that weirdo next time." She says, arms crossed and eyes seething with annoyance. From her body language it's clear as day to me that she wants to be the one he takes away. I may have only taken half a semester of psychology 101, but I still use it every day. She has to feel scorned. Having to barge in on us all the time like some sort of crazy stalker. I'd almost pity her if I wasn't so disgusted.
"Don't bother." I told her. I know how she thinks after all this time. She hardly even looks at him, she simply whisked me away from my future husband and takes off. The first time it happened she knew to apologize to me for the inconvenience. But she just kept doing it. Over and over again. She wants him and she can't help herself.
"Look, I get why you like him. He's smart, determined, cute, shy and has a flair for the dramatic. Even more than that he likes to take things slow. He's a good man, but you can't have him. He. Chose. Me." I put lots of emphasis on those last three words. With girls like this, you can't leave anything open to interpretation and you have to talk really slow so they understand.
She looked at me like I shot her. Right through the heart – I hope. She couldn't say anything in retort. She looked like she was going to throw up, her hand over her mouth like she was trying to keep whatever it was from coming out, a tear rolled down her cheek. Quickly she turned around and said, "I understand, have a good day" and flew off into the sky veering far away from the tower. I left shortly after. I'm sure the moment was lost for him as well, but I cleared the way for him. The next time he would take me with him, nothing could get me to leave him.
All of our effort is finally reaching its climax. I cross the threshold into my apartment, not bothering to lock the door behind me or take my shoes off. It wouldn't have mattered if I did, he's more cunning and nimble than a fox, I wouldn't hear him come in. I wouldn't notice that he injected me with his specially crafted drug to incapacitate me – and I didn't. I only had time to smile when I felt myself losing consciousness. "I missed you '' I whispered before finally blacking out.
When I awoke, I hardly wanted to take the time to appreciate my surroundings. My head was buzzing from the drug still, but my love was stronger. The smell of the ocean only confirmed that he's crazy about me, I'd only been once when I was a little girl. He must have known somehow that I would want it to be here more than anywhere else. Our first date.
My hands and feet weren't tied this time. I stood up and turned around, looking for any sign of his presence. A noise in the kitchen sent shivers up my spine. Ice. In a glass. I can't stop myself, I rush into the kitchen to formally introduce myself; even though he knows me better than anyone.
We meet eyes just as he finishes pouring his glass of orange juice topped with a healthy splash of vodka.
He finally notices me from the corner of his eye and almost jumps out of his skin from excitement. "Umm..how did you wake up so fast..? Must be because you're building an even stronger tolerance to it. Well, if you would kindly move back to the chair so that I can tie you up. I won't let her get away so easily this time.."
He sets his glass down, and moves towards me like he's going to grab me by the shoulders in embrace. I practically jump into his arms, I can hardly wait to tell him the good news.
"Oh, her? Don't worry about her, Billy. She won't be bothering us again, I told her how we feel about each other, she knows I'm who you really want." The words gush out of me, I tell him everything that I love about him. From how he hardly acknowledged me all of the times he had me in his clutches because he was remaining vigilant against the Masked Woman. The way he tied me up super tight and would put a bag over my head to muffle the sounds I was making. How he told me his name. Yeah, just everything about him.
He stared at me, clearly overwhelmed with how much I adore him. I laid it on pretty thick. He deserves the best.
"You…have got to be kidding me."
He must not be used to this kind of love. I'll make sure he never goes without it.
"Listen, I think you have the wrong idea here. I'm not trying to spend time with you, I've been trying to get the Masked Woman to give me a chance. I – kind of have a huge crush on her. You just happen to have nearly the same commute as me, I followed you home one day. I used to write her. Like. All the time. Then she changed her P.O. box. So I had to change my approach. Make her come to me, perse." He just sat there. Confounded. No, dumbfounded. He's starting to see me for what I truly am.
"Now that she's out of the way, we can move on with our lives together. You don't have to worry about me leaving you, or ignoring you. You make me look forward to every visit. Why would you keep kidnapping me if I wasn't special?" Let's see him answer that.
He sat with that for a minute. He must be flustered. "You literally made no effort into avoiding it. I thought it was too easy to pass up, why risk finding someone new when I can go with a sure thing? You didn't even make the effort to lock your door…"
He walked past me. All the way to the way to the front door. He clicks the lock to the left, then to the right. "Do this from now on, and save us both the trouble. Now –" he clicks the lock to the left again and opens the door, "Please leave. I have to think."
I take my rightful place by his side. "I'll be thinking only of you, my Billy Goat." I scratch under his chin, and he promptly shoves me out the door and shuts it. *Click*
Oh. This man…he wants me to make the effort. Next time, I'll pick the place.
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painstream
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ReddyBeeBop
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2023-02-15 17:39:16
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2023-02-15 14:34:24
| 35 | 17 |
j8nqise
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j8myzzl
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112morh
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112morh
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